Nexus Sports Network (NSN) is a Japan-based global company who runs everything behind the scenes; broadcasts, sponsorships, betting, and marketing. They don’t promote athletes, they promote the spectacle, and every sport feeds their machine.
Those familiar with Logan Rhodes understand the weight his na carries in the sports world. So call him a visionary, the man who modernized how sports are consud. Others call him a shark who turns every ga, match, or fight into a commodity.
Whichever version you believe, one truth remains: no one serious in the business of sports can afford to ignore him.
"You sure she’s Rhode’s daughter?" Kirizu doubts. "She could be soone else."
"Coach, she’s a hafu." Renji scoffs, his tone certain. "You don’t mistake a face like that."
Another quick trivia, hafu ans "half" and is often used to describe people who are half Japanese and half another ethnicity.
In Reika’s case, she is impossible to overlook, too striking to fade into the background, too unique to be mistaken for anyone else.
"I t her last year at the Tokyo Do," Renji says. "All-Star Series, VIP section. When Rhodes ca up to , she was right there, following a step behind."
Kirizu frowns. "Then... what’s she doing here?"
Renji shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe she’s dating that pretty boy. She did walk in with him."
"Give a break."
"Hey, you have to admit the guy’s got a nice face... for now. I’m thinking of fixing that. Maybe break the nose, rearrange the teeth a little."
Renji rolls his right shoulder, tilting his neck until it cracks.
Then, with a smirk:
"Might as well take his girl too."
That last one cos out louder than needed, enough to pull Aki and Reika’s attention.
Aki frowns, quickly shaking her head. "No, no... I’m here as a journalist."
Renji doesn’t even glance her way. He makes sure the words hit their mark by winking directly at Reika.
And Reika? She just narrows her eyes, then shifts her gaze to Ryoma. The bewildernt on her face curdles into sothing closer to disdain. Ryoma ets it with a faint grimace, as if to say he doesn’t like this wild misunderstanding any more than she does.
"Urgh... I knew this was a mistake," she mutters, throwing her hand in the air before turning away.
"Reika, wait..." Aki grabs at her sleeve. "It’s just a misunderstanding. Don’t go. I still want to watch..."
"I know." Reika sinks onto a nearby bench, pulling out her phone. "Watch all you like. I’ll be here."
***
Finally, one of Kirizu’s assistants sets a bell and tir on a table, while another climbs into the ring to serve as referee. Naturally, they’re all on Kirizu’s side, but no one seems concerned about fairness. It’s just a sparring match; no jury, no scorecards.
The bell rings. And the referee gives a perfunctory signal to start, not even bothering to explain the rules.
Renji, however, still plays the gracious host.
"Don’t get too tense, kid!" he calls out, extending his left fist in invitation. "Just enjoy the spar, and give our spectators sothing to cheer for."
Ryoma steps forward and lifts his right fist for a glove touch. But before they et, a sly smirk twists across Renji’s lips.
"Still naïve, aren’t you?"
In a flash, he raps Ryoma’s knuckles, pivots his right foot forward, and drives a heavy right.
For the first ti, Ryoma’s Vision Grid System blares an alarm, no data, no scan analysis, just a glaring red rectangle framing Renji’s glove.
Ryoma snaps his arms up, forming a tight double-door guard.
Bam!
The blow slams into his guard, but the force bleeds through, jolting his nose and knocking him off balance.
And then...
Croot!
A streak of blood sars across his own gloves. He retreats a few steps, putting space between them.
Renji doesn’t press forward. He just stands there, grinning like a man who’s already made his point.
"What’s wrong?" he calls out. "First ti you’ve had that kind of greeting?"
Ryoma lowers his guard just enough to glare at him, hate burning in his eyes. The crowd catches sight of the blood trickling from his nostril.
"I like that look," Renji says, smirking. "Not the nosebleed, but the eyes."
He dips into a slightly lower stance, torso swaying, left arm hanging loose, right fist cocked near his jaw.
"They’re the reason I invited you here. So don’t disappoint , kid."
Ryoma wipes the blood from his nose with his glove. But Renji doesn’t wait and steps in, left hand raised, pivoting into position for a jab.
"Kid, keep the distance!" Coach Nakahara shouts.
Instead of retreating, Ryoma steps forward.
"You moron," Nakahara mutters under his breath.
Renji’s grin widens. "That’s it, kid!"
He snaps out a probing jab, asuring range while coiling his right fist for the follow-up.
But Ryoma reads the line of attack shown by his Vision Grid System, already tilts his head, and in the sa breath fires his own left.
His punch is faster, connecting while Renji’s jab barely grazes his left cheek.
Dsh!
The jab ets the right fist Renji had been winding up for a cross, and Ryoma is actually launching his own right before Renji can retract his left.
"That’s fast..."
Renji slips the worst of it by leaning away...
Yet Ryoma’s fist still hits his head. It’s only the left side of Renji’s headgear, but from ringside, it still looks like a clean one-two.
"Yeah! Perfect combo!" Aki shouts. "Co on, Ryoma! Give it your best!"
The blow doesn’t seem to hurt Renji. At least, they’re enough to stall his aggression.
And Ryoma has no intention of letting him take back control. He looks annoyed by the cheap strike earlier, and now starts peppering Renji with more lefts, sharp and compact.
Renji slips, ducks, and blocks, but it’s clear the montum has shifted.
"This damn brat... he’s getting too full of himself."
While keeping the montum, Ryoma begins sidestepping to the right, circling counter-clockwise, slowly working his way out of the corner. Once he’s reversed positions and taken center ring, he lets the jabs fall still.
"What?" Renji scoffs. "Tired already?"
But Ryoma doesn’t bite. Instead, he steadies his rhythm, breath even, stance loose, and begins to dance steadily on the spot. He’s light on the tips of his shoes, not fast but fluid, nimble as a butterfly drifting over still water.
"Don’t worry," he says flatly. "I’ve still got plenty in the tank. After all, this is just a spar, isn’t it?"
The line is enough to spark Renji’s curiosity.
Ryoma’s just a rookie, barely out of his teens, who made his debut only four days ago. Yet he dances there too calm, showing neither swagger nor fear.
He’s... too casual, almost detached, nothing like the image of an eager young fighter. Even the cheap provocation with the glove tap earlier has already lost its bite.
"Heh, that’s good then," Renji smiles, start waving his head between his two raised fists.
Now he finds the reason to stop taunting, and a strong curiosity to begin studying his opponent.
"This kid is different. I knew it."
But the change in Renji’s face is impossible to miss, the slight tightening in his jaw, the way his eyes lose that lazy glint. Ryoma’s sharp gaze catches everything, and his Vision Grid System flashes a crisp readout.
***
[SCAN UPDATE]
Opponent’s stance: engaged.
Focus: locked on target.
Intent: heightened—studying patterns.
***
Ryoma tests the waters with a slight feint from his right, then snaps out a single jab, light, uncommitted.
He even leaves a small opening afterward, almost inviting a counter. But Renji only reacts to the jab, not taking any risk.
That alone tells Ryoma what he needs to know, Renji is going to spend the rest of this first round doing exactly what he’d suspected: studying him, and studying him hard.
"Oh, trying to read now?"
"Go ahead... I’ll just keep reading you two steps ahead."
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