Kenji Nakahara is busier than usual. So busy, in fact, that he looks less like a boxing trainer and more like an overworked businessman; phone pressed to his ear, folders under his arm, jacket half-on, half-off as he hurries across the gym for the third ti that morning.
He barely glances at the ring, barely nods at the fighters, barely breathes before another call drags him away.
Ryoma watches him stride past again, this ti heading straight to the office. Nakahara disappears inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. Papers shuffle, a chair scrapes, then another phone call starts; his tone tense, clipped, nothing like the calm old coach Ryoma knows.
Minutes later, Nakahara steps out, still talking, already walking toward the exit.
"...yes, two months... no, I can’t push it back... just send the contract draft..."
The gym entrance door shuts behind him before the fighters can catch the rest.
Ryoma exhales sharply, irritation flashing across his face. "Great. He’s not even watching my mitts anymore."
Sera lowers the pads a little and eyes him. "You’re complaining?"
Ryoma frowns. "I’m just saying..."
"He’s doing this for you," Sera cuts in. "And honestly? You’ve got no right to whine right now."
Ryoma’s brows knit, but he stays silent.
Sera tilts his head toward the exit where Nakahara vanished. "For the past three days, that old man has been running around nonstop. Paperwork, contracts, talking to gyms, dealing with city offices... he’s barely had ti to stand still, let alone hold mitts."
Ryoma blinks once.
"And rember," Sera continues, "we don’t have a marketing guy. No event staff. No one handling sponsors. Nakahara-san’s doing everything by himself. For you, for Aramaki, for Kenta... and for this damn event you demanded in two months."
Ryoma’s gaze drops to the mat, exhaling wiry with guilt.
Sera snaps the mitts back up. "So quit sulking. If he’s pushing himself this hard, the least you can do is give him a performance worth it."
Ryoma inhales, reset.
"...Right."
He throws a punch, harder than before.
***
Before noon, Nakahara returns to the NSN headquarters once more. He looks exhausted and unsettled, dust clinging to the sweat on his skin as if he’s been running nonstop since dawn.
He sits stiffly on the sofa of Logan’s office, hands folded in his lap, trying not to wrinkle the docunts he brought.
Logan’s assistant, Maria, stands by the corner table with a tablet, ready to take notes. Across from him, Logan finishes typing an email, then closes his laptop and gives Nakahara his full attention.
"Alright, Nakahara-san," Logan says. "You asked for a follow-up eting. I assu this is about the event."
Nakahara nods. "Yes. I’ve decided to go ahead with it."
Logan tilts his head, a small smile forming. "So you’re ready to cash in that special deal? The one tied to my promise with Ryoma?"
There’s a small pause, before Nakahara shakes his head.
"Not this ti," he says. "I want to save that for sothing bigger. Sothing I can’t handle myself."
Logan’s lips curve, not with disappointnt but with quiet understanding. "You’re saving your trump card for the world stage. Smart."
He leans back in his chair. "So tell what you want from , Coach."
Nakahara exhales and explains everything: the lost challenge, Ryoma’s frustration, the need to move him up the national rankings quickly.
He also talks about organizing an event themselves; Ryoma headlining, with Aramaki and Kenta on the undercard. He lays out his budget, a scrappy paper that shows his limitations, and his fears. When he finishes, he looks almost embarrassed.
"I know it’s not a perfect plan," he admits. "And ti is short. But I can’t just let him stagnate."
Maria raises her pen slightly. Logan picks the paper, takes a look by gesturing for her to start taking notes.
"You ca for broadcasting," Logan says, more statent than question.
"Yes. And... if it’s acceptable, I’d like to offer NSN the broadcast rights for free. Completely. As part of our deal."
Maria glances up, mildly surprised. Logan’s brows also lift, not in greed, but approval.
"That’s generous," Logan says. "Very generous. Most gyms would cling to every yen. But you’re giving the one part that benefits most, free of charge."
Nakahara tries to smile. "I don’t have much else. If giving you the rights helps us both... I’m grateful."
Logan shakes his head lightly. "Coach, make no mistake. You are offering sothing valuable."
He taps the desk once.
"And since you’re giving value, I’ll return the favor."
He gestures toward Maria. "Let’s treat this properly. Maria, open a fresh sheet."
She nods, fingers poised. Logan stands, moves to the whiteboard, still holding Nakahara’s note in one hand.
"Venue: Ōta Gymnasium. Capacity around twenty-five hundred. And for you?" He writes a number. "Projected paid attendance: eighteen hundred."
Nakahara nearly jumps. "That many...?"
"Because you have Ryoma Takeda," Logan says plainly. "And because the narrative sells itself: ’Champion avoids prodigy.’ People love controversy. Even if it’s just cowardice."
Maria types, expression focused.
"Ticket tiers," Logan continues. "Do not underprice. Bleachers from 3,000 to 5,000 yen. Floor seats at 8,000 to 9,000. You can raise more later, but this is safe for now."
Nakahara’s voice drops. "I thought maybe... cheaper would be better."
"No," Logan says, turning. "You’re thinking too small, Coach. This is not a charity match."
The he writes again.
"Production: minimal crew available, but don’t choose minimal. You’ll regret it later when Ryoma goes global."
He points the marker at Nakahara.
"I am telling you now... you want clean highlights. Multiple angles. Proper lighting. If Ryoma’s performance goes viral later, you’ll thank ."
Nakahara swallows. "Then... I’ll take the better package."
"Good," Logan says. "Maria?"
"Noted," the assistant says.
"Marketing." Logan circles the next item. "NSN will handle the online promotion and a thirty-second highlight trailer. You’ll handle flyers and cross-gym outreach. Doable?"
"Of course," Nakahara answers quickly.
"Now the purse," Logan says. "Ryoma’s local contender opponent: depending on negotiations, you’ll need anywhere from six hundred thousand to one point two million yen."
Nakahara nods; he expected that.
"Aramaki and Kenta," Logan continues, eyes narrowing, "you’re giving them three hundred thousand each?"
Nakahara straightens, looking unsure, already bracing for criticism.
But Logan smiles faintly. "You’re too generous. Too soft. Completely unprofitable."
There’s a beat, the kind that make the old man a bit uneasy.
"But that’s exactly why your fighters would bleed for you. So I won’t tell you to lower it."
Nakahara smiles wearily. Relief washes across his face.
Maria finishes typing and looks up. "Sir, should I open a new folder for the event proposal?"
"Yes," Logan says. "Label it: Senchoku no Ō, ’King of a Thousand Colors’, Draft 1.’"
Nakahara freezes. "...Senchoku no Ō?"
Logan shrugs. "Working title. You can rena it later."
He returns to his chair, closing the marker, and looks at Nakahara directly.
"You’ll likely walk away with a small but safe profit," he says. "Not big money. Not yet. But enough to sustain the gym. And more importantly, enough to elevate Ryoma’s ranking."
Nakahara’s breath shakes. "Your estimates... they an everything. Thank you."
Logan waves a hand. "Nakahara-san, you gave broadcast rights for free. The least I can do is keep you from drowning."
He extends his hand across the table.
"So... shall we proceed? NSN broadcasts. You hire NSN’s production team. And together, we build Ryoma’s next step."
Nakahara bows deeply, voice thick. "Please... help make this event real."
Logan’s smile turns subtle and sharp. "Oh, Coach. Trust ... we will."
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