The taxi moves through the city, steady and unremarkable, but the air inside remains tense. Ryoma sits beside his mother in silence, eyes fixed on the passing lights, as if distance alone might dull what just happened.
Minutes stretch. The silence doesn’t break on its own; it’s carefully lifted as Fumiko finds the need to bring up that issue back to the surface.
"Why didn’t you just tell her?" she finally asks, voice calm but thoughtful. "That you’ve beco a brand ambassador for... what was the na again?"
From the driver’s seat, Ennosuke glances at them through the mirror, eyebrows lifting. "Eh? Ryoma’s got a sponsor already?" he says, half amused. "That true, kid?"
"Yes," Ryoma answers. "Aqualis Labs." He exhales slowly. "We’re heading to their gala dinner now. Tonight’s the first official unveiling."
Fumiko lets out a quiet breath, sothing loosening in her chest. "If you’d told her that, I think she would’ve understood."
"I couldn’t," Ryoma replies. "I only signed the contract yesterday. Nothing’s public yet. They’re planning an announcent for strategic marketing with montum, surprise, all of that."
He pauses, then adds more quietly, "Honestly, I shouldn’t even be talking about this now. Not to you. Definitely not to Ennosuke-san."
Ennosuke laughs, the sound light and unoffended. "But now I know. Does that an you trust , kid?"
Ryoma finally looks forward, eting the mirror for a brief second. "Just don’t break it. If this leaks and the dia gets ahead of them, I’ll be in trouble."
"Got it," Ennosuke replies easily. "My lips are sealed."
Fumiko nods, almost to herself. The pieces settle into place. She understands now, not enough to excuse what just happened, but enough to see the shape of it.
It isn’t that she wants to defend Reika. In truth, she never felt comfortable around her. Not hatred, only a persistent unease, like standing too close to a window during a storm.
After another stretch of quiet, Fumiko speaks again, softer this ti. "Now that Kaede’s moved to Malaysia..." She hesitates. "You’re not dating that girl, are you?"
Ryoma doesn’t answer. His eyes stay on the window, watching streetlights sar into lines of gold and white.
"I’m not telling you who you can or can’t see," Fumiko continues. "But I want you to rember sothing. A woman’s interest in a man isn’t always sincere." She sighs lightly. "That may sound judgntal, but I really can’t trust her."
Ryoma turns to her then, just for a mont, eting her eyes before looking away again. He doesn’t argue. There’s no need. His mother sees things the sa way he does, having the sa sharp eyes that see things in great detail.
It would be a lie to say Reika doesn’t interest him at all. She’s beautiful, confident, born into money and connections that could smooth his path without resistance. Being close to her would make everything easier.
But ease isn’t the sa as trust.
Too often, he’s caught the tells in her expressions, the sa tells he’s seen in her father, Logan Rhodes. The kind of confidence that doesn’t ask, only takes, and never doubts its right to do so.
Kaede leaving doesn’t leave a vacancy in his heart. His priorities are fixed: his mother, his career, and the people who stayed when there was nothing to offer in return. And Kaede just happened to be one of them.
What he had with her grew naturally, over years, over shared days and quiet understanding, not because he was seriously searching girl to date.
However charming Reika might be, the thought of dating her has never taken root. Without trust, nothing aningful could.
The taxi keeps moving through the cold Tokyo night, steady and unhurried, carrying him toward a future that’s opening fast. But this one is on his terms, no one else’s.
***
In Japan, December carries a particular rhythm. As the year winds down, companies gather for nenmatsu, year-end occasions ant less for celebration than for reflection. These are nights to acknowledge effort, reaffirm relationships, and quietly set direction before the calendar turns.
Aqualis Labs’ gala fits squarely within that tradition. Officially, it’s a year-end appreciation event, thanking partners and collaborators who carried the company through the past year.
Unofficially, it’s a statent. Aqualis is stepping forward, no longer content to sit behind performance data and lab results.
Tonight is about visibility, alignnt, and signaling what cos next.
The venue mirrors that intent: a luxury hotel in Roppongi, its banquet floor reserved, glass walls framing the city’s winter lights.
The guest list reflects careful balance. A minor baseball player chats with company staff, recognizable but not dominant. Nearby, a television drama actress offers polite smiles, her presence lending mainstream polish. Then a soft-image female singer speaks quietly with an executive.
