The soft ticking of Sera’s trono fills the gym, sharp and rhythmic, echoing off the empty walls. Ryoma’s shoes brush the canvas in a steady swing, his body still balanced in that pendulum rhythm, sweat already beading down his jaw.
Then co voices.
"Morning!" Ryohei’s easy tone breaks through the quiet.
Okabe follows a few steps behind, carrying his duffel, laughing at sothing only half-funny.
Ryoma’s rhythm falters just with their present, barely, but enough for Sera to glance up from his clipboard.
Ryohei’s grin is wide, careless. "Man, the drill’s really sothing, you know? Never thought just stepping back and forth could gas you out like that."
Okabe chuckles. "Yeah? You make it sound like magic. Maybe I’ll give it a try today."
Ryoma finally stops mid-step, breath short, shoulders twitching.
"You?" His voice co out flat. "You’re serious?"
Okabe blinks. "What, scared I’ll ss up your tempo?"
"ss up?" Ryoma drops his guard stance, wiping his brow. "You’ve seen him"...he jabs a thumb at Ryohei..."and you still want in? His timing’s all over the place. I’ve spent two days fixing my rhythm after training next to him."
"Hey, hey..." Ryohei laughs, "I’m improving. Right, Sera-san?"
Sera doesn’t look up from the stopwatch. "Disturbance builds focus. Ryoma, just focus on your training."
"See?" Ryohei says, flashing a grin.
Ryoma groans under his breath. "Yeah, builds headaches, too."
Okabe crouches, tearing a strip of white tape. "Easy, easy... I’ll just mark my box here. Won’t bother you."
"Don’t..." Ryoma starts, pointing at the floor. "You’re going to throw everything off. The whole tempo’s supposed to sync with the trono, not turn into so carnival rhythm!"
Their voices bounce around the gym, half playful, half serious. Okabe grins as he lies down another strip of tape anyway. Ryohei just laughs, the sound too light for Ryoma’s mood.
Before Sera could bother stepping in, Coach Nakahara walks out from his office, Hiroshi at his side. The older man’s presence silences the noise like a switch flipped off.
Nakahara folds his arms. "Ryohei, forget about that drill for today."
Ryohei pauses, confused. "Sothing wrong, Coach?"
"You’ll be on a different training regi from now on," Nakahara says.
Ryohei straightens, frowning slightly. "Different? Why? I was getting used to this pendulum drill. Can’t I just add it to my nu?"
Nakahara shakes his head once. "No. You’ll focus on building muscle before your next fight."
That word, next fight, makes Ryohei stunned with stupid face.
"My next fight?" he blurts, eyes widening. "Finally? Seriously? My next fight?"
Nakahara smiles faintly. "Yes. It’s been a long wait."
Ryohei laughs, nearly shouting, "About damn ti!" He tosses his bag aside, his excitent spilling fast. "Who is it? When? Is it local? A title eliminator? Tell !"
His questions cos rapid, like a kid on his first trip. Then, slowly, his smile wavers. Sothing about Nakahara’s tone and words pull him back.
"...Wait," he says, brow furrowing. "You said build muscle? Why?"
Nakahara ets his eyes. "Because your next opponent is in Super Lightweight."
Ryohei blinks, caught off guard. "Super Lightweight? But Coach, I’m in Super Featherweight."
Nakahara nods. "You were. Since Ryoma’s moved up to Lightweight, and Aramaki joined us in Super Featherweight, it’s ti we shift the structure. I’ve been thinking about it for a while."
"But... but, coach..." Ryohei falters. "Won’t that be bad for my form? You know I’m an out-boxer. Adding weight now would slowdown my pace."
Hiroshi steps forward, voice steady. "Don’t worry. Based on your fra, Super Lightweight fits you better. You’ve been cutting too much. Even your walking weight now is in that range. We’ll need to turn that excess into muscle, real strength. It’s ti to fight where your body belongs."
The words settle in, quiet but heavy. Ryoma glances at Ryohei and manages a small smile. Whether out of gratitude for him or for himself, it’s hard to tell.
The pendulum has stopped ticking, yet the rhythm, the invisible one between them, is still changing.
***
Hiroshi leads Ryohei toward the back, already explaining his new conditioning plan. Their voices fade between the heavy bags, leaving the gym half-empty again.
Okabe still stands near the ring, tape dangling from his fingers. He stares at it for a mont, then calls out,
"Coach..."
Nakahara pauses mid-step, just a few strides from his office door. He doesn’t turn right away, his smile is already fading. He’s been expecting this.
Hiroshi stops too, exchanging a quiet look with him. They’ve already talked about this earlier, before breaking the news to Ryohei.
Nakahara finally turns, wearing that polite, weary smile. "Yes, Okabe?"
Okabe fidgets with the tape, his tone hesitant at first. "What about my fight?"
Nakahara exhales, almost under his breath. "Ah. About that..."
"No way, Coach." Okabe cuts in, his voice rising. "Don’t tell you forgot about ."
"No, no, that’s not it..."
"You gave Ryohei his next fight." Okabe’s tone grows sharper, rawer. "Then what about ? My last fight was even longer ago than his. If you’re finding opponents for your boxers, shouldn’t I be first?"
From across the gym, Ryohei calls out teasingly. "Hey, don’t get jealous, bro! You’ll get yours soon!"
But Okabe doesn’t laugh. His face twists, more hurt than angry. "Easy for you to say," he mutters. "You already got one."
The tape unravels slightly in his hand, brushing the floor. He looks like a kid denied candy, frustration too old for his face.
Hiroshi steps in gently. "It’s not like we went looking for Ryohei’s opponent. Another gym reached out and offered the match. We couldn’t turn it down."
"Then give that fight," Okabe presses, voice cracking. "I’ll move up. Make Super Lightweight too."
Nakahara shakes his head. "No, Okabe. We can’t just throw you in there. It’s not that simple."
"Then when?" Okabe snaps, his breath uneven. "It’s almost two years already..."
Nakahara’s patience thins. He sighs and straightens his shoulders, his tone turning firm. "You know our situation, Okabe. I’m doing everything I can. I promise, I’ll get you a fight as soon as possible. For Aramaki too. And Kenta. I want a full card of our fighters when the ti cos. Everyone in this gym."
Okabe goes quiet, staring at the tape still in his hand. For a mont, the tension softens.
Then he nods once, jaw tight. "You’d better keep that promise, Coach."
Nakahara doesn’t reply, just gives a small nod, steady but tired.
Okabe drops the tape onto the bench and walks off toward the lockers. His footsteps echo in the quiet gym, fading like the tick of a cooling trono.
Nakahara retreats to his office, and sinks into his chair, eyes drifting toward the wall calendar pinned beside the desk.
Red ink marks the date of the upcoming Class-A Tournant, the one he’s been waiting for, the one that could finally open doors for Ryohei, Okabe, and Aramaki.
But the excitent that used to co with that thought doesn’t reach him today. His gaze stays fixed on the squares of the calendar, the space between now and that circled date feeling impossibly wide.
Before any of them can move forward, Okabe needs a fight. One solid win, and the JBC might finally consider upgrading his B-License to Class A. Without that, the tournant is out of Okabe’s reach.
And he knows that soon, once Ryoma beats Sekino and earns his spot as a title contender, he’ll be demanding his own title shot too.
Nakahara rubs his temples, exhaling slowly, already feeling the pressure.
"Just one fight..." he mutters.
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