He turns back toward the office, leaving the sound of gloves resuming their rhythm, steady and sharp, like the prelude to something bigger.

But not long after Nakahara closes his office door, the entrance door swings open, and Aki steps into the gym, greeting with her usual cheer.

"Morning everyone! Smells like ambition in here."

Ryoma glances over from the heavy bag and manages a small nod. Aramaki just grunts mid-combo.

Okabe, ever the eager informant, wipes his hands on a towel and blurts, "You heard the news yet? Ryoma and Aramaki got their A-License promotion bouts!"

Aki’s eyes go wide. "Wait... seriously? Already? Who are the opponents."

"Ryoma will fight Ayano. And Aramaki will fight Junpei," Okabe says, smirking confidently.

Aki’s eyes widen. She’d seen this coming in theory, the kind of rumor that floats until it turns real. But she hadn’t expected reality to arrive quite this fast.

But suddenly, the office door swings open. Nakahara steps out, voice slicing clean through the noise.

"Okabe! Did you just announce confidential business to a journalist?"

Okabe freezes, jaw dropping.

"You talked too much," Nakahara snaps. "This isn’t public yet. Not until the commission makes their statement."

Aki lifts both hands in mock surrender, though her grin lingers.

"So... it’s true then?"

Nakahara exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. But it’s not official yet. You keep that camera off and your mouth shut until they release it. Understood?"

"Ah... of, of course," Aki says, smiling in that way that convinces no one. "I’m just... happy for them. Really."

Nakahara can’t say a word anymore, and is back inside by closing the door with a huge slam.

That should be enough, but Aki’s eyes still sparkle, fishing for one more crumb. But before she can push, the gym door opens again.

Reika steps inside, looking hesitant, almost shrinking under the weight of the sudden quiet.

Okabe spots her first. His tone drops cold. "What are you doing here? Thought you’d had enough after leaking that video."

Reika’s hands twist together, and then she bows deeply.

"I came to apologize," she says, voice trembling. "I didn’t realize what I’d done. I’m sorry. Truly."

Okabe snorts. "That doesn’t excuse your disrespect..."

"Enough, Okabe," Ryoma says, cutting in calmly. "She did it out of ignorance."

Okabe frowns, turning. "Ignorance or not, she treated this place like clickbait. She upload our secret drills in her social media for her own popularity."

"It doesn’t matter anymore," Ryoma replies. "I’m in a different class now. That secret drill has nothing to do with my next fight."

Okabe doesn’t answer, but the silence says he disagrees. Then Ryohei elbows him lightly.

"Man, you hold grudges longer than the old man holds mitts."

A small ripple of laughter breaks through, loosening the air. Reika exhales, shoulders dropping just slightly.

Okabe still looks angry, but she doesn’t care. What matters is Ryoma, and his forgiveness is more than enough to make her relief.

***

Inside the office, Nakahara picks up the phone again. Hiroshi watches from across the desk, pretending to focus on a stack of schedules but clearly listening. He pretends not to eavesdrop but doing a terrible job of it.

"Yes, this is Nakahara again."

[Ah, Nakahara-san. Glad to hear back from you.]

"I’ve discussed it with my fighters. But before I give our answer, I need to hear about the fight purses first."

[So, about the purses...]

"Go on."

[For the undercard bout, Aramaki versus Junpei Teshima, the winner’s purse will be ¥400,000. The loser receives 70% of that amount.]

"Fair enough," Nakahara says, jotting notes with his pen. "And the main event?"

[For Takeda versus Kobayashi, the purse is ¥700,000 for the winner. Loser also receives 70%.]

The pen stops mid-scribble. Nakahara glances at Hiroshi, looking unimpressed.

"Seven hundred?" he squints.

[That’s the standard rate for a Lightweight A-License promotion match, Nakahara-san.]

"Standard, huh." He leans back, tone still polite but sharper. "You’re really calling this a standard fight?"

A short silence lingers from the line. Hiroshi glances up, looks uneasy.

"I know what this matchup is," Nakahara continues. "The MVP calling out my fighter on national broadcast? You’ll sell out every seat before posters even go up. That’s not standard. That’s business."

[We’re aware of the attention, but this is still classified as a promotional bout, not a commercial event.]

"Then reclassify it," Nakahara snaps, before softening his tone. "Look, just raise the main event purse to one million. That’s fair for both fighters."

Another long silence occurs, the kind that stretches. Hiroshi’s hand tightens on the desk.

[One million?]

"You heard me." Nakahara’s voice drops lower. "You and I both know they’re already Class-A level. If I wanted, I could arrange this fight myself, sell it off, and keep the full gate. But you people decide to brand it as an A-License test so you can keep control."

[That’s not...]

"Don’t play dumb with me. You want the hype, the ticket sales, and the headlines. But you’re paying like it’s a sparring exhibition. You really think no one notices? Everyone in this business knows what you’re doing."

There’s a pause. Then, finally...

[I’ll need to bring this up with the board, Nakahara-san.]

"Do that."

[Please wait three business days for our response.]

"I’ll be here."

The line clicks.

Nakahara sets the receiver down carefully, exhales through his nose, and mutters under his breath.

"Let’s see who’s bluffing who."

"You really pushed them," Hiroshi says, looking so scared. "Asking for a million yen? What if they pull out entirely?"

Nakahara snorts, sliding his phone onto the desk. "They won’t. You know why?"

Hiroshi frowns. "Because you think they can’t afford to cancel?"

"No." Nakahara grabs his cigarette case, flips it open, but doesn’t light one, just lets it rest between his fingers like punctuation. "Because this whole ’A-License test’ thing is a front. The commission’s not testing anyone. They’re selling a fight. That’s all this is."

Hiroshi still looks lost, so Nakahara keeps going, voice gaining that low rhythm of someone explaining the obvious to a rookie.

"In Japanese boxing... hell, in every sanctioning body, these ’promotion bouts’ are the oldest trick in the book. They slap an official reason on what’s really a business move. Gives them control over the date, the venue, and most importantly, the purse. It’s how they dodge paying full Class-A rates while still cashing in on a headline matchup."

Hiroshi rubs his neck. "But Ryoma needs this fight. What if they think we’re being difficult? We could lose our spot..."

Nakahara cuts him off with a flat laugh. "That’s what they want you to think. They want us scared to lose the offer so we’ll take whatever scraps they throw. You don’t get it yet. Ryoma isn’t some nameless rookie anymore. Ayano’s challenge made this fight gold. We’re not the ones begging for a slot. We are the main show."

Hiroshi hesitates, still uneasy. "You really think they’ll go higher?"

"I don’t care if they don’t," Nakahara says, finally lighting the cigarette, exhaling slow. "What matters is they know we won’t bow. How we act now decides how they treat us later. With Ryoma, we can’t play the small-time gym anymore. They want to sell the hype? Fine. But they have to pay us like part of the main card, not a charity match."

He takes another drag, a small grin cutting through the smoke. "If they want a circus, I’ll make sure our lions get fed first."