One table, in particular, already draws a unique gravity. Daigo Kirizu sits at ease beside Renji Kuroiwa, the forr Japanese Lightweight Champion. Aqualis has sponsored Renji’s bouts more than once.
Takumi Hasegawa, the Director of Corporate Partnerships, is seated with them as well, playing the role of attentive host. while Kawata Eiichi occupies the remaining seat, quiet and observant.
Then a new face appears, one whose na has only recently started to carry weight in Japan’s boxing circles.
Takumi notices first. He rises imdiately, smile widening as the lightweight champion Shinichi Yanagimoto enters with his head coach, Daisuke Yoshizawa.
"Yoshizawa-san," Takumi calls, gesturing warmly. "Yoshizawa-san. Over here, please."
Kirizu stands as well, offering a courteous nod. "It’s been a while, Yoshizawa," he says, voice calm, asured. "You look well."
Yoshizawa returns the bow, a fraction deeper. "Thanks to you, Kirizu-san. It’s good to see you in good spirits."
Takumi gestures for them to sit, pleased by the smoothness of it all, unaware of the undercurrent tightening beneath the surface.
Renji and Shinichi et each other’s gaze. No handshake, just a quiet acknowledgnt shaped by old title fights and unfinished pride.
Then finally, Renji lets out a short scoff. "So this is Japan’s current champion," he says lightly. "Funny how belts change hands when people step away."
Shinichi stiffens but stays silent. Yoshizawa chuckles softly, stepping in before the edge cuts deeper.
"To be honest, Renji, we’re grateful you moved on to the world stage and relinquished the belt. That opened the path for the rest of us."
He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Though... I was hoping your bout with Elliot Graves would end differently."
Renji’s smile doesn’t fade, but it thins. "World belts don’t co with favors," he says calmly. "At least I stepped into that ring."
Takumi clears his throat gently, reclaiming the table with practiced grace, unaware that the evening has already begun to tilt.
But before he can speak, Renji’s gaze drifts past him and hardens. Near the entrance, an older man in a plainly cut suit stands uncertainly, half-guided by an event attendant who looks unsure whether he belongs.
The old man’s suit is clean, but too modest for this room. Kirizu follows Renji’s line of sight and scoffs under his breath.
"What’s that old man doing here?" he mutters. "Don’t tell Aqualis invited him too."
Takumi turns, and freezes. It’s Nakahara. And just behind him, unmistakable even out of place, stands Kenta.
"What the...?"
Takumi’s mouth tightens. His eyes snap instinctively toward Kaito Morishima, suspicion sharp and imdiate, already assembling a theory about forced introductions and premature plays.
As if on cue, Kaito steps away from his post and moves toward Nakahara, ready to intercept, to guide, to explain.
But before he reaches them, another figure enters the room.
Ryoma finally appears a beat later, followed by his mother and Aramaki’s family. They move together, quiet, unassuming, dressed neatly but without excess.
No shine ant to catch chandeliers, no cuts ant to impress caras. Against the tailored glamour and practiced ease of the room, they look almost out of place, like guests who wandered in from a different world.
Yoshizawa’s lips curl faintly as his eyes track from Nakahara’s worn shoulders to Ryoma’s restrained posture.
"Interesting," he murmurs, low enough to pass as idle comntary. "Did Aqualis lower the dress code... or the bar?"
Kirizu lets out a quiet amused breath. "That old man’s got nerve," he adds, eyes still on Nakahara. "Not sure if that’s courage... or desperation."
Then sothing unexpected happens.
The event attendant guiding Nakahara suddenly stiffens. His gaze snaps from the modest suit to Ryoma’s face, and he freezes.
"You are...?"
Recognition flashes, sharp and unmistakable.
He murmurs sothing under his breath, steps back, and bows deeply, the motion abrupt enough to draw attention.
"I’m terribly sorry," the event attendant says quickly, voice edged with urgency. He straightens and gestures inward. "Please, this way."
Takumi’s brow furrows. Kirizu’s scoff fades. Even Yoshizawa’s expression turns blank, his casual disdain slipping into sothing more guarded.
They hadn’t even received the sa treatnt upon arrival. By contrast, the respect afforded to Ryoma at the entrance travels quickly, quietly recasting him as a guest who had been expected all along.
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