Ryoma drops his guard completely, rage twisting his features into something raw and unfiltered. Kenta reacts on instinct, firing a short left, but Ryoma steps straight into it, letting the glove crack hard against his cheek, using the moment to sling his own counter.

Dhuack!

His fist slams into Kenta's face, snapping Kenta's head backward with a sharp jolt. But Ryoma doesn't follow it up. He just stands there, his face laced with irritation.

"Damn it, Kenta…" he growls, voice rips out between clenched teeth. "You had the chance… and you let it go! What are you… in love with me or something?"

The bell cuts the moment in half.

Ding!

And Ryoma turns away, walking toward his corner with cold, simmering anger. He throws one more line over his shoulder, low but poisonous.

"I told you. If you don't have the heart to hurt me, then quit boxing already."

Kenta wipes the blood from his lip. "I'm going easy on you because we're two weight classes apart."

Ryoma barks a humorless laugh. "Like that matters. If you think I'm that weak, then fine… I'll break you next round. And I don't care if it sends you into retirement."

Nakahara tries to contain the flames. "Kid! It's a spar. You sharpen instinct, timing… that's all. No need to make this a vendetta."

"Sharpen instinct?" Ryoma fires back, eyes burning. "Sorry to say this, old man, but you're ignoring his biggest problem. He doesn't have the boxer's instinct. He's old enough to have fought for a title already, and where is he? You gave him a contender, not even the champion, and he's still scared."

Kenta's expression tightens, jaw clenching, but he doesn't answer. His silence lands worse than any insult.

And Ryoma hates that silence. "Say something at least," he snaps. "Or are you really fine with me calling you soft?"

Kenta finally turns away, moving toward his corner. "I'll let my fists do the talking."

"Oh, let them talk," Ryoma growls, smiling without warmth. "And don't hold them back this time… because I sure as hell won't be holding mine."

***

The gym feels heavier after the bell, as if the air itself thickens in the space between the two corners.

Aramaki and Hiroshi watch with awkward restraint, exchanging glances that say more than either of them dares to voice.

Hiroshi looks confused, plainly, openly confused. He keeps flicking his eyes between Ryoma's scowl and Kenta's silence, as though trying to understand what invisible boundary was crossed.

He tightens his grip on the stopwatch, uncertain if he should say something, uncertain if saying anything would make it worse.

"Hey," he calls at Aramakig weakly. "Did something happen between them."

But Aramaki just shrug it off, having no interest in explaining it to him.

He still watches the conflict unfold, but with a different kind of unease. He recognizes the mood, or at least the shape of it.

Three days ago, in the dead of night, Ryoma had let something slip, a piece of truth wrapped in frustration. And Aramaki hasn't forgotten it.

He knows Ryoma only wants Kenta to stop being so damn reserved, to stop holding back.

And now, watching Kenta sitting there in absolute, disciplined silence, Aramaki finally sees what Ryoma sees: a fighter with power, technique, talent, yet still too polite to be dangerous.

Aramaki exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is gonna get ugly," he mutters under his breath.

Hiroshi glances at him. "What? What's wrong?"

Aramaki doesn't take his eyes off the two corners. "I think Ryoma's been waiting for this. And Kenta… I'm afraid he's still going to piss him off."

Hiroshi looks even more lost. "I don't get it."

"Yeah," Aramaki says. "That's kinda the problem."

The tension stretches, thick and expectant, as the second round draws closer.

***

Hiroshi signals the end of the break with a sharp strike of the bell.

Ding!

This time, Ryoma doesn't bother with words, no taunts, no provocation. He explodes out of his corner immediately, charging in with the reckless, terrifying momentum of a mad bull.

It's a style Aramaki recognizes instantly, because it mirrors the old version of himself: raw aggression with just enough discipline to make it deadly.

And Kenta meets him head-on. And the ring erupts.

Ryoma crashes into mid-range first, his gloves snapping out in short, tight combinations; jab-cross to the head, a lead hook upstairs, and a body blow.

Dug-dug-pah-bugh!

Every punch flows clean, his defense compact even in the chaos. He rolls under Kenta's first counter, steps in deeper, and slams a right into the liver line.

Kenta's ribs flare with heat, but he doesn't retreat. He answers with a brutal hook, then another, each one heavy enough to shake Ryoma's guard.

Bam. Bam.

Ryoma blocks the first two, slips the third, and drives a compact hook to Kenta's right side, heavy and deep.

Thud!

