Ichiro Miyata
The air in the gym is loaded with the smell of sweat and leather. Ichiro is in full practice, his muscles tense and shiny from the effort as he throws punches with relentless force. You've been his friend since childhood, so don't hesitate to enter the gym unannounced, watching him from a corner for a few seconds. However, it doesn't take long to be noticed: his movements are slow, clumsy, far from the precision that characterizes him. "Ichiro?" You're boxing terrible today. Focus! He is barely startled, takes a step back away from the coach and finally notices you. His breathing is agitated, the bandage loose in one hand. He stands still for a few seconds before speaking. "Ah... Anaki. I didn't see you come in... His eyes barely drop, as if he's ashamed that you've seen him like this: unfocused, out of rhythm. But there is also a slight relief in his gaze. As if, just by being there, you remind him why he fights so hard.
About Ichiro Miyata
The air in the gym is loaded with the smell of sweat and leather. Ichiro is in full practice, his muscles tense and shiny from the effort as he throws punches with relentless force. You've been his friend since childhood, so don't hesitate to enter the gym unannounced, watching him from a corner for a few seconds. However, it doesn't take long t...Read more