The hallway outside Nakahara’s room is washed in sterile white light. Nobody speaks at first.

Ryoma looks down on the floor. Ryohei drags a hand down his face. And Okabe... he can’t lift his eyes at all.

The doctor’s warning still hangs like a weight over all of them.

And then, Okabe breaks the silence first, voice small but audible.

"...My fight is in three days," he mutters. "What the hell am I supposed to..."

Suddenly, Ryoma grabs him by the collar before he can finish.

"Are you serious right now?" he snaps, shoving him back against the wall. "The coach is lying in a hospital bed, and all you’re worried about is your damn fight?"

Okabe freezes, eyes widening, guilt flickering across his face, but only for a second before the defensiveness kicks in.

"What!? What do you want me to say!?" he fires back, batting Ryoma’s hand away. "This isn’t on me! I just asked for mitts!"

Ryoma steps closer. "You knew he was exhausted."

"And you didn’t?" Okabe shoots back, voice rising. "Huh!? Who the hell pushed him this far in the first place?"

Ryoma’s jaw tightens, but Okabe doesn’t stop.

"You’re the one who made him do the impossible! Forcing a title shot in a year? Acting like the whole damn world owes you something just because you beat six rookies in a row? ’I want a belt! I want a contender! I want a ranked fighter!’"

He jabs a finger toward Ryoma’s chest.

"You ever looked at the schedule he pulled to make that happen? It’s insane, damn it! It’s packed tighter than anything he’s done in years. And WHO do you think he did all that for?"

Ryoma falters, breath catching in his throat. He wants to argue, wants to snap back, but no words come. The fight drains out of him, leaving only a tight knot in his chest. And now, even he can feel the guilt settling in.

Ryohei steps between them before either can push further, eyes burning with anger and fear.

"That’s enough," he growls. "Both of you."

But the air stays tense, heavy, and painfully honest. Because every word Okabe said, cruel as it sounded, carried a truth none of them wanted to face.

Nakahara had collapsed trying to carry all of them. And Ryoma’s ambitions were part of that weight.

***

Three days later...

July 2nd, 2016, the opening day of the Class-A Tournament. Yet Nakahara remains confined to a hospital bed.

The treatment room is quiet except for Nakahara’s irritated breathing. His condition has improved, color back in his face, hands steadier, but the doctors still refuse to discharge him.

He sits upright in the bed with an expression that is half-rested, half-annoyed. Kenta sits on the sofa by the window, arms crossed like a guard assigned to keep him from escaping.

Aramaki arrives with Kaori and their daughter. Their little girl clings shyly to her mother’s sleeve before Kaori gently nudges her forward to greet Nakahara.

"You look better, Coach," Aramaki says with a relieved smile.

"I am better," Nakahara grumbles. "Kenta, go tell the doctors I’m fine to leave. I should be at Korakuen right now. Those idiots need their Second."

Kenta doesn’t even look up. "Not happening."

Nakahara clicks his tongue. "Damn brat... I said I’m fine."

Aramaki tries to soothe him. "Coach... You shouldn’t push yourself. If you collapse again, out event for August could just canceled."

Kaori chimes in with a soft laugh, hands resting on her daughter’s shoulders. "Take the chance to enjoy being an old man for once, Nakahara-san. You’re lucky Kenta’s here to keep you from sneaking out." She smiles knowingly. "Most trainers your age would love a few days off."

Nakahara exhales sharply, but doesn’t snap back. His eyes soften for a moment.

Still, his voice carries guilt. "I should be there. Okabe and Ryohei... they need someone to keep their heads straight."

Silence drifts through the room for a moment as he stares down at his hands.

"I’ve noticed it lately," he says quietly. "Ryohei... there’s no way a man like him could just accept losing to Ryoma. And Okabe... he’s always been like that. Gets frustrated too easily. Loses hope just as fast. They’ve been with me for years, and I let them rot in the same place for too long."

Kenta looks over, a bit startled by the honesty. Nakahara lets out a weak sigh and turns his gaze toward him.

"And you... if you’d joined another gym, you’d already be a top-rank fighter by now. I’ve held you back too."

Kenta sits up straighter and shakes his head. "No gym would’ve accepted me anyway. Not with my parents interfering all the time."

Then a small smile tugs at his lips.

"And Coach, you’re wrong," he adds. "Okabe and Ryohei are different now. And you brought Sera-san in, someone who can actually push them. They’re improving."

He tightens his fists with confidence. "Believe in them. They might surprise you today. They might even win the Class-A Tournament."

Nakahara looks at him long and quietly, pride, guilt, and something like hope flickering behind his tired eyes.

Silence stretches. But Nakahara’s face is clouded with anxiety again. And this time, It’s clear this isn’t just about Okabe and Ryohei, because something else has been eating him from withing.

Finally, after a long pause, Nakahara exhales shakily, like he’s letting go of something he’s kept buried.

"...Lately," he begins, voice low, "I’ve been thinking about things I tried not to think about."

Kenta lifts his head. Aramaki subtly straightens. They can sense what’s coming. Nakahara swallows hard, and then finally speaks the words he has told no one except Sera.

"Logan suggested I give Ryoma to a bigger promoter." The sentence leaves him almost like a confession. "He even offered to help find one in America."

The room freezes.

Kaori blinks, confused. "E–eh? Why would you... send Ryoma away? Is someone trying to kick him out?"

Aramaki and Kenta exchange a glance, an alarmed, knowing one. They understand exactly what that means, and what fear sits underneath it.

Nakahara continues, voice thin. "Ryoma... he’s been impatient. And he has every right to be. His ambition is real. His talent is real. I want to help him get where he wants to go."

Then he lifts his hands slightly, as if showing how empty they are.

"But I’m afraid I’ll just keep him stuck... rotting in my small gym, the same way I failed to push the others fast enough."

His voice cracks with a resigned honesty he rarely shows.

"But if I let him go... if Ryoma leaves..."

His eyes drift toward Aramaki, and then Kenta.

"...I don’t know if I can keep the gym alive. You two, Okabe, Ryohei... all the young ones who came in recently... you’ll lose everything."

The admission hangs in the air like a painful truth finally spoken.

For a long moment, no one knows what to say. The room is still, too still, until Kenta finally draws a breath and speaks up.

"Coach... you should tell him." His voice is quiet but firm. "Ryoma deserves to know this. More than any of us."

Aramaki immediately waves a hand, almost dismissive. "No way. Ryoma would just shoot the idea down the second he hears it."

"Even so..." Kenta presses quietly, eyes lowering. "We owe him that explanation."

Aramaki leans back, tone softening but still anchored in practicality. "Think about the timing. The gym’s already hanging by a thread. We’ve got the August event locked in, officially announced... If you dump this on Ryoma right now, the whole place could tip over."

He turns to Coach Nakahara, gaze sharpening. "If you are going to tell him, do it later, after his next fight."