The gym grows quiet again, everyone drawn to the sight. The faint tick of the trono fills the room, each sound marking discipline, progress, and control.
For a while, the rest of the gym has only watched. At first, it was curiosity. Now it’s sothing closer to quiet respect toward the new coach.
Across the gym, Okabe leans against the ropes. Ryohei stands beside him, arms crossed, chewing gum.
"Man..." Okabe murmurs. "That actually looks kinda... cool."
Ryohei snorts softly. "Cool? It looks like he’s dancing."
Okabe shrugs, head tilting with the beat. "Still. You can feel that rhythm though."
Without realizing it, both their heads start to bob along with Ryoma’s pendulum steps, the rhythm infectious, hypnotic in its precision.
Then, suddenly, Ryohei straightens. "Hey... why don’t we try it too?"
He walks over to the supply shelf, grabs a roll of tape, and crouches down near an open corner of the floor.
Sera glances over. "What are you doing?"
Ryohei doesn’t look up. "Helping," he says lightly, tearing another strip of tape. "More circles. So more people can try this drill."
Sera gives him a dry smile, halfway between amusent and disbelief.
Soon, Ryohei has made a rough version of Sera’s pattern, not as clean, not as even. He steps into the middle, mimicking the stance Ryoma uses.
For a few seconds, he even looks like he knows what he’s doing, but not with the rhythm. His foot drags, then skips, the tempo collapsing and rebuilding in uneven bursts.
At first, Ryoma ignores it. He tries to keep his focus, eyes fixed on the taped box under his feet. But the mismatch grates at him. His shoulders tighten, his jaw twitches.
The beat in his head starts to break apart.
And then...
"Hey!" Ryoma snaps, spinning halfway toward Ryohei. "You’re throwing off! Can you not do that right next to ?"
Ryohei looks up, surprised. "What? I’m training too, man."
"Then do it sowhere else!"
"Why?" Ryohei blinks, genuinely puzzled.
Ryoma just stares at him, speechless, as if the explanation is too obvious to bother saying.
His irritation flares, but before he can respond, Sera’s voice cuts clean through the tension.
"It’s fine, Ryohei. Keep going. And Ryoma, don’t stop."
Ryoma turns, incredulous. "But Coach... his form’s terrible! It’s throwing off my rhythm!"
Sera doesn’t raise his voice. "Just treat it as part of the drill."
Ryoma frowns.
"In the ring," Sera continues evenly, "your opponent’s rhythm won’t match yours. You’ll have to move through it anyway."
Ryoma hesitates, still breathing hard. Slowly, his expression shifts, annoyance giving way to reluctant understanding.
He exhales, sharp and irritated, but nods.
"...Fine."
He turns back to his circle, eyes narrowing on the tape. The trono is still ticking on.
This ti, he steps through the clash, his asured rhythm clashing against Ryohei’s chaotic beat, both sounds colliding and reshaping the air of the gym.
***
Ryoma’s fight with Sekino is scheduled for six weeks later, June 4th 2016.
But the announcent hasn’t gone public yet. The promotion team is waiting for Renji’s post-fight buzz to cool off before shifting the spotlight.
Even so, Ryoma has already begun his preparation. Every part of his training is now focused on conditioning him for that specific opponent. Different opponents require different approaches, and different preparation.
To help him, Kenta has started studying the flicker jab and the Philly Shell, just so he can imitate Sekino’s style in sparring.
Thanks to his experience, it doesn’t take Kenta long to adjust to the chanics.
But still...
"It’s not his natural style," Nakahara says, shaking his head as he watches from ringside. "He can copy the flickers, the guard, even the posture of the Philly Shell. But not the mindset behind it."
Sera exhales. "It’s ironic, really. At the top level, especially in the West, most fighters use the flicker system. Japan built its image of boxing around that. But we don’t have many here who can actually do it right."
The sparring has reached the middle of the second round. Ryoma and Kenta circle each other under the bright gym lights, gloves faintly slick with sweat.
