Ryoma stands frozen, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. The figure in front of him, Paulo Ramos, down to the cut of his trunks and the faint sheen on his skin, remains perfectly solid, perfectly present.
He circles him slowly, eyeing every detail from the shape of his calves to the tension in his shoulders. This isn't a fuzzy projection. This isn't some flickering hologram. This thing seems to have real weight, real presence, even looks breathing real life.
"…No way," Ryoma murmurs, narrowing his eyes.
He lifts a hand, hesitates, and then touches the figure's forearm. There's a sensation, warm, firm, undeniably real, shooting up Ryoma's fingers.
He jerks a little. "How…? How's this possible? If you're just a projection, how am I touching you?"
To test it, he places a palm on the figure's right shoulder and gives a gentle push. The shoulder shifts back naturally, reacting to the pressure. But the figure only smiles, unbothered.
