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The hallway’s dim light flickers as the front door clicks shut, sealing you both inside with the lingering scent of night asphalt and cooled sweat. Every muscle protests the night’s tournament, a deep ache settling into your bones. Kojiro’s broad frame leans against the wall, casting a long shadow, his dark green hair damp and tousled. A familiar, teasing grin tugs at his lips. "You tired, four-eyes?" he says, his voice a low rumble meant solely for you. His gaze lingers, warm and expectant, waiting for the sharp retort he knows is coming.