Upstairs, Renji enters the managerial office without knocking. He pushes the door open with the heel of his hand, shoulders loose, steps unhurried. A tailored suit frames his tall figure, crisp lines catching the light with effortless sharpness.

His presence alone carries the air of someone who belongs in headlines and billboards as much as the ring. He looks untouchable, every inch the star Japan calls its champion.

"What’s wrong, old man?" he says, half a grin tugging his lips. "Why didn’t you just let me spar that gaijin?"

Kirizume sits behind his desk, arms folded. His gaze is calm but heavy, the kind of stare that cuts deeper the longer it lingers.

"Don’t be stupid," he says flatly.

Renji tilts his head, feigning innocence. "What? You scared I might break your little unpolished gem?"

The tease is sharp, but it rolls off his tongue like a joke between friends. He drops into the chair opposite Kirizume’s desk without waiting for permission, sprawling comfortably, smile still fixed.

"Or maybe," he adds, eyes narrowing just a little, "you’re afraid he’d beat me. Like Ryoma did."

That name hangs in the air. Renji lets it breathe, savoring the shift in atmosphere before leaning back.

"I’m telling you," he continues, tone softening, "that kid Ryoma... he’s different. What he did to me a while ago wasn’t a fluke. He’s a monster."

Across the room, Shigemori lounges on a sofa, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, the other resting on his knee. He chuckles softly, shaking his head with faint amusement.

"But he’s just Japanese, like you," Shigemori says. "As much as I want to admit the kid’s talent, his ceiling will never reach Serrano’s. Mixed blood is a gift in itself. Serrano’s still green, but look at him now, already in the Rookie King final with barely a handful of fights. Soon enough, he’ll beat Ryoma Takeda."

Renji’s smile fades. He sits forward, hands clasping his knees. His eyes sharpen.

"Then what am I to you?" he asks quietly. "You think I’m weak just because I’m just Japanese?"

Shigemori’s chuckle dies. He realizes too late the cut of his words, how they’ve landed squarely on Renji’s pride.

"No, no... that’s not what I meant," Shigemori says quickly, shifting tone, trying to smooth it over. "What I mean is..."

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Kirizume cuts in, voice bored, face unmoved. His hand waves the matter away like smoke.

Renji raises an eyebrow, grin returning in a sharper shape. "Oh? You said you wanted to talk about something. What is it? You planning something against Ryoma Takeda again?"

Kirizume exhales a long heavy sigh. "Forget that boy. Serrano will take care of him. Once he loses in the final, his career stalls, and that’s the end of it. Now, what I want to ask you..." his gaze fixes on Renji, unwavering "...how much longer you plan on clinging to that belt."

Silence stretches, thick and deliberate, the weight of Kirizume’s words pressing between them like lead.

Renji leans back in his chair, the grin fading into something closer to suspicion. He already knows where this conversation is headed.

"You’ve run out of challengers here," Kirizume presses. "And you won’t stay young forever. Once, you were the one pushing hardest to compete on the world stage. Have you changed your mind?"

Renji doesn’t answer right away. His jaw flexes, but his tone stays calm. "Let me fight Ryoma first. Only after that will I give up the belt and challenge the world."

Kirizume’s face twists with impatience. "You know that’s impossible. He’s in a different weight class. And he’s just a Class-C fighter. Giving him a shot at a champion like you would be an insult to every other boxer in this country."

Renji tilts his head. "Are you afraid?"

Kirizume’s eyes flash. "Afraid?" The word cracks out of him, sharper than intended.

Renji smirks, lifting one brow. "Funny. You sound like you’re trying to avoid it. What is it? Because he beat me once in sparring?"

***

Outside the office, Serrano freezes mid-step. He was only heading here to give his respects to the boss before leaving the gym. But that one line from Renji, ’because he beat me once in sparring’, snaps his attention like a whip.

Renji... lost?

He’s heard the story of Renji sparring with Ryoma before, but what the gym members told him was the opposite, that Renji came out on top.

Serrano doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. Instead, he edges closer to the door, careful to stay quiet. Ears straining, he listens.

Inside, Kirizume waves the thought off, voice cold. "I already told you. He’s just a Class-C fighter. Your fight with him will never happen. You need to remember your status. You are Japan’s representative."

"Then make it a non-title match," Renji suggests.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Kirizume snaps. "If he’s truly worthy, he’ll rise to your level in time."

Renji leans forward again, his voice sharpening. "When? One year? Two? That’s too long."

"That’s why I said forget it," Kirizume insists, irritation bleeding into his tone. "You can’t waste your years here. Relinquish the belt and move on. Out there are fighters far greater than Ryoma Takeda. And after Serrano beats him, his career will fade."

Renji clicks his tongue. "Tch! Then let’s make a bet. If Ryoma beats Serrano, you let me fight him."

Kirizume’s fist slams the desk. "Are you insane?"

Renji’s grin widens, needling deeper. "Why? You scared your black diamond will lose?"

Shigemori finally cuts in, raising a hand. "Kirizume-san, take the challenge. Let him have the bet. I’m certain Serrano will win."

Kirizume doesn’t answer at first. His gaze drops to the desk, thoughts turning darker. His instincts have never failed him. He knows Serrano’s talent, but there’s something in Ryoma that unsettles him, something raw and unexplainable, something DNA alone can’t replicate it.

And yet...

There are always ways to tilt the scales. He’s done it before. And he knows he can do it again. At last, he lifts his head. His voice is calm, deliberate.

"Fine. I accept. But on one condition: if Serrano wins, you relinquish your belt. You’ll go abroad and challenge the world."

The challenge hangs heavy in the air. Renji doesn’t flinch. His grin sharpens into a blade.

"Deal."

He pushes himself out of the chair, stretches his shoulders, and strolls toward the door without another word.

Outside, Serrano’s heart pounds. He’s caught between retreat and being discovered, but his body refuses to move. The door swings open too soon, and Renji steps out.

For a moment Serrano braces, waiting for the scorn, the warning, the acknowledgment of his eavesdropping.

But nothing comes. Renji doesn’t even glance at him. It’s as if Serrano doesn’t exist. The dismissal cuts deeper than any insult.

Serrano’s jaw clenches, fists curling tight at his sides. His chest burns, not with shame, but fury. It’s a fury at being ignored, at being treated like nothing.

In his mind, the roar of the gym fades away. All he sees is Renji’s back retreating down the hall. All he feels is the fire rising in his chest.

He doesn’t speak. But the vow is already burning inside him. One day, he’ll force Renji to turn around.

One day, he’ll make him acknowledge his name.