When the latest clip ends, Shiki exhales softly. "The kid is good, I must say," he admits, arms crossed. "Sorry to say this, but Japan is right to pin their hope on him. With his age, he could carry the flag on the world stage for a decade."

Tsuchida scoffs under his breath. "Maybe. But his attitude’s nothing to be proud of. Almost every fight, he humiliates his opponent just to stir hype."

Shiki doesn’t argue right away. He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

"Or maybe he’s just that good. Maybe his opponents can’t help but get humiliated. He fights like a man who carries a nation’s expectation. For that kind of pressure, maybe he has no choice but to show everything he could do."

Sōda stays quiet, watching Ryoma’s frozen face on the monitor, that faint knowing smirk after the knockout.

He doesn’t deny the truth. He’s not blind, and deep down, he never truly hates Ryoma. He knows Kanzaki had his own faults, his own pride that led him into that storm.

Everything he said earlier to the journalists, the contempt and the barbs, was all for business, for hype to sell tickets.

But still, Ryoma isn’t his boxer.

"We’re not here to admire the kid," Sōda says finally, voice low. "We’re here to find a way to beat him."

The room falls quiet. Tsuchida and Shiki glance at each other, both knowing how hard that task really is.

Then, after a long pause, Shiki speaks again.

"Maybe it’s not about weakness," he says. "Maybe it’s about what we can exploit."

Sōda’s brow lifts slightly. "Go on."

"He’s good," Shiki continues, "but still young. In every fight, he’s too eager. Too aggressive. He always wants to end it fast. He even changes styles just to make it happen. Maybe he’s afraid of letting a fight drag too long."

That’s when Tsuchida catches the thread. "You’re talking about stamina management?"

Shiki nods. "Exactly. Once you grow older, you start calculating, counting every punch, measuring your breathing. Sekino’s good at that. But the kid, he fights like every round is his last. We can drag him deep, make it a long exhausting fight, and punish him late. That’s where we break him."

Sōda leans back, thinking. "We can do that. Don’t match his fire. We suffocate it. Make him burn it all too soon. And if we can finally put out his fire, maybe we can light our torch again, and let Sekino carry it."

***

Late afternoon at Nakahara Boxing Gym, journalists are clustering outside the door, hoping to corner Ryoma for a quote, a smirk maybe, anything headline-worthy.

But they won’t find him here.

At least one person knows better, Aki Fujimori, a friendly journalist who’s covered Ryoma since his amateur days. Right now, she’s with Reika at Takeda Barbershop, where the scent of shampoo and aftershave fills the air.

Around this hour, this is always where Ryoma can be found, clean, fresh, with apron tied around his waist, helping his mother with the customers.

He stands behind a middle-aged salaryman, comb and scissors in hand, focused on trimming the man’s hair just right, while Aki and Reika sit on the bench behind him, their conversation easy and familiar.

"Shouldn’t you at least try to clear the misunderstanding?" Reika says. "You had a valid reason for what you did to Kanzaki, didn’t you?"

"For what?" Ryoma replies without looking up.

"To clear your image," Reika presses, "to show you’re not as bad as people say."

"It’s normal in this sport," Ryoma exhales. "They need to sell fights. Both fighters, both camps, even the reporters, they all play their part. Isn’t that right, Aki?"

Aki smiles, leaning back, "Pretty much. We don’t always tell the truth, but we don’t exactly lie either. We mix in just enough controversy to make people care. It’s what keeps the machine running."

Ryoma’s mother chuckles softly from the counter as she wipes a pair of scissors.

"Sounds a lot like celebrity gossip to me," she chimes in.

Aki chuckles lightly. "Something like that."

"So my son’s a celebrity now, huh?" Fumiko teases.

Aki grins. "Takeda-san, you really don’t know, do you? Your son’s already more famous than half the local TV personalities. Won’t be long before companies start knocking on your door asking him to endorse their products."

Fumiko just laughs, shaking her head as if it’s the silliest thing she’s ever heard.

Ryoma doesn’t join in. He keeps cutting, calm and focused, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

While his opponent pushes through brutal training, Ryoma’s just... calmly cutting hair. To others it may seem idle. But for him, it’s just another form of control.

***

Before Ryoma even finishes with his customer, Aki’s already checking her watch. It’s not that she’s in a rush, just calculation.

By now, Nakahara Boxing Gym should be quiet. She stands from the bench, stretching lightly, smoothing her skirt.

"Alright, I should get going. Work calls."

Reika looks up. "Already?"

Fumiko glances, mildly surprised. "Leaving so soon, Aki-chan? Haven’t even had dinner yet."

Aki smiles apologetically. "Next time, Takeda-san. I just need a few words from Nakahara-san before he locks himself in that office again."

Fumiko chuckles softly, shaking her head. "That man still works too much."

"That’s what makes him a good coach," Aki says as she waves her goodbye.

Outside, the late afternoon sun spills gold across the quiet street as Aki and Reika slide into Lexus.

As they pass the shopping row, Aki glances out the window toward the gym’s direction. Just as she predicted, the crowd’s gone.

"Coach Nakahara really didn’t let them stay long, huh," she murmurs.

Reika smirks. "Would you, if you were him?"

Aki gives a soft laugh. "No. But that’s why I’m still going."

As they enter the gym, they are welcomed with the rhythmic thump of gloves and the whir of skipping ropes.

In the ring, Ryohei spars with Okabe, the lone B-class boxer still trying to climb up. He’s getting tagged often, but he keeps pressing forward, jaw tight, eyes fierce.

Nakahara watches from ringside, arms folded. His gaze tracks every motion, every pause, every breath.

"Coach Nakahara!" Aki calls with her usual warmth. "Long time no see. Mind if I steal a few minutes?"

Nakahara doesn’t look her way. "Depends on what you’re here for."

Aki laughs softly. "Relax, not here for gossip. Just checking in about Ryoma’s next fight. Everyone’s talking about Sekino’s move up in weight. Feels like the whole city’s waiting."

"They can wait," Nakahara says flatly. "We’re still working."

Aki flicks her recorder on, half habit, half bait. "By the way, you hear JBC’s holding another A-Class promotional test this month? End of May, I think. I just got the bulletin this morning."

That catches his ear. He finally turns. "Another test?"

"Mm-hm," Aki hums. "They said they’re filling the bracket for the A-Class tournament. Want a bigger draw this year."

Okabe hears it, his guard drops. And suddenly, he eats a left hook but refuses to back off.

Nakahara’s no longer watching their spar, already deep in thought.

"End of May..." he murmurs, eyes drifting back to the ring.

"Yeah, less than three weeks from now," Aki adds casually. "Not much time to prepare. But for some guys, that’s all they need. One chance."

Nakahara’s expression hardly shifts, but his voice lowers, steady. "Three weeks, huh..."

Aki smiles knowingly. "Best time to give Okabe his shot, don’t you think?"