The next morning, the wind had completely shifted on the newspaper racks of Tokyo's convenience stores.
The Yomiuri Shimbun, which had previously lanted the situation on its social affairs page, quietly withdrew all related coverage.
anwhile, Nikkan Sports ran a follow-up story on its front page, prominently headlined: "Behind the 'Beast': The Ironclad Rules of Upbringing! A Strict Father's 'Three Rules' Forge a True Champion!"
The article ticulously detailed Uhara Masao's three seemingly harsh yet profoundly insightful rules.
The "troubled youth" previously portrayed as a gaming addict had been transford into a "disciplined genius" who balanced academics and his passion under his father's guidance.
"Wow, turns out his dad's actually a great parent!"
"Only two hours of gaming a day? That's even worse than my allowance!"
"Making him hand over all his prize money? This father knows what he's doing!"
The tide of public opinion surged quickly and receded just as swiftly.
Yesterday, the public had been lanting the "tragedy of society." Today, they were enthusiastically discussing the "Uhara Family's educational thods."
At Sega Headquarters, in the Managing Director's office, Yamamoto respectfully placed a stack of newspapers on Takuya Nakayama's desk, his face barely concealing his excitent.
"Executive Director Nakayama, the tide has completely turned. Also—Shūkan Bunshun's editor-in-chief just called personally, requesting a private eting with Mr. Uhara to offer their sincerest apologies in person."
"Oh? Apologies? They're quick to react, aren't they?" Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his executive chair, picked up the Nikkan Sports newspaper without glancing at Yamamoto, and smirked slightly.
Yamamoto paused, then caught on and chuckled.
Nakayama set down the newspaper and tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. "Tell them the Uhara Family wishes to be left undisturbed."
"Understood!" Yamamoto nodded knowingly and turned to leave.
In Adachi Ward, at Sato's Ga Center, Sato chewed on a toothpick, humming a tune as he wiped down a King of Fighters arcade machine. A regular high school student burst in, waving a newspaper.
"Boss! Look! Daigo's in the paper! And this ti, they're praising him!"
Sato snatched the newspaper. When he saw the massive headline and the familiar quote, "My son, Masao Uhara's son, can't be a blind fool who can't even read a contract," the toothpick in his mouth clattered to the floor.
"Hahahaha! I knew it! I knew Uncle Uhara was amazing!" Sato slapped his thigh excitedly, forgetting all about the shop. He grabbed his jacket and rushed out, shouting, "I have to get this newspaper to Uncle and Aunt right away!"
He sprinted to the Uhara family's door like a gust of wind and rang the doorbell with deafening force.
Mrs. Uhara answered the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Sato waving a newspaper.
"Auntie! Big news! The best news ever!" Sato burst into the living room and slamd the newspaper onto the table. Pointing wildly at the article, he exclaid, "Look! All of Tokyo now knows Uncle is a great father who knows how to raise his son!"
Uhara Masao erged from the inner room, picked up the newspaper, and silently began to read.
His expression remained unchanged, but the perpetually furrowed brows seed to relax ever so slightly.
He carefully folded the newspaper, not discarding it, but placing it solemnly alongside Daigo's championship certificate.
"That's wonderful... truly wonderful..." Mrs. Uhara watched her husband's actions, her eyes welling up. The anxiety that had gripped her for days finally dissolved completely.
Only Daigo Uhara peeked out from his room, glanced at the scene, and silently retreated.
He seed utterly indifferent to what the newspapers were reporting or how the outside world was reacting.
Uhara Masao glanced at his son's door, then at the newspaper, before his gaze finally settled on the calendar hanging on the wall.
The date at the end of the month was circled heavily in red ink.
He spoke in a low voice toward his son's door.
"Don't let this distract you. Your opponents at the Budokan won't show you any rcy just because you're in the news."
In the days leading up to the Budokan finals, Sato's Ga Center in Adachi Ward had beco Tokyo's most peculiar fighting ga sanctuary.
Nagai Kenta and Shirano, two n who had once stood at the pinnacle of Tokyo's The King of Fighters scene, only to be dethroned by the sa child, now appeared at the arcade almost daily.
They no longer played against each other. Instead, they stood behind Daigo Uhara, offering advice.
"That's wrong," Shirano pointed at the screen, his brow furrowed. "Mary's back-turn true fall has a long recovery ti after the attack. Your pressure was too hasty. If your opponent had chosen to block in mid-air and counterattacked on landing, you would have been finished."
He was like the strictest math teacher, quantifying every action in the ga into cold, hard data.
Daigo Uhara glanced at the screen, then at Shirano, saying nothing as he silently started another match.
This ti, facing the sa situation, his Mary didn't imdiately press the attack after completing the command throw. Instead, she took a subtle step back.
This distance kept her just outside the opponent's counterattack range while maintaining the threat of an imdiate follow-up.
Shirano's mouth hung slightly open, remaining that way for a long mont.
"Hey, hey! I just explained the theory—how did you pull it off on your first try?" he couldn't help but complain. "I got my ass kicked for two whole days trying to master that retreat!"
Nagai Kenta leaned against another arcade machine nearby, arms crossed, smiling silently.
Unlike Shirano, who was obsessed with fra data and combos, Nagai taught sothing more intangible.
"Daigo, look," Nagai pointed at the character Shirano was demonstrating on the screen. "Shirano's habit is to pressure opponents on wakeup with jumping heavy attacks. But before each jump, he subconsciously takes two extra steps back to give himself room to run up."
"Rember this subtle movent. In a match, it's his signal to jump. At that mont, don't bother guessing whether he'll attack high or low. Just unleash a Rising Dragon Fist the instant he leaves the ground."
Shirano's face turned green beside them.
"Hey! Nagai-senpai! Are you really selling out your teammate like this? This is my signature move!"
"We're all part of the Tokyo Team now," Nagai Kenta said, patting Shirano's shoulder with a calm expression. "In the Budokan, our only enemy is everyone outside Tokyo. Hand over all your little tricks."
Ga center owner Sato had been completely relegated to logistics manager.
One mont he was serving chilled barley tea, the next he was bringing out freshly cooked takoyaki, his wrinkled face beaming brighter than anyone else's.
"Co on, co on! Special supplies for the Tokyo Team!" He handed over the plate, lowering his voice conspiratorially to Daigo. "Daigo, let tell you, in the national tournant, montum is everything! Start with Chang Koehan, spin that iron ball, and make them all dizzy!"
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