After a few days with the new routine, Ryoma wakes in the morning with a stiff grunt, every muscle below his ribs protesting. His thighs ache with a deep sour throb, and his midsection feels like someone stored a sack of bricks under his skin.

"Damn you, Okabe…" He exhales sharply. "Enjoying yourself too much."

Still, soreness never stopped him before. After splashing water on his face and tugging on his running gear, he steps outside for a long stretch beneath the pale pre-dawn sky.

The air is cool, the world still asleep. His body complains with every bend and twist.

Normally he'd head to the Tama River, but the thought of that distance makes his legs twitch in protest.

"Not today."

He settles for a light jog around the neighborhood blocks instead, steady, simple loops just to get the blood moving.

With each stride, the soreness loosens, but not by much.

On his way back, he passes the gym. But he isn't planning to go in. It's far too early, the sun still hiding behind the horizon with only a thin glow bleeding upward.

But then he notices the lights, they're still on.

That alone is strange. What worries him more is the electric bike parked in the exact same spot it was yesterday when he left.

Ryoma mutters under his breath, "Don't tell me he didn't go home…"

He tries the door. And it's unlocked.

"Morning," he calls quietly as he steps inside.

Only silence answers.

The place is empty. Nakahara's office glows faintly, the door is wide open.

Ryoma stops at the threshold, and see Nakahara is slumped in his chair, arms folded loosely, head drooped forward. Fast asleep.

The phone receiver lies on the desk beside him, not on its cradle.

Ryoma sighs. "Old man… seriously?"

Ryoma steps closer, careful not to startle him. But Nakahara jerks awake anyway, eyes snapping open. His hand shoots out and grabs the phone receiver like it's a makeshift hammer, arm raised defensively.

And then he freezes, blinking hard.

"Oh… kid. You're here."

Recognition finally settles in. Nakahara lowers the receiver, wipes the nearly dried drool from his chin with the back of his hand, and then squints at the wall clock.

"What time…?"

"Still dawn," Ryoma says, voice tightening. "Coach, you didn't go home again?"

Nakahara clicks the receiver back into its cradle with a dull plastic sound.

"Still a lot of work left. Couldn't leave it."

Ryoma frowns deeper. "You need rest, Coach. What if something happens to you? Everything you've built so far will all fall apart."

Nakahara waves a lazy hand, standing up from the chair with a groan that suggests the opposite of fine.

"I already rested," he mutters. "I'll be alright."

He steps past Ryoma toward the door, posture stiff but determined.

"Now let me wash my face first…" he murmurs.

***

Ryoma stays a moment longer, letting the quiet settle around him. His eyes drift to Nakahara's desk. It's a battlefield of papers, schedules, notes, and half-scribbled adjustments.

But one sheet in particular catches his attention: the card list for the August event. He steps closer and squints. Finally, every slot is filled.

Ryoma exhales in relief. Aramaki's opponent is listed: Yoshiya Hiroyuki, Kobe Harbor Boxing Gym.

"The same guy I was supposed to meet in the All-Japan Rookie Final", Ryoma thinks, brushing a thumb over the name.

There are also two rookie bouts open the event, all C-class fighters. He spots two names from Murakami Boxing Gym, the very gym Aramaki started in.

Coach really is trying to throw them a bone…

And then, a sudden throat-clearing makes Ryoma turn.

Nakahara stands in the doorway, hair damp from washed-up sleep, eyes still half-dazed.

"So you filled all the cards already," Ryoma says.

"Yeah," Nakahara answers lazily, rubbing his temple. "Still got a few things I need to…"

"Do it later," Ryoma cuts in.

Before the old man can object, Ryoma reaches over, snatches the keys to the electric bike, grabs Nakahara's jacket off the hanger, and throws it onto him in one smooth motion.

"Go home. Not just to shower. Rest."

"Kid, I still have…"

Ryoma grabs his arm, turns him toward the exit, and marches him out.

"Rest," he repeats. "Or I'm telling Sera to confiscate your desk chair."

Ryoma closes the gym door behind him and locks it from the inside.

