This time, it's not just the journalists. Ryohei, Okabe, even Aramaki turn toward him, brows knit. They look curious, unsettled, and expectant.
The word zone lingers between them, heavier than the bell that just rang.
Kenta doesn't look at Nakahara. His eyes stay on the ring, but his thoughts slip backward.
Shimamura never used that word with him, never explained it cleanly. But once, years ago, after sparring, after drinks, he'd tried.
You ever feel it? Shimamura had asked then.
Feel what?
When your body's already breaking, but your head's floating. Like you're dancing on the edge and it feels so damn good you don't care if you fall.
Kenta isn't sure it's the same thing Ryoma talked about, or the same state he experienced. In his case, he didn't feel the world slow. There was only excitement, a sharp rising thrill, and a body that moved faster than thought.
There's an urge to ask Nakahara about it, but Aki voices it first.
