June 27th, 2016 — Late Morning

The gym door slides open with a sharp clatter, and Hiroshi strides in, a folded set of papers tucked under his arm. Sweat still clings to his temples. He must have just rushed back from the JBC headquarters.

"Alright," he announces, heading straight for the bulletin board.

He smooths out the two brochures and pins them up; one labeled Featherweight, the other Super Lightweight, and then circles two names in red marker with confident strokes.

"Okabe. Ryohei. These are yours."

Okabe and Ryohei shuffle closer, eyes widening as they see their names printed officially for the first time. Then they look at the names across from theirs:

Featherweight:

Takuya Ishimine vs. Kazuma Okabe

Super Lightweight:

Ryohei Yamada vs. Kazuma Arata

Okabe whistles. "Ishimine… I've heard that name before."

Ryohei cracks a grin. "Arata, huh? Good. I wanted someone who doesn't run."

"I'll go dig up their past fights," Hiroshi says, already heading out again. "Old DVDs, JBC archives, whatever I can get. You two better start studying. Their habits, rhythm, weaknesses… everything counts at this stage."

But Ryohei is already gone, bolting to his gym bag. "DVDs? Forget that. Everything's online nowadays."

He whips out his phone, thumbs flying as he searches for "Kazuma Arata fight highlight." His face inches from the screen, totally absorbed.

Okabe leans over his shoulder. "Hey, hey… look mine up too!"

Ryohei nudges him away. "Use your own damn phone."

"I DON'T HAVE ONE!" Okabe shoots back.

Ryohei ignores him, already scrolling through a fight replay.

Okabe turns desperately to the only other person nearby, Ryoma, moving in quiet relentless pendulum steps across the gym floor.

"Hey, Ryoma! Lend me your phone!"

Ryoma doesn't break rhythm, doesn't even look up. He just points with his chin toward a bench.

"Back pocket of my bag."

Okabe dashes over, rummaging through Ryoma's old sports backpack. "Password?"

"Don't have one," Ryoma answers, slipping seamlessly from pendulum steps into a sharp shift forward. "Nothing in there worth hiding."

Okabe powers it on immediately, relieved.

Ryohei doesn't even glance up, already muttering things like "Arata drops his right when he pivots… interesting."

The gym feels alive again, with anticipation.

***

But not everyone gets to share the excitement. Ryoma's opponent still hasn't been decided. And it's the same for Aramaki and Kenta. Three names, three empty slots, three headaches waiting for one worn-down coach.

Inside the office, Nakahara is already hunched over his desk, phone pressed between shoulder and cheek, papers scattered everywhere like fallen leaves.

His voice sounds rough, exhausted, but persistent. "Yes, yes… Kirizume-san, I understand. But… Serrano. Is he available for August?"

There's a pause, a long one.

Then a calm voice crackles through the receiver.

[Serrano is entering the Class-A tournament. Didn't you know?]

Nakahara sighs silently. "Is that so…?"

The man on the other side chuckles.

[If this is for Ryoma Takeda, is the kid back to Super Feather again?]

"No," Nakahara mutters. "It's for Aramaki."

[Aramaki isn't entering the A-class tournament?]

"No," Nakahara answers shortly, too tired to explain why.

Kirizume clicks his tongue, almost regretful.

[Shame. Serrano vs Aramaki would've drawn a great crowd. But he's tied up now. Maybe next time.]

Nakahara forces out a polite goodbye, ends the call, and immediately presses his fingers against his forehead. The room feels too small, his bones too heavy.

He's been calling nonstop for days; Aramaki, Kenta, and especially Ryoma. But Ryoma's case is the hardest.

The original plan had been simple: challenge the highest-ranked fighters available.

But the reality?

No.1 is already scheduled for the title match.

No.2 demanded one million yen, laughable for their budget.

No.3 just fought last month and isn't medically cleared.

No.4 has already signed to fight Shimamura Suzuki, Nakahara's former disciple.

And No.5, Masuda Kokushi, told him they needed "time to consider."

