Saturday, March 7th 2015, the sparring day with Renji Kuroiwa.
Coach Nakahara, in his infinite wisdom, has scheduled it for the morning when the gym is quieter, the air cooler, and there are fewer people around to witness the outco.
The logic, of course, is to keep the pressure off Ryoma. Except, paradoxically, it’s having the opposite effect. Ryoma’s been stuck waiting, pri ti for the human brain to invent cinematic disaster scenarios.
He stands at the mirror, tossing lazy punches while his mind keeps conjuring a shadow version of Renji Kuroiwa, replaying imaginary exchanges like a trailer for a fight that hasn’t even started.
anwhile, Hiroshi is in the corner, conducting what sounds like a verbal checklist for a minor war.
"Hand wraps... check. Cold packs... vaseline... towels... check."
"Gumshield case..."
"Ah, there you are."
"Can’t start a fight without this... unless we want our pretty boy turning into a clown with a dental crisis."
Before he can toss it into the gear bag, the phone in the managerial office starts ringing. Still clutching the gumshield, he jogs over and picks up.
It’s actually Coach Nakahara.
[Sorry, I woke up late.]
"You what?"
[Couldn’t sleep last night.]
Hiroshi’s lips press into a thin line. From the office window, he can see Ryoma outside, pacing, throwing half-hearted jabs at his own reflection in the mirror.
The kid looks tense... and now, so does Hiroshi. But before he can say anything, Nakahara adds:
[Don’t wait for . I’ll head straight to Kirizu Gym directly from ho.]
Click.
The phone ends.
Hiroshi slings his bag over his shoulder, filling Ryoma in on the situation as he strides for the door, impatience in every step.
"Said he couldn’t get much sleep... and I get it. This spar ans a lot to him, more than he’s saying."
Ryoma tilts his head as he falls into step behind him. "Heh. It’s not like we’re marching off to fight so colonial war, right?"
"He’s worried about you, damn it! And the fact he’s dragging along just for a spar? That tells there’s a real chance you’ll get banged up."
"Nah, I’ll be fine." Ryoma waves it off with breezy confidence.
That confidence lasts exactly three seconds, until the mont he steps outside and is hit with an overly cheerful, "Good morning!"
It’s Fujimori Aki, practically beaming. And next to her is Reika Takamori, looking far less enthusiastic about being there.
Ryoma’s brows knit. "What are you doing here?"
"I had so free ti," Aki says breezily. "Thought I’d swing by and maybe watch you train. Could be good material for a future piece."
His gaze shifts to Reika, suspicion plain. And she ets it with a cool half-smile, only for Aki to grab her friend’s wrist and pull her closer.
"I’m the one who dragged Reika here. She even drove us!" Aki says with a forced grin.
Ryoma glances left and spots a sleek 2015 Lexus RC 350 parked nearby.
"Is that yours?" he asks flatly.
Reika shakes her head. "It’s my dad’s."
His eyes narrow further. Nineteen-year-olds don’t just roll up in a Lexus unless there’s a reason. And Ryoma doesn’t like the reason his mind is suggesting. It feels deliberate, like she’s here to show off, maybe even put him in his place.
"Wait... you’re leaving?" Aki asks, a note of impatience in her voice.
"Yeah," Ryoma says. "Got a spar at Kirizu Boxing Gym."
Her eyes light up instantly. "A spar? Between pros? I’ve never seen one live! This could be huge for as a journalist. Don’t tell I can’t co!"
Both n hesitate. And she notices.
"Reika can drive us," she presses, looking to her friend with that blend of enthusiasm and guilt-tripping charm. "Right?"
Reika sneaks a shy glance at Ryoma before looking away. "...Sure."
Hiroshi sighs, the sound of a man surrendering to logistics.
"Fine. Let’s just go."
The four of them pile into the Lexus, Reika at the wheel, Aki in the passenger seat, Ryoma and Hiroshi in the back.
The city slides by, skyscrapers giving way to quieter districts. And about halfway there, Hiroshi leans toward Ryoma and whispers.
"So... what’s the deal with them?"
"Aki’s a journalist," Ryoma says simply. "She works for Boxing Spirit Weekly."
Hiroshi groans under his breath. "A journalist? Why didn’t you tell sooner?"
"Why should I?" Ryoma shrugs.
"You...?"
Hiroshi had never liked the idea of this spar being anything but quiet. And the last thing they needed was journalists sniffing around, ready to twist a simple spar into a public spectacle.
However, by the ti they pull up to Kirizu Boxing Gym, the place is already buzzing. Despite the early hour, the floor is packed with athletes, and more surprisingly, journalists.
Aki slows as she spots familiar faces. "That’s Sato from Tokyo Sports... and Tanaka from Nippon Fight News..." She frowns, muttering mostly to herself. "What’s going on here?"
At first, she assus the two journalists are here for Renji Kuroiwa, maybe to talk about his latest title defense.
But the mont they spot Ryoma in the doorway, their caras click without hesitation. Aki’s gaze drifts to him, realizing those lenses weren’t aid at Renji at all.
Ryoma keeps his composure, though inside he’s practically feeding off the mont. To him, this level of attention is the kind of spotlight that could accelerate his path to a title shot.
Hiroshi, however, looks a bit restless. To him, this slls of Daigo Kirizu’s doing, summoning reporters to put Ryoma back in his place.
A few steps behind Hiroshi, Coach Nakahara has just arrived. His panda eyes flick from the journalists to Ryoma, and in that instant, the situation clicks into place for him.
"So that’s the trick..." He grumbles slowly, voice low and edged with dry contempt. "Drag the press here, and get your revenge nice and public. Real smooth, Kirizu."
About the two journalists from Tokyo Sports and Nippon Fight News, they actually know this isn’t just a routine spar. In fact, Kirizu’s even sweetened the deal, not a fortune, but enough to make it worth their trip.
Sato leans in slightly to his friend, still gazing at Ryoma. "His latest fight was only four days ago, but look at him... face like he just stepped out of a photo shoot. Not a scratch."
Tanaka nods, eyes narrowing in appraisal. "And I’m telling you, he didn’t drop Kazuya Tōjō by sheer luck."
Almost on cue, Tōjō passes right in front of them. His gaze stays fixed ahead, jaw tight, no acknowledgent. But the stiffness in his neck says everything: he doesn’t like this stunt at all.
The two journalists exchange the kind of knowing glance only veteran reporters share. Then, their gaze shifts when Aki steps up and bows politely in greeting.
"Good morning, Sato-san, Tanaka-san."
"Oh, you’re that young journalist from..." Tanaka tilts his head. "What’s your na again?"
"Fujimori Aki, Boxing Spirit Weekly." She offers a small nervous smile. "I’ve only been with them a month, so... please, go easy on ."
"So, your boss sent you here?" Sato asks, eyebrow raised.
"Ah... no, no! I ca with that man." She gestures toward Ryoma, sitting a short distance away. "Honestly, I didn’t even know he was going to have a spar with Tōjō today. Isn’t it too soon? Oh... I get it. That fight ended quickly, so they must’ve been unsatisfied with that fight."
Sato gives a slow shake of the head. "He’s not sparring Tōjō."
"Eh...?" Aki blinks at him.
"This is Ryoma Takeda versus Renji Kuroiwa," Tanaka replies, already shifting his gaze toward the ring.
Aki follows and sees Renji stand in the corner with Coach Kirizu, gloves laced tight, eyes sharp and locked in.
"But... why?" Aki mutters. "They are in two different weight classes. Don’t tell ..."
"Yeah," Sato affirms. "They just want to settle the score... a revenge for what that golden boy did to one of their promising athletes."
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