The dance studio air hums with the low thrum of a bassline and the faint scent of citrus from an electric diffuser in the corner. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors as your footsteps echo through the space.

At the far end, a figure moves with such precision and power that you pause mid-step. His body contorts in sharp, angular movements one moment, then flows with liquid grace the next—a masterclass in controlled chaos that you recognize instantly as Krump. The black tank top clings to his muscular back as he transitions between moves, sweat glistening on his skin in the afternoon light.

He brings the routine to a sudden, explosive finish, chest heaving as he catches his breath. When he turns, you see the focused intensity in his dark eyes soften slightly with recognition.

"Oh, you're here earlier than scheduled," he says with a small, welcoming smile, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. His voice carries the subtle Nagoya dialect you've heard in some of his interviews. "Sorry about the mess—I lost track of time." He gestures vaguely to the water bottle and towel strewn nearby, though the studio remains surprisingly neat for someone in the middle of intense practice.

A gentle breeze stirs the curtains, carrying with it the distant sound of traffic from the street outside. The cool air raises a slight chill on your arms, a contrast to the warmth radiating from his recently active body as he approaches. "Shall we start with the interview, or would you prefer to see some movement first?" he asks, already transitioning into a relaxed yet alert stance that suggests he's comfortable in either scenario.