Kenta reels, but he bites down, refusing to give ground.

They crash into each other again. Punches trade in the pocket. The rhythm is different now, not cautious, not probing.

Kenta finally abandons the restraint Ryoma hates so much. His gloves roar through the air with real intention, enough force to crack bone if they slip through.

Ryoma grins, just barely, before pivoting and firing a sharp left across Kenta's jaw. Still Kenta doesn't stop.

Their footwork loosens. Their breathing sharpens. The spar devolves into a brutal exchange, neither willing to fall back.

Ryoma's shots land cleaner, sharper, but Kenta's endurance holds him upright, refusing to be bullied.

Then Kenta sees it, a narrow window, half a breath wide. Ryoma steps in with another tight right. And Kenta plants his feet, throwing a punch with him.

BAM… DHUACK!!

A simultaneous exchange, two heavy shots landing flush.

For the first time this round, Ryoma's balance wavers. Kenta isn't holding back anymore. He follows the exchange with a sharp hook to the head.

Ryoma sees it coming, and again, chooses not to defend.

Dhuack!

The punch lands flush, heavy.

Something inside Ryoma snaps. Another notification flashes across his Vision Grid.

***

[Alert!]

Connection Interrupted

***

His vision whites out for a heartbeat, then drops into pitch black. And Kenta, sensing an opening, sends a brutal one-two.

Dsh, dhuack!

Ryoma's head snaps back twice.

Nakahara stiffens. Something's off. Ryoma is still standing, gloves raised, but he isn't reacting, no flinch, no guard adjustment, no counter.

Bug!

A body hook lands clean, but still nothing from Ryoma.

"Wait, Kenta…!" Nakahara calls.

But then Ryoma lifts his face. And it does not look the Ryoma they know.

He's smirking, a warped malicious grin stretching across his face. His eyes are wide, unblinking, almost feral.

He chuckles low in his throat and toys with Kenta, flicking a lazy punch forward.

Kenta blocks…

Dug!

…only for Ryoma's right hand to whip out faster than the eye can follow.

Dsh!

Kenta's head jerks sideways. But he withstands and fires back, unleashing a dense flurry, every punch meant to hurt.

And Ryoma, without even raising his guard, slips, weaves, and bends around every shot with unnatural ease.

Nakahara swallows hard. The expression is wrong. The aura is wrong. But the movement, the rhythm, the timing, is unmistakable.

Ryoma is in the zone. And Nakahara, despite the twisting anxiety in his gut, doesn't stop the spar.

Ryoma finally glides between Kenta's punches, steps in deep, and detonates a counter.

Dhuack!

Kenta freezes, stunned. And then a heavy hook to the ribs follows.

Thud!

It's so hard that Kenta staggers back, clutching his side in agony.

But then Ryoma blinks, and the wild grin evaporates.

He snaps his guard up, tight, high, and panicked, the reflex of someone waking up from a knockout.

And his Vision Grid flashes again:

***

[Alert!]

System Disruption Detected

Session Interrupted: 9.4 seconds

***

Ryoma lowers his guard slowly. "What… the hell is going on?"

Then he spots Kenta several steps away, still bent over, and irritation flares hot again.

"Again?!" he growls. "You pulled your punch again?!"

Everyone freezes, confused. Even Kenta, still clutching his ribs, looks lost.

Ryoma stomps forward, gloves low. "You had me out cold and you didn't finish! You held back again!"

He shoves Kenta in the chest, but Nakahara wedges himself between them.

"Kid! What the hell are you talking about? Nobody's pulling punches!"

"He clearly did," Ryoma snaps. "I was unconscious for a few seconds! That should've been the end… and he still didn't take it!"

Nakahara blinks hard, genuinely baffled. Ryoma notices it, and his Vision Grid notices too, flagging confusion in Nakahara's expression.

"What do you mean unconscious?" Nakahara asks. "Kid… that was the best spar you've ever done. I thought you were completely in the zone just now."

He tries to smile, looking proud.

"Kenta pushed you to the edge," he says. "I honestly thought he'd break you. But you fought back with some of the best boxing I've seen."

He gestures at Kenta, blood on his lip, standing but still holding his ribs. Ryoma stares, Vision Grid scanning Kenta's condition.

Kenta's clearly hurt, too hurt. But Ryoma has no memory of delivering the kind of blows that enough to hurt him to this extent.

And the system notification, the one stating he was out for 9.4 seconds, still blinks in the corner of his vision.

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