Meanwhile, that van with the Aqualis logo moves through the winter streets of Tokyo at a steady pace, its windows fogging slightly as traffic thickens near the afternoon rush. Kenta drives in silence, following directions from memory, while Nakahara sits beside him with a folder resting on his lap.
Nakahara does not open the folder. He already knows what is inside. He knows the names, the capacities, and the numbers that refuse to line up cleanly.
He has no contact list for major arenas. His gym has never operated at this scale before. When he booked venues in the past, he dealt with people he could call directly. This time, the only option left to him is to show up in person and ask.
They begin with the smallest place that still makes sense.
Arena Tachikawa Tachihi stands modern and compact against the gray sky, its structure clean and efficient.
