The words drop like a weight. The air seems to fold in on itself. Nakahara and Hiroshi freeze, their reflections caught faintly in the glass plaque still gleaming on the table. For a long moment, there’s no sound but the faint ticking of the wall clock.

"Retiring?" Nakahara finally says, almost disbelieving. His voice comes out rough, like he has to clear something from his throat.

Ryoma nods once. "I’ve made up my mind."

Hiroshi leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping to a whisper. "Ryoma, that’s... no, you can’t just... You’re still at your peak. And the gym needs..."

Nakahara gestures with a hand, stopping him. His eyes stay fixed on Ryoma, searching for something, for doubt, hesitation, anything. But Ryoma’s expression doesn’t shift.

And so...

"If that’s your decision," Nakahara says quietly, "I won’t push. It’s a hard one, I know. And not just for you."

The silence that follows feels heavy, a kind of shared exhaustion no one names. Nakahara stands, the chair scraping softly against the floor. He takes a moment to smooth the front of his jacket, as if buying time to find steadier words.

"That’s it, Hiroshi," he finally exhales. "We should go."

Ryoma rises and walks them to the door. The distance from the table to the entryway feels longer than it should. Before they step out, he bows slightly, apologizing.

"I’m sorry, Coach."

Nakahara meets his eyes. "Take care of your mother," he says, his voice almost kind. "And yourself."

The door closes with a soft click, sealing the silence behind it.

Outside, the early afternoon light feels duller somehow. The air has cooled; a leaf brushes past Nakahara’s shoe. Hiroshi walks beside him, face pale, jaw tight.

"Coach," he mutters, "we can’t just let him..."

"I know," Nakahara says quietly. "But he’s not a kid anymore. It’s not just about boxing. It’s about his mother."

He glances back at the old apartment once more before turning away. "I’m disappointed too. But forcing him would break him faster than the ring ever could."

Hiroshi says nothing. His steps drag, heavy and uneven. His eyes stay fixed on the pavement, as if the answer might be hiding there.

They both walk in silence, and then, the scouter’s faint buzz carrying them back through the narrow autumn streets.

"So, Coach, how do you want to split the money?" Hiroshi asks. "It’s not exactly an easy amount to divide evenly."

Coach Nakahara falls silent for a moment before replying. "Give each of them two hundred, but make it three for Kenta. He was with us in the final, remember?"

Hiroshi does a quick count in his head. "That’s nine hundred total, isn’t it?"

"Take it from the gym’s cut," Nakahara says, his voice calm but distant.

***

When they return to the gym, the air is merry with the sound of gloves and skipping ropes. Hiroshi calls Kenta over and leads him into the office. Once inside, he hands him three hundred thousand yen, then slides over another six hundred.

"Three hundred for you," he says, "and the rest, split it between Okabe, Ryohei, and Aramaki. Ryoma wanted them to have it. Said he wouldn’t have won without everyone’s help."

Kenta’s face lights up. "Seriously? Damn, he’s something else."

He hurries out of the office, calling the others over. The four gather by the ring, their laughter echoing through the gym as he hands out the envelopes.

"Guys! Guess what?" Kenta beams, already counting the money. "Our cute kouhai is sharing his prize moment with us."

Ryohei whistles. "He’s already acting like a champ, huh?!"

Okabe grins. "Guess we trained him right."

They joke and tease each other, the room filling with rough but genuine cheer. But when Kenta turns to Aramaki, the man hesitates, holding the money awkwardly.

"I’m not really part of this gym," Aramaki says. "Feels wrong to take it."

Kenta claps a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Don’t start with that. Ryoma said you helped him the most. Go on. Take it."

When Aramaki still looks unsure, Kenta snatches the money back and stuffs it into his pocket.

"Don’t refuse a blessing. You’ve got a family to feed, right?"

Aramaki exhales, half smiling, half defeated.

Off to the side, Satoru the high school kid, not yet pro, watches with a faint wistful grin. He doesn’t expect a share, but the way his eyes drop says enough.

And Okabe notices it, and laughs at him. "Go pro already. You’ll earn your own next time."

Satoru forces a small laugh, embarrassed. But Kenta, catching the look on his face, sighs and reaches into his pocket again. He counts out sixty thousand yen, his own share, and presses it into Satoru’s hand.

"Coach said this is for you guys who aren’t pros yet," he says, smiling faintly. "Give some to Yahiro and Furuse too."

Satoru’s eyes widen, already welled with tears. "Senpai, I can’t..."

"Don’t argue," Kenta says, grinning. "Just train harder next time, and join us as a pro."

The group bursts into another round of laughter, teasing, and backslaps. From the office window, Coach Nakahara watches them quietly. Their joy spreads through the room, but the sound only deepens the weight in his chest.

He should feel proud, but the echo of Ryoma’s words, his decision for retiring, still lingers in his mind. And it isn’t something that will leave him easily.

Then suddenly, Okabe’s voice rings out, loud and full of excitement. "Hey! How about we all visit Ryoma now? His mom’s home from the hospital, right?"

The others light up instantly, agreeing without hesitation. That’s when Nakahara steps out from the office, calling out from the doorway.

"Hey! Where the hell are you all going? Get back to training!"

Ryohei groans playfully. "Come on, Coach! Just a short visit. It’s Ryoma and his mom. We haven’t even seen them since she got discharged."

Okabe adds, more earnestly, "She’s like family to us, Coach. It’s only right we visit."

Nakahara’s voice cuts sharper this time. "And you think crowding her will help her recover?"

Their laughter fades, and their faces fall, look gloomy now, and disappointed.

Nakahara softens slightly. "Hiroshi and I were just there. Honestly, we might’ve done more harm than good. You know why she ended up in the hospital, don’t you? She doesn’t only need rest, but also quiet. Don’t you get that?"

The reminder lands heavy. Slowly, reluctantly, they nod, and drift back to their corners, pulling on gloves again. The earlier cheer is gone. The sound of the bags and the jump ropes resumes, but subdued and lazy.

Nakahara closes the office door. For a long moment, he just stands there, listening to the hollow rhythm of the gym, feeling both proud and utterly hollow.

Hiroshi’s voice cuts through the quiet. "Sooner or later, they’ll find out. You can’t keep this from them forever."

Nakahara doesn’t answer right away. He walks to the glass window behind his desk. His gaze drifts past the rooftops outside, somewhere distant in the horizon.

"They’ll learn eventually," he says at last, his voice steady but weighted. "But not today. For now, let Ryoma breathe. He almost lost his mother, that’s not something a man walks away from easily."

That’s what he says. But part of him still holds onto hope, that Ryoma might change his mind and come back to the gym on his own.