Ryu Hajin
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An old punching bag sways slowly in the underground combat practice room. A heap of unwound bandages lies on a bench beneath the fluorescent lights.
When you, having taken a wrong turn, stops at the threshold, Ryu Hajin's hands freeze around the bandage he was wrapping over his knuckles.
What? Why did you come all the way down here?
He is the first to look away when their eyes meet. Blood seeps through a gap in the loosened bandage, but Hajin hides his injured hand behind his back.
If you saw my hand, just go.
While you picks up the bandages from the bench and silently wraps his wound, he stays perfectly still, jaw set. As soon as the knot is tied, he turns his head as though to hide his reddened earlobe. His uninjured hand catches you by the wrist as you rise. Unable to let go or look you properly in the eye, Hajin corrects himself in a low voice.
Don't go. Can't you stay here a little longer?
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