April 30th 2016, Ryogoku Kokugikan.
***
A calm sea never made a great sailor. Renji knows that saying well.
But as he sits in the locker room, hands wrapped tight, he can’t help but wonder if it’s been him all along, sailing only calm waters.
Every win, every knockout, every clean record suddenly feels less certain to him. Maybe he’s never truly fought the storm.
And now, beyond that door, one storm finally waits, Elliot Graves, the world-ranked boxer whose rhythm pulls others under.
Renji isn’t thinking about winning. He’s wondering what kind of sailor he really is, if he is really good enough to conquer the world.
Across the room, Kirizu notices the look on Renji’s face. He walks over, rests a hand on Renji’s shoulder, and crouches down to et his eyes.
"We’ve studied his record," Kirizu says evenly. "He’s ranked ninth, not a world champion. I’m not telling you to take him lightly, but there’s no reason to fear him either."
Renji looks up, silent, but the ssage lands.
Elliot Graves’ record isn’t spotless, that’s part of why Kirizu chose him for Renji’s first international fight. Three losses at the start of his career, and most of his wins ca by decision, only four by knockout.
And from all the footage Renji’s seen, Elliot never relies on heavy blows. His style is subtle, patient. There’s no real power that should frighten him.
And yet, the unease remains.
"It’s not about him," Renji says quietly. "I’m just wondering if my success ca too easily... and if his losses ca from fighting in a much harsher world."
"You’ve already proved your worth," Kirizu says, voice firm. "No one in this country can stand against you anymore. The only path left is forward."
Renji exhales slowly, then gives a small nod.
***
Outside the arena, the crowd is still streaming in under the glowing banners of the event.
Among those entering are Ryoma and Aramaki, slipping through the crowd with their tickets in hand. They find their seats halfway up the stands.
In the ring, the ongoing match is already in the middle of fourth round, Leonardo Serrano versus Japan’s tenth-ranked Super Featherweight, Takeuchi Kantaro.
It’s been a while since they last saw Serrano fight. They study the familiar yet changed figure moving under the lights.
Serrano still has the swagger, that sharp-edged confidence, the sa unpredictable. But this Serrano isn’t the sa man he used to be.
The wild angles and taunting feints are still there, but now they’re anchored by so disciplined structure. His footwork lands cleaner, his guard rises between exchanges, and the chaos that once defined him feels asured now.
"He’s toned it down," Aramaki mutters. "He used to leaping, throwing his whole body into every shot. Now he’s actually boxing."
Ryoma nods slightly, eyes still fixed on the ring. "He finally learned the basics."
Not necessarily stronger, but Serrano looks sharper tonight, more disciplined. The raw talent is still there, but now it’s taking a form of a genuine boxer.
***
The fight actually ends by decision. Serrano had scored a knockdown in the seventh, but for most of the bout, Takeuchi had dictated the rhythm, keeping control with tight defense and asured combinations.
Serrano’s fundantals have improved, but they’re still raw, layered over his natural flair rather than fused into it.
Still, when the decision is announced in his favor by a narrow margin, there’s no arrogance on his face, no swagger, just quiet relief.
As he steps down from the ring, a few fans call out from the stands.
"Good fight, Serrano!"
"You finally boxed for real!"
"Keep it up! Train harder next ti!"
Serrano raises his glove in acknowledgnt, a faint smile touching his face as he walks down the aisle. For months, he’d feared that the humiliation from before would cling to him forever.
But hearing their cheers, small, yet genuine, gives him a quiet sense of vindication.
Ryoma watches him go, then leans toward Aramaki. "You’d better watch out for him," he says evenly. "Once those basics settle in, he’s going to be trouble for you."
Aramaki sighs, half-grinning. "Guess I’ve got so catching up to do."
***
The arena lights dim slightly as the announcer’s voice echoes across the hall, signaling the start of the main event. A current of energy rolls through the crowd, anticipation sharpened by years of familiarity.
For so long, they’ve watched Renji win, and lately, the excitent had dulled into routine. But tonight feels different. This is Renji’s first international fight, his first step beyond Japan.
And they expect sothing big from him.
When Elliot Graves appears from the tunnel, the crowd’s reaction is instant. A wall of shouts, whistles, and sharp words crash over him, the kind of noise reserved for foreign challengers.
"Go back ho!"
"Don’t think it’ll be easy here!"
"Japan’s champion will crush you!"
Elliot doesn’t react. His expression doesn’t change. Either he doesn’t understand the words, or he’s learned long ago that noise ans nothing once the bell rings.
He walks toward the ring with the calm of a man who’s been here before.
Then it’s Renji’s turn. The house lights flare as Renji steps out from the tunnel, shoulders loose, chin high.
The arena swells in a single voice. Flags wave from the stands.
Soone near ringside shouts, "Bring the world title ho, Renji!"
Another calls, "Show them Japanese boxing still lives!"
For all the noise, Renji’s face stays composed. But inside, he feels it, the weight of expectation, the warmth of belief.
The doubt remains, faint but present. Yet for soone who has long borne the weight of a nation’s hopes, pressure is a familiar companion. His confidence holds firm, his charisma untouched.
Tonight, he isn’t just fighting a man. He’s fighting to prove that his sea has never been calm.
Aramaki leans back in his seat, glancing sideways at Ryoma with a faint smirk. "Hey, did you buy a betting ticket for this one too? Which side are you on this ti?"
Ryoma blinks, caught off guard. For a mont, his expression gives it away, he completely forgot about that.
Then he masks it with a casual shrug. "Not interested."
"Why?" Aramaki asks, half-teasing. "You’ve fought both of them. You should have the best read on who’s gonna win."
"I did fight Elliot last week," Ryoma says. "But my fight with Renji was last year. That’s a long ti, enough for soone to change. He could be better now... or worse."
Aramaki chuckles. "Alright then, say he hasn’t changed at all, the sa Renji you fought last year. Who wins?"
Ryoma takes a mont before answering, his tone calm but certain.
"If he’s still the sa as the one I fought last year... he’ll struggle just to get into the fight."
The ring announcer finishes the introductions, and Aramaki finally turns his attention back to the ring.
"I’ve always wondered," he says. "When Kirizu invited you to join his camp. Why didn’t you take it? If you had, you’d probably be holding a belt by now. Maybe even fighting a world contender."
Ryoma gives a crooked smile. "A belt in one year? That’s too soon."
Aramaki shakes his head. "Not for you. I don’t think there’s a boxer in Japan right now who could beat you."
Ryoma doesn’t answer.
He’s thought the sa himself. He’s studied the top-ranked fighters, and none of them feel like real challenges to him.
But he’s still unranked. He can’t just leap straight to the champion, can’t simply call out whoever he wants.
He still has to climb, step by step. The path might’ve been much shorter, if he’d taken Kirizu’s hand when it was offered.
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