NSN Headquarters, East Tokyo.
Nakahara and Sera sit side by side on the leather sofa in the spacious lobby, the hum of air conditioning blending with the distant echo of footsteps.
A receptionist behind a polished counter offers them a polite smile.
"He should be here any mont," she explains gently. "Please make yourselves comfortable."
Nakahara nods. "Thank you."
Sera leans back, arms folded, eyes drifting across the lobby’s towering digital screens; highlight reels, event promos, pay-per-view banners, and athlete endorsent ads rotating in polished loops.
The whole space feels like a shrine to modern sports entertainnt: sleek, fast-moving, fueled by money and montum.
Nakahara, anwhile, sits quietly forward, hands clasped, posture modest but firm. The glitz of corporate sports doesn’t impress him; he’s here with one purpose only.
Monts later...
The front doors slide open with a hiss. Logan Rhodes steps inside, a leather briefcase in one hand and a half-finished iced coffee in the other.
His posture is crisp as always, but his expression brightens the mont he spots Nakahara. He approaches imdiately, hand extended.
"Nakahara-san, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long."
Nakahara rises quickly and bows instead. "Not at all. We ca early."
Logan laughs lightly. "Early or not, I should still be here first. Thank you for coming."
He gestures toward the elevator. "Shall we? My office is free. We can talk more comfortably there."
Nakahara and Sera follow him toward the elevator.
Later, after reaching the top floor, Logan pushes the door open and guides them inside. The office feels more like a high-end lounge than a workplace.
Soft lighting, a panoramic window spilling morning soft brightness across a pair of deep leather sofas, and a glass coffee table scattered with event mock-ups and sponsorship folders.
A large digital screen on the wall quietly cycles through highlight clips from recent NSN events.
"Please, sit," Logan says, motioning toward the sofa opposite his.
Nakahara and Sera take their seats. Logan steps toward the corner desk, picks up the internal phone, and speaks into it with casual familiarity.
"Ogura... bring in three coffees, please. Sa as usual for . Thanks."
He then joins them on the sofa. With an easy motion, he unbuttons his suit jacket, settles back, and crosses one leg over the other, relaxed, open, setting a tone closer to a friendly discussion than a business negotiation.
"I’ve been following the news these past few days," he says. "That kid of yours... he really knows how to poke the champion’s nose."
"Yeah," Nakahara answers with a small nod and a strained smile. "Sadly, it didn’t work the way we hoped."
Logan leans back, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.
"So, have you sent the challenge to the commission?"
Nakahara hesitates before exhaling through his nose. "Not yet. I’m planning to submit it next week... but I doubt the champion will bother acknowledging it."
Sera shifts uncomfortably beside him, but Nakahara keeps his eyes on Logan.
"Ryoma’s been impatient," he continues. "We promised him a title shot within a year. And now... we’re past that. I don’t want to break his trust."
Logan’s eyebrow rises just a little. He’d expected this eventually, the very mont Nakahara would co to cash in on the bet Ryoma had won months ago.
Help organize his next fight. That was the promise. A promise that, in the right hands, could be leveraged into sothing far more profitable.
But now, watching Nakahara twist uncomfortably on the sofa, Logan sees new possibilities, bigger ones.
It’s a gold mine waiting to be mined. But he says none of that, not yet, waiting for the right timing.
Nakahara straightens slightly, as if forcing himself to appear confident in front of the younger businessman.
"I’m planning," he says, "to include a condition in the challenge. We’ll shoulder half the event organization. Less burden on the champion’s side. Less financial risk. It might push them to accept. I’m hoping NSN can take charge of that... production, marketing, ticketing. Everything. If you’re still willing."
The request hangs between them, earnest, pressured, and hopeful. Logan offers a thoughtful smile, hiding the spark of business calculation behind his eyes.
He folds his hands loosely, expression softening into sothing that looks honest, maybe even earnest.
"Nakahara-san... I really do want to help that kid succeed. Ryoma deserves a real shot. He’s got sothing special, and I’m not blind to that."
He pauses, choosing his next words with care.
"But... even with the condition you’re adding, the champion could still ignore the challenge. And honestly, a kid like Ryoma, hungry, fearless... it’s natural for a champion to avoid a threat like that."
Nakahara’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.
"So what then?" Logan asks gently. "If they refuse again... what’s your next move?"
Nakahara exhales, shoulders drooping. "We can only try. Maybe force a situation where he can’t avoid us anymore."
Logan raises a brow. "You an by beating every contender in the list?"
"If that’s the only option..." Nakahara murmurs.
Logan shakes his head slowly. "That will take years."
He leans forward.
"And every extra fight increases the risk. Injury, burnout, managent politics. He could get cut. He could get sick. He could lose a close decision and drop in ranking. Even a swollen hand could delay him half a year. The more steps you add, the more things can go wrong."
Nakahara doesn’t deny it. He knows every word is true.
There’s a mont of quiet, the kind that fills a room when reality sits heavy on the table. Then Logan offers a different kind of smile, asured, and strategic.
"Let give you another option," he says. "Sothing that might keep the kid moving forward. Sothing that keeps him challenged... so he doesn’t burn out waiting."
Nakahara glances up.
"Consider looking at the OPBF."
The na alone shifts sothing in Nakahara’s posture, a flicker of calculation behind the eyes.
Logan continues, sensing the hook landing. "The boy can be a contender for both the Japanese title and the OPBF title. Whichever cos first, you take it. That way, he doesn’t lose montum. And he doesn’t spend a year chasing one guy who might never step in the ring with him."
Nakahara rubs his chin slowly, absorbing the idea. "To do that... we still need to climb a bit higher in the national rankings."
Logan nods faintly. "You need to beat soone from the top level. Prove Ryoma’s not just a viral mont or a rookie punchline. And after that..."
He leans back, crossing his legs with a fluid confidence.
"We find him an OPBF ranker. Soone credible. Soone that puts the region on notice. And then we let the world decide which belt wants him first."
Nakahara’s breath stills for half a second when Logan says the world. The word hangs there, too big, too heavy. And Logan catches the flicker in his eyes imdiately.
He smiles, slow and knowing. "You don’t seem to have that much trust in him?"
Nakahara stiffens. "No, that’s not it. I do see his potential. I really do. But..."
"But you’re not sure," Logan cuts in softly, "if you can help him reach that far."
Nakahara’s smile falters. His gaze slips downward.
In that brief unguarded mont, all the years of struggling in obscurity, the failed prospects before Ryoma, the weight of running a small gym, everything sits plain on his face.
Logan doesn’t look triumphant. He looks sympathetic. But it’s the kind of sympathy that moves pieces on a board.
"Nakahara-san..." his voice dips in warmth. "You’ve taken him this far. Nobody can deny that. You found him. You shaped him. You taught him discipline, responsibility, heart. But world level..."
He lets the words land gently.
"That’s a different galaxy."
Nakahara’s fingers tighten around his knee.
"And maybe," Logan continues, voice low and persuasive, "maybe it’s not fair to expect you to carry that burden alone. You’ve done enough. More than enough."
Nakahara doesn’t respond. Logan waits one beat, and then slides the suggestion in like a blade wrapped in silk.
"Have you ever considered giving Ryoma to a bigger promoter?"
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