Shock still hangs in the air long after Nakahara's words fade. Two million, five million, those are numbers that could tilt anyone's future.

Aramaki exhales hard, rubbing the back of his neck. "Coach… if I lose, just take it from my fight purse. I don't need you paying anything for me."

Kenta's head snaps toward him, eyes wide. Then, almost without thinking, he blurts, "Me too. If I lose, you don't pay my purse either."

The room shifts, not loud, not dramatic. But there's a quiet understanding there; two fighters trying to shoulder the weight their coach placed on himself.

But Ryoma sees something else entirely. And he just lets out a short, dry chuckle, shaking his head dramatically.

"So that's it?" he scoffs. "Already preparing the clean exit for when you lose?"

Aramaki freezes. "Huh? No! That's not…"

"You already pictured yourself losing, didn't you?" Ryoma cuts him off, his voice flat and sharp.

Aramaki doesn't answer. But his silence confirms it. Kenta looks down at his hands. He doesn't deny it either.

"Look…" Ryoma sighs. "Putting conditions like that is fine. But do it with the mindset that you have to win. Not as an excuse to accept losing before it even happens. The fight is two months away and you're already halfway to throwing in the towel."

"Ryoma's right," Nakahara says, his tone steadier and calmer. "I didn't tell you two about the bet to pressure you. I told you because that's how much I trust your chances. Now… Sera, play Kuroda's videos."

Sera nods and loads the next set of files. The screen shifts to Liam Kuroda's last three fights, each one a clean controlled decision win.

Moments later, Nakahara speaks over the footage. "As they say, he has the best balance of technique, speed, and power in the division. Style similar to Ryohei before he learned the pendulum step. Stronger, sharper, barely any wasted movement. Rarely makes mistakes."

Then he looks at Kenta. "But tell me. What about him looks out of your league?"

Kenta stares at the screen, long enough for the others to exchange glances. He is silent for a while, not because he's lost, but because he genuinely sees nothing overwhelming.

Finally, he whispers, "He… seems perfect to me. I can't find any flaw I can exploit."

Nakahara nods, not disappointed but almost pleased. "Exactly. His control is top tier. But yours is too."

Ryoma adds, "The difference lies here..." he taps his chest, and temple, "…and here. Heart and mind. He's lived at the top for years. Only two losses. That builds a mindset, one that believes it can always win. So the question is… what do you believe?"

Kenta keeps staring at the frozen frame of Liam Kuroda on the TV, yet his focus lies somewhere deeper. Ryoma's words, Nakahara's belief, the footage, the numbers, they all churn inside him.

For the first time in weeks, he feels something settle in his chest. Not confidence, not resolve, but the quiet beginning of it, an anchor forming somewhere beneath the doubt.

Nakahara clears his throat lightly. "Kenta… your father came to the gym the other day."

Kenta's breath catches. His posture stiffens. "He… does he know I'm staying with you?"

Nakahara nods. "I told him."

Kenta swallows. "Did he tell me to go home?"

A slow exhale escapes Nakahara. "I tried talking to him. Told him I'd help you succeed. That now you're not exhausting yourself with shop work on top of training, we'll finally get to see the real you."

"We've always believed in your potential," Sera says, his tone gentler than usual. "All those losses of yours… half of them came because you walked into the ring already fatigued."

Hiroshi adds, "Since you've lived with Coach Nakahara, your training numbers shot up. You're finally moving like someone who isn't carrying ten extra tons on his shoulders."

"Damn right," Ryoma snorts, but it's not mocking. "I felt the difference myself in the last spar. You hit harder, move sharper. Not gonna lie."

Kenta's ears burn, unsure whether to bow, deny, or just absorb the rare praise.

Then Nakahara continues, softer now. "Your father rewatched your last fight. He told me not to tell you… but now that the topic came out, you should hear this. He respects your decision to leave home. Says you finally acted like an adult."

Nakahara's gaze sharpens, not harsh, but firm. "Your life is in your hands now. And it's time you prove to him you didn't make a choice you'll regret."

Kenta absorbs the words in silence, and then nods slowly. His eyes lower, not out of shame, but under the weight of finally wanting to live up to something real.

***

Sera switches folders on the USB, ready to load Paulo Ramos' latest title defense. But before he can press play, Ryoma raises a hand.

"No need," he says plainly. "I've studied Ramos enough. I already know how to fight him."

The room pauses, a brief hush settling over everyone. It isn't disbelief, but the kind of silence people give when confidence sounds dangerously close to certainty.

To a stranger, it would sound arrogant, some kid talking like he's above doing homework. But the people here know better.

Ryoma doesn't bluff. If he says he's studied someone, it means he's dissected hours, maybe days of footage until he can see the opponent's movement even with his eyes closed.

Sera stares at him for a second, then without a word, clicks the TV off. That alone speaks volumes: he isn't going to argue.

"Alright," Sera says. "So, is there anything you want to share with us?"

Ryoma exhales. "I have only one concern. Sparring partners. No one here fights like that man from the Philippines."

His voice stays calm, but there is genuine worry beneath it, the kind only fighters feel when the gap isn't technical, but stylistic.

"I know," Nakahara replies. "I'll look outside. After this training camp, we'll bring you back to the main gym for sparring. But I'm warning you now… finding someone in Japan who fights like Paulo Ramos…"

He taps his fingers thoughtfully against his arm. "Swarmers at his level are rare. Aggressive, nonstop pressure, unpredictable rhythm… he's a headache for anyone."

Ryoma nods once, not discouraged, but already thinking three steps ahead. Even without the sparring match-up he wants, he's preparing to shape the solution himself.

He already has a plan. What he needs now is a sparring partner who can mimic Paulo Ramos, someone who can test that plan inside the ring.

But then something flickers in his head. The system's speech-assistant mode, silent for days, suddenly wakes.

<< I could be your sparring partner. >>

Ryoma jerks upright. "What the…?"

The slip escapes before he can stop it, drawing every pair of eyes in the room.

"What is it?" Nakahara asks.

Ryoma forces a blink, and then shakes his head quickly. "Nothing. I… I need to use the toilet. Excuse me."

There is a bathroom inside the dorm, yet he heads straight for the door, leaving the others exchanging confused looks.

He steps outside, past the training hall, deeper into the trees until the camp lights are far behind him.

Only when he's sure he's alone does he speak. "…Alright. Tell me. How are you supposed to be my sparring partner?"

<< Simple. I can generate a full augmented-virtual overlay, visible only to you. Something like… this. >>

***

[New Feature Unlocked]

[Phantom Mode: Activated]

***

The air in front of him wavers, and then shapes itself.

A figure forms from shifting light, resolving into a perfect holographic Paulo Ramos in full fight gear, gloves raised, posture loose and predatory.

And the projection grins. "Not bad, right?" It says, in Ramos's voice.

Ryoma's breath stutters. "You… You're…?"

The projection gives a casual shrug. "Don't freak out. This isn't real-real. It's just in your head. Think of me as a hallucination with a personality."

Ryoma swallows, stunned. And the projection raises its fists higher, feet shifting into Ramos's familiar stance.

"So… you wanna test me?"

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