Nakahara's head lifts sharply, eyes widening. He'd been listening with a fragile thread of hope, because Logan had spoken like someone offering solutions, lifelines.

But now, the truth hits him. Logan is nudging him toward selling the fighter he's poured his soul into.

"W-wait," Nakahara says quietly, voice strained but still polite. "I didn't come here to… to throw him away."

Logan raises both hands in a calming gesture. "Not throw him away. I'm talking about giving him a pathway you can't provide from here. I know someone in America, real powerhouse. Someone who can take raw potential and shape it into something global."

Nakahara swallows, throat tight. "Even so… Ryoma trusts this gym. He trusts me. Moving him overseas so suddenly… he might not want that."

"Listen," Logan continues softly, as if smoothing over a wrinkle, "you wouldn't be left behind. I'd make sure you get the best deal for transferring the contract. A deal worthy of the man who discovered him. Something that supports your gym, your fighters, your future."

Nakahara's jaw tightens. "It still feels like I'm giving him away. Like selling him for money?"

Logan shakes his head slowly, eyes warm, voice almost soothing.

"This isn't betrayal, Nakahara-san. It's mercy. For him. And for you. Ryoma needs a bigger world… and you deserve to stop breaking yourself trying to drag him there alone."

The room grows painfully quiet, too quiet. Nakahara lowers his gaze, torn between pride and fear, between the instinct to protect the boy who trusted him, and the possibility that Logan might be right.

Sera shifts slightly on the sofa, discomfort flickering across his face. His fingers curl against his knee, as if he wants to speak up, maybe defend Nakahara, maybe challenge Logan's suggestion.

But he restrains himself. This is between them. He doesn't feel like to disrupt it.

Logan notices the silence stretching thin. He studies Nakahara carefully, reading the tension in the man's lowered shoulders, the quiet turmoil in his gaze.

And when he senses the resistance, deep and instinctive, Logan adjusts immediately. He softens his tone, leaning back instead of forward, easing the pressure like a hand lifted from a wound.

"I'm not saying you should, Nakahara-san," he says gently. "I understand. Truly. You've built something real with that boy. You've earned the right to guide him as far as you believe you can."

Nakahara's breath leaves him slowly, as if relieved that the push has eased. Logan offers a measured smile, still warm, still poised, but no longer pressing.

"You can, and should, try your best. Help him reach whatever potential you believe he has. I won't take that from you."

He lifts a hand slightly, palm open, as if offering the idea rather than insisting on it.

"But… if someday things don't go as planned, if progress stalls, or politics get in the way, or you start feeling the weight again. I want you to reconsider this option."

Nakahara nods faintly, though his brows are still heavy with thought.

Logan continues, gently sealing the moment: "And if you ever need me, or if Ryoma needs a different path, I'll be here. But for now… let's focus on what lies ahead. Let's see how things unfold from here."

Sera exhales quietly, tension easing from his shoulders. And Nakahara, though still weighed by the conversation, lifts his gaze again, steady, determined, and carrying a trace of renewed purpose.

***

The early afternoon sun presses warmly against their backs as Nakahara steers his electric bike through the flow of Tokyo traffic. Sera sits behind him, hands lightly holding the rear grips.

Nakahara doesn't speak, hasn't since they left NSN headquarters.

He came hoping for relief, for solutions. And yes, Logan gave him options, practical, strategic, even generous on the surface.

Yet all Nakahara feels now is a spreading weight in his chest, heavy enough to dull the city's noise into a distant blur.

They slow to a stop at a traffic light. Cars idle, scooters buzz softly beside them, and then the signal turns green.

But Nakahara doesn't move. He sits perfectly still, hands on the handlebars, staring ahead as if the world has gone blank.

Logan's voice still churns in his mind:

Have you ever considered giving Ryoma to a bigger promoter?

This isn't betrayal. It's mercy. For him. And for you.

Behind him, Sera tilts his head with concern.

"Coach? …Coach, it's green," he says, tapping Nakahara's shoulder.

Nakahara startles, jerking slightly as if snapped out of a dream, then opens the throttle and rolls forward again.

Sera adjusts his grip, watching the older man's posture, tense, hunched just slightly, like someone carrying a weight that keeps sinking lower.

He doesn't want to nag him, but if Nakahara stays this lost in thought, they're going to end up in someone's bumper.

So he raises his voice over the wind. "Coach! Don't scare me like that. If you space out any harder, Ryoma's gonna lose you before he even gets his title."

But there's no response. Sera sighs softly, then speaks again, this time more deliberately.

"Ryoma's just turned twenty," he says. "He's had six fights. And look how far he is already. Everything we've been doing? It's working. Step by step. No need to rush to the world stage just because Logan mentioned it."

He feels Nakahara's back shift slightly, just enough to know the words reached him.

"It's not me," Nakahara murmurs. "It's the kid. He's burning up inside, impatient as ever. Maybe that's just what raw talent does. It refuses to wait. And I don't want to fail him."

"Coach… Ryoma trusts you," Sera presses. "More than anyone. You're the one who brought him here. You built him. You don't need to think about giving him up."

There's a long silence. Then, Nakahara's shoulders loosen a little. He lets out a slow exhale, quiet but real.

"…Yeah," he murmurs, voice low and worn. "You're right."

Sera leans back slightly, relieved.

The bike continues down the street, still moving through a world full of pressure and possibilities, but with Nakahara's hands steadier on the handlebars, and the road ahead no longer feeling like something they're facing alone.

***

By the time they return to the gym, the sharp thuds of punches fill the air. Ryoma is at the heavy bag, fists wrapped, driving blow after blow into the leather with far more force than training demands.

His jaw is set, eyes cold, anger simmering under every movement. He's also read the champion camp's comments: calling him a loud kid, not worth the champion's time. And now he's tearing that frustration into the bag.

Nakahara watches quietly. He understands too well what that kind of humiliation feels like. When Ryoma finally stops, sweat dripping from his chin, Nakahara finally steps forward.

"Kid," he calls. "How're the ribs?"

Ryoma barely acknowledges the question. "I heard you went to NSN. So… any news?"

Nakahara nods. "I asked Logan for help. We're adding a condition to the challenge. Our side will take on half the event work. Production, marketing, costs. Make it easier for the champion to accept."

"But even with that," Sera chimes in, "they might still avoid you. Because they know they can't beat you. Losing the belt this soon? They won't risk it."

"That said," Nakahara continues, firmer, "I'm sending the challenge to JBC today. It'll be official."

Some of the tension in Ryoma's shoulders eases, just a little. And then Nakahara puts a hand on his shoulder, warm and gentle.

"Go home and rest. Focus on recovery first. Leave the rest to me."

Ryoma hesitates, then nods and heads out quietly. And Nakahara watches him go, carrying both the hope and the weight of what comes next.

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