Nakahara sighs in defeat, shoulders slumping. He rubs the back of his neck, yawns once, massive and unhidden, then trudges to his bike.

He glances back once, resigned, and then pushes off and rides away into the pale morning.

Once Nakahara disappears down the street, Ryoma waits a moment longer, just to be sure.

Only when the old man's electric bike vanishes around the corner does he step outside, lock the gym door behind him, and start toward home.

"Stubborn old man… one day he's gonna collapse and blame everyone else."

***

An hour later, Ryoma returns, washed, changed, and feeling only slightly less sore than before.

But as he approaches the gym, he stops short.

A small crowd of reporters already lines the front entrance, cameras dangling, notebooks ready. They straighten the moment they spot him.

"Takeda-kun!"

"Good morning! How's your condition lately?"

And then, even before Ryoma says a word, they already swarm him with questions.

"Anyway… How do you feel about the champion avoiding your challenge?"

"Is it true you'll be facing a top-five contender?"

Ryoma ignores the barrage, steps up to the gym door, and slips the key from his pocket.

As he fits it into the lock…

"Ryoma?" Hiroshi turns from the group of reporters, eyebrows rising. "Why do you have the key?"

Ryoma answers without looking up. "Old man didn't go home last night. I seized the key before kicking him out."

Hiroshi's expression freezes, somewhere between alarm and resignation.

"Ah… I see."

A few reporters glance at each other, confused.

Then one of them, Tanaka, familiar from previous interviews, steps forward. "Ryoma… Coach Nakahara called us here this morning. He said he wanted to announce your next fight."

Ryoma stops mid-turn, squints, and then slowly pivots back toward Tanaka.

"…He did what?"

Before Tanaka can say more, the faint whir of an electric motor drifts up the street.

Everyone turns.

Nakahara rides into view on his electric bike, looking surprisingly fresh, washed face, clean shirt, hair combed back as if he never spent the night slumped over a desk.

He brakes to a stop right in front of the crowd. And Ryoma's eye twitches with annoyance.

"You're back already?" he snaps. "Didn't I tell you to get some rest?"

Nakahara climbs off the bike with a lazy grunt, waving him off.

"Don't you see them? I called them here. How am I supposed to sleep now, stupid?"

A few reporters smile; others stifle small laughs at the sight; a rookie openly scolding his own coach, and the old coach treating it like nothing more than morning weather.

It's unpolished, blunt, and strangely warm. But to their eyes, they see a bond obvious to everyone watching.

Nakahara steps forward, clearing his throat once. "All right, let's start. Thank you for coming this early."

The reporters enter the gym, and raise their phones and notebooks.

"Our gym will hold an event on August 20th," Nakahara announces. "Venue will be Ota Gym, and the full card is now confirmed."

He lifts a prepared sheet of paper.

"Main Event: Ryoma Takeda (Nakahara Boxing Gym) vs. Masuda Kokushi (Kurose Boxing Club)."

The shutters click rapidly.

"For the undercard," he continues, "Ten rounds: Kenta Moriyama (Nakahara Boxing Gym) vs. Park Hyun-seok, ranked fourteen in the Korean Welterweight division.

Ten rounds: Tatsuki Aramaki (Nakahara Boxing Gym) vs. Yoshiya Hiroyuki (Kobe Harbor Boxing Gym).

Four rounds: Mino Anzai (Murakami Boxing Gym) vs. Ueno Takauji (Shibuya Wolf Boxing Gym).

Four rounds: Ishihara Iso (Murakami Boxing Gym) vs. Nishida Kazuhiro (Kawasaki North Star Boxing Gym)."

"Everything on this card has already been approved by the Commission."

Nakahara folds the paper, tucks it under his arm.

"Regarding Park Hyun-seok, his team completed all the required documents, and we've assisted in clearing the JBC procedures for an overseas fighter. They're hoping this appearance will give him solid visibility here in Japan.

That's all for today. We'll release posters and broadcast details once they're finalized. Thank you."

The reporters surge with follow-up questions, but the core announcement is already out.

The event is real. The matches are set. The stage is chosen.

And with that, Nakahara's August card is officially locked in.

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