Even during shadowboxing, Ryoma often loses momentum midway. Nakahara watches him slow to a halt before the mirror, silent, eyes fixed on his own reflection.

After a long pause, Ryoma's hands move again, two sharp jabs, then stop once more. He stands there, thinking. Sometimes he shakes his head, half-crouches, straightens again, like someone arguing with himself.

"I could bait here…" he mutters. Then a sigh. "No, he wouldn't fall for that. He's too experienced."

He resumes bouncing lightly, throws a few probing jabs, drops his guard, stutters a feint, then fires a cross as if countering an invisible punch.

Then the voice in his head, the system, cuts in.

<< What if, not matter what you do, he's already decided not to take the bait? He's a flicker specialist, not like Renji, but the cautious type, like Junpei. He never risks unless he's sure. And now that he's heavier, even his lefts can hurt. >>

<< He'll drag it out, wait for you to tire. Or lure you in, then counter. >>

The thing is, that's the exact approach Ryoma once took, flickers, patience, and the Philly Shell, things he'd borrowed from Junpei during the Rookie Tournament.

But Sekino was no rookie. Years of refinement made his version complete.

Ryoma has gone over Sekino's old fights again and again, yet he knows it won't be enough. A man gaining weight after moving up class will also gain options, and Sekino's strategy might evolve with it.

"I need to make him engage," Ryoma mutters, frowning. "Force him into it."

<< Or copy him. Not his style, but the rhythm. If he doesn't engage, don't engage. If he circles away, go the opposite way. >>

"No. The fans won't like that."

<< Yes, they will boo. Both of you. >>

"But what if he doesn't throw a punch, and I don't punch either. No one will throw a punch, and the ref will call it."

<< Of course. But remember… this is their event. They're the ones who wanted this fight, not you. They're the ones who wanted to 'teach' you a lesson. >>

Ryoma's brows lift slightly, a flicker of realization crossing his face.

<< You don't need to provoke him. He's already provoked. This fight is the result of a provocation. >>

Finally, a quiet breath leaves him.

Ryoma moves again, sharper this time, rolling, shifting stances, stepping in and out with purpose, but throwing few punches.

Meanwhile, Nakahara's still narrowing his eyes from across the gym, and now muttering under his breath.

"…What the hell is that kid doing? Is he high or something?"

***

June 3rd, 2016, Weigh-In Day

Morning light cuts through the blinds of Korakuen Hall's conference room, flashing off cameras and steel scales. Six bouts are scheduled for tomorrow, twelve fighters standing in queue, but all eyes drift toward only one pair: Ryoma Takeda and Sekino Yasinobu.

Ryoma stands with Nakahara Gym's small crew: Nakahara, Hiroshi, Sera, and Ryohei. Their corner feels quiet, almost swallowed by the buzz from Minato Bayside Gym across the room.

Yuichi Sōda sits motionless at the corner table, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Sekino waits in silence, calm and composed, his hoodie half-zipped as if even this weigh-in is just another checkpoint.

The only noise from Minato's side comes from the two youngest, Tsutomu and Kobo, who can't seem to keep their voices down.

"You catch the latest One Piece chapter?" Tsutomu says, half-laughing. "That face Sanji made when Pudding tricked him. Man… I almost felt bad."

Kobo snorts. "Yeah, almost. Guy looked pathetic, though. Crying over a woman like that? What a joke."

Tsutomu grins. "Some people just don't learn, huh? They think the world's on their side till it hits back."

Their laughter spills faintly through the room, the kind that isn't loud enough to get scolded, but sharp enough to grate.

Just a year ago, they were still high schoolers, the same two who once pretended to join Nakahara Gym just to spy on Ryoma before the Rookie Tournament. Now they wear Minato Bayside tracksuits with pride, no longer boys but professionals.

Tsutomu has just earned his B-license, set for his first six-rounder tomorrow. Kobo, however, is already ahead. He secured his A-license back in January. His frame has grown for the last year, but they fill him up more with fat than muscle to fight for Super Lightweight.

And now he is scheduled for his first ten-round bout against none other than Ryohei.

The bitter part? Minato Bayside only informed Nakahara about this match five days ago, claiming they'd struggled to find Ryohei an opponent.

But everyone in Nakahara's camp knows better. It's a setup, a deliberate move to keep Ryohei from having enough time to prepare.

And Nakahara, despite knowing, didn't protest. He couldn't afford to. He needed this fight for Ryohei, no matter how unfair the terms.

Now the two youngsters whisper and chuckle between themselves, loud enough for the words to carry.

Kobo grins. "Yeah, and that one-legged chef guy… what's his name again? Zeff? The old man who saved him by cutting off his own leg?"

"Right, Zeff." Tsutomu snickers. "Guess loyalty makes people do pathetic things sometimes."

Kobo's eyes flick briefly toward Ryohei and Nakahara's side. "Some guys just can't live without their old man, huh?"

"Like some old man here," Tsutomu says with a smirk, "couldn't get his boys on the card without begging."

Ryohei hears it, and his body stiffens. He knows exactly what they're talking about. It's about his own fight, added only after Nakahara negotiated hard to make it part of this event.

And now they're using it to mock him and the old man.

Ryohei's fists clench, knuckles whitening. But before he can spit back, Hiroshi's hand presses down on his shoulder.

"Not here," Hiroshi says quietly.

Ryohei exhales through his teeth, swallowing the anger.

Mita Shiki, the former Japanese Champion, one of the few in Minato's camp who still carries some dignity, finally speaks up.

"That's enough. You're pros now. Learn when to shut your mouths."

Kobo and Tsutomu fall silent, though Tsutomu still wears a faint smirk.

Ryoma just watches from beneath his hood, still and silent, though there's a sharp glint beneath his calm, the kind that says he's filing every insult away for later.

Tsutomu and Kobo lean back, proud of the little stir they've caused.

Nakahara doesn't look their way. But the faint tightening in his jaw gives him away.

"You know them?" Sera asks under his breath.

Nakahara nods faintly. "Old ghosts," he murmurs. "They just never rest."

***

After enduring the youngsters' rambling for a while, the official finally calls Ryohei's name. He steps onto the scale, and nods, about two hundred grams under the limit.

Then comes Ryoma's turn. He strips down, steps up, and the numbers flash steady. He's lean, light, but right at the edge.

"Ryoma Takeda, 61.1 Kg. Clear!"

A few reporters murmur, looking impressed by his sharp conditioning. But once Sekino pulls off his hoodie and clothes, it immediately steals their attention.

Under the harsh lights, Sekino's body tells a different story. He's changed, looks heavier lines around the neck, denser muscles through the thighs and calves.

Ryoma sees it all, the details he's been waiting for.

[System Scan — New Data Acquired]

Target: Sekino Yasinobu

Neck density: +12% — reinforced to withstand impact; countermeasure against your head-hunter tendencies.

Thigh–calf balance: recalibrated for static stability, optimized for taking and returning punishment.

Upper-back torque strength: enhanced — built for body-shot power and sustained pressure.

Summary: Stamina drain strategy detected.

***

Ryoma narrows his eyes. One thought comes to his mind: Sekino might not be planning to just run this time.

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