And now, Nakahara finds himself staring at the phone, tempted to call Kokushi's camp again, even if it makes him look desperate.

Before he can press any number, the phone buzzes violently, an incoming call. Nakahara hesitates, then picks up.

"Moshi-moshi? Kenji Nakahara speaking."

A rapid stream of English assaults him immediately. Syllables bounce off his ear faster than his brain can react.

He freezes. His shoulders stiffen.

"Ah… wa-waito, waito, please waito…"

He covers the receiver with his palm and yells:

"Sera! Sera! Come quick!"

Seconds later, Sera bursts into the office, wiping sweat off his chin.

"Yes?"

"English!" Nakahara hisses, shoving the phone toward him. "Loudspeaker!"

Sera switches it on. And then, a male voice fills the office, accented and slightly breathless:

"…hello? Ah, can you hear me now? This is Yun Tae-hwan, from Han River Boxing Club. I was told your gym is looking for a welterweight opponent for August event? We have a boxer… Park Hyun-seok. He is currently ranked fourteen in Korean Welterweight. Not yet ranked in OPBF, but our camp wants him to enter that scene. Exposure in the oriental region is important for us."

Sera exchanges a surprised look with Nakahara.

"Yes," Sera answers cautiously. "We are considering options. Who is calling, exactly?"

"Yun Tae-hwan," the man repeats. "We heard you might be searching for Class-A opponent. Your boxer… Kenta Moriyama, yes? We are interested in this match."

Sera glances at Nakahara again. And Nakahara whispers, "Ask about conditions. Purse. Scheduling."

Sera nods and returns to the phone.

"What terms is your camp expecting? And is your medical clearance current?"

"Clear, yes," the man replies. "As for purse… we request 280,000 yen. Travel cost negotiable. But we want fight to be six rounds. And exposure. Broadcast if possible."

Nakahara exhales quietly. Now he feels NSN's involvement suddenly becomes even more important.

Sera wraps up the conversation smoothly, promising to call back once they finalize internal plans.

When the line finally clicks off, the office falls silent.

Sera lowers the phone with both hands, as if it were something fragile. For a moment neither of them speaks. The air feels charged, thin and sharp, like the quiet after lightning hits nearby.

A call from abroad.

Finally.

They had built the entire August event as a stepping stone for Ryoma; one fight, one more clean win, to nudge his ranking up before challenging for OPBF Lightweight.

Every detail, every favor pulled, every negotiation with NSN was meant to push him into the continental spotlight.

But this… this was unexpected good fortune.

A Korean welterweight ranked 14, asking them for a slot on the undercard. If they secure Park Hyun-seok versus Kenta, NSN will almost certainly push the broadcast beyond Japan.

Korea at least. Maybe Taiwan. Maybe more. The oriental market opens wider when there's cross-border blood on the card.

Nakahara leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like someone who just survived a small storm, yet discovered a treasure buried under the debris.

He shifts, brows knitting, some new thought tugging at him from the back of his mind.

"…wait."

Sera looks up. "What?"

"How did they get this information?" Nakahara mutters, sitting forward now, elbows on his knees. "About us looking for a welterweight? About August?"

Sera blinks. Then shrugs. "I… didn't tell anyone."

They fall into an uneasy silence, each replaying the past few days, the phone calls, the meetings, the people who might have overheard something.

And it doesn't take long before the same name surfaces for both of them.

Sera straightens slightly. "Could it be…"

"There's no mistaking it," Nakahara finishes. "It must be Logan Rhodes. I offered him zero fee for broadcast rights."

"What?" Sera's voice jumps an octave. "You gave them for free?"

Nakahara turns his head slowly, glaring at him, but a crooked grin tugs at one corner of his mouth, the look of a man both guilty and pleased with himself.

"Couldn't help it. That was the price to get him fully on board."

The grin sharpens.

"And now look… if Logan wants to sell this thing overseas, he needs someone foreign on the card. That man really knows how to run the business."

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