Aki can barely sit still. For days she had wrestled with the idea of convincing Ryoma and Nakahara to issue a public apology, just enough to satisfy the champion's camp and reopen the title-shot negotiations.

She never acted on it, because she knew Ryoma would never bow that way, and Nakahara would never force him to.

But now, seeing this new plan forming, seeing a real path forward, her entire mood lifts. Moreover, she believes Ryoma's career in Japan isn't completely done yet.

"By the way," she says, almost bouncing in her chair, "I heard something from the JBC side. No confirmation yet, but… there's a leak going around."

Nakahara raises a brow. "What kind of leak?"

"If things follow the usual pattern, after Ryoma beat Masuda Kokushi, JBC is pushing him up to rank five. And if Shimamura beats Tanimoto Harada next month…" She grins. "Ryoma might land at rank four."

Sera glances up at that, mildly surprised. But Nakahara doesn't look surprised. The old man's face is clouded by sadness, a tiny shift in mood but unmistakable.

"...Shimamura," he murmurs, as if the name tastes bitter.

Aki notices immediately. "What? You still hate him?"

Nakahara shakes his head lightly. "It's not that."

She tilts her head, curious but not pushing. She continues anyway, excitement returning.

"Well, he's the only one in the contender lineup who doesn't seem bothered by Ryoma's whole situation. But I get it, considering that he once trained under you. If he beats Harada, maybe Ryoma can challenge him after. That would push him even higher."

Her voice brightens, cascading into possibilities. "Imagine it… Shimamura wins, Ryoma beats Shimamura, and suddenly we're climbing toward the top three!"

Sera, who had been quietly listening until now, and raises his brows in reluctant agreement.

"…Well," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, "as much as I hate the guy, she's not wrong. If Shimamura wipes out the top contenders ahead of us, we can just pick him off next. That would push Ryoma up fast."

For a moment, even he seems to picture it, the shortcut, the angles, the ladder rearranging itself neatly.

But Nakahara exhales, shaking his head as if brushing away smoke. "Even if Ryoma moves higher, it doesn't mean anything if the champion keeps avoiding us."

He folds his arms, tone slow and deliberate. "Unless Ryoma becomes the number-one contender, the champ has no obligation. No number-one means no mandatory challenge. But to reach number one, we have to break through the top three first."

Aki leans back, thoughtful. "Then you can just wait for Shimamura to clean them out first, and challenge him afterward. Doesn't matter if it's number two or number one, Ryoma just needs the shot."

She smiles. "I've been following him lately. He's good. I think he has a big chance on doing that."

And right then, as if his name had pulled him in, a voice drifts from the corridor, light and amused.

"Ooh… you flatter me."

The office door hangs half-open, and in the frame stands Shimamura himself, wearing the easy arrogance that never seems to leave him.

Nakahara's eyes tighten the moment he sees him. Something old and sharp passes through his expression. He rises from his seat as though instinct demands distance.

"Shimamura. What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be anywhere near this place."

The man answers with a careless grin. "Come on, old man. It's been over a year. You're still mad at me?"

Nakahara doesn't respond to the provocation. He steps past him toward the doorway, intending to prevent the situation from escalating.

But as he enters the gym he realizes how unnaturally still the room is. The usual sounds, the thud of bags, the scuff of shoes, are nowhere to be heard. The facility is completely empty, every corner devoid of movement.

Only then does Nakahara exhale, a quiet, relieved breath. Whatever brought Shimamura here, at least Ryoma and the others are nowhere in sight.

"They must all be outside," he thinks, "probably doing their roadwork."

Shimamura reads the tension on Nakahara's face instantly and lets out a soft, mocking laugh. "What's with that look? Worried I'll rough up your little prodigy if he sees me?"

Nakahara refuses to rise to the bait. Instead, he fixes Shimamura with a cold, steady glare. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be training for your next fight?"

He studies the younger man's face as he speaks. There's a faint puffiness around the cheeks, a dullness to his skin, and the unmistakable pallor of someone who has spent more nights in a club than in a gym. The sight makes his jaw tighten.

"Your match is in three weeks," Nakahara reminds him, voice low with disapproval. "If you have any sense left, you should start taking it seriously."

Shimamura waves a hand in a lazy arc. "Relax. The guy I'm fighting has more openings than a convenience store at midnight. Even if I spend the night with a couple of girls before the match, I'll still finish him in three rounds."

Nakahara doesn't bother arguing. He turns his back on the younger fighter and walks toward his desk, the conversation already dead in his mind. "You should go," he says curtly. "Leave before the others return. No one in this gym wants you here."

Shimamura only lifts a brow at the dismissal, unimpressed.

And Nakahara doesn't give him room to respond. His stance, his tone, even the quiet between his words all make one thing unmistakably clear: the only direction Shimamura is welcome to go is out.

But Shimamura doesn't move. Instead, he drifts further into the office, hands sliding casually into his pockets, and finally explains why he came.

"Look, old man," he begins, almost conversationally. "I was planning to fight your kid after I deal with the guy next month. And I will deal with him, no doubt there."

He lifts his chin slightly, confidence leaking from every word.

"But I wasn't sure whether you'd accept the offer. Still, with everything going on around here, I figured I'd take my chance and drop by."

He pauses, then flicks a sideways glance toward Aki, an unmistakably flirtatious sweep of his eyes. Aki stiffens slightly under the attention, but Shimamura only smiles.

"But after hearing what the lovely young lady said earlier," he continues, voice dripping with amusement, "I've changed my mind."

He turns back to Nakahara and spreads his hands, as if presenting a gift.

"Maybe I should go straight for the champion. Beat him, take the belt, and then…"

He taps his chest with a smug grin.

"…I'll give your pretty boy the privilege of challenging me. How's that sound? Generous enough for you, old man?"

Nakahara's expression twists into open contempt, a look sharp enough to cut.

But Shimamura only bursts into laughter, loud and wild, echoing off the office walls. He looks genuinely entertained, almost delighted by Nakahara's reaction, and keeps laughing as he backs through the doorway.

"This is perfect," he says, grin spreading wider. "Just admit it, old man. Your boy's bound to face me sooner or later."

Aki watches him leave with her shoulders tight, discomfort written all over her face. Only when his footsteps fade does she mutter, "What a weirdo… Is he always like that?"

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