Kenta’s guard sits low, right arm folded tight, left hand flicking upward from below his line of sight.
His stance copies Sekino’s; side-on, compact, the left shoulder faintly twitching with every jab.
"He’s got the shape right," Nakahara murmurs.
Sera nods, though his gaze doesn’t move. "Yeah. But he’s forcing the rhythm. A real flicker isn’t steady. It flows. You can’t find its beat."
Inside the ring, Ryoma slips under a jab, then pivots to the side, countering with a clean right straight to the body.
The sound cracks sharp in the quiet gym. Kenta grunts, resets, flicks another jab, but again, on the sa rhythm.
Ryoma’s eyes narrow. He can see it now, too predictable.
They trade another few punches before Ryoma suddenly lowers his gloves, shaking his head.
"Stop, stop..."
Kenta blinks, confused. "What?"
Ryoma exhales, irritation in his voice. "You’re not doing it right. You’re throwing flickers like they’re normal jabs."
Kenta frowns. "I’m doing what Sekino does."
Ryoma shakes his head. "No, you’re not. A flicker doesn’t aim to hit. It aims to pull. You’re still fighting on your rhythm, not mine."
Silence hangs for a mont. Nakahara glances at Sera, who only smiles faintly, letting them sort it out.
Kenta lowers his gloves a little, breathing hard. "Alright, then what do you want to do?"
"Make lose my timing," Ryoma says simply. "Don’t fight clean... fight to ss up."
Kenta huffs, half-grinning. "So basically, be a pain in the ass."
"Exactly."
Nakahara’s voice breaks in, calm and approving. "Good. Now start round three doing just that."
The spar resus, but Kenta still can’t et Ryoma’s expectations. Ryoma has watched Sekino’s previous fights, and this isn’t how Sekino fights at all.
He never really expected Kenta to be Sekino, but at least, using the flicker jab and the Philly Shell properly should’ve been enough.
Even that, though, Kenta can’t quite pull it off.
By the end of the session, Ryoma’s disappointnt shows, though he keeps it to himself, considerate enough not to let it spill in front of everyone.
He simply walks to the corner by the mirror wall and begins shadowboxing on his own. Kenta stays in the ring, slumped against the ropes, watching with a tired sigh.
"Man... that kid’s too much of a perfectionist," Kenta mutters. "Too demanding."
"Isn’t that good?" Sera replies, raising an eyebrow. "The gym’s putting a lot of hope on him. All eyes are on him now, expecting sothing big. He needs to raise the bar. And to reach it, he’ll push himself to the limit. Maybe everyone else, too, whether they like it or not."
At one point, Ryoma suddenly stops mid-motion. Not out of fatigue, but thinking.
He tries to recall Sekino’s movents, the smallest details from his past fights. The mory plays vividly in his mind, not perfect, but clear enough.
Then, without a word, he starts again.
But this ti, his shadowboxing looks different. He moves exactly like Sekino stepping out from his corner.
His stance shifts, left shoulder lifted, chin tucked, right hand relaxed low. He tilts, rolls, parries invisible punches, shoulders rising and falling in rhythm with an unseen opponent’s attacks.
At one point, he even flinches as if a real punch just sank into his midsection, his body folding slightly before he shifts his balance to recover.
Monts later, he twists from a low lean, unleashing a coiling counter, then freezes, eyes fixed downward, like he’s watching soone fall to the canvas.
The three n watching from the ring exchange glances, squinting with curiosity.
"What’s he doing?" Kenta murmurs.
"Shadowboxing," Nakahara answers.
"But..." Sera trails off, shaking his head. "I’ve never seen anyone shadowbox like that. It’s like he’s replaying a fight instead of imagining one."
"That could be it," Nakahara says with a slow nod. "Normally, when you shadowbox, you picture an opponent in your head. But most people just repeat their own forms, no matter who they’re supposed to be fighting."
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