The first to arrive is Hoshino Event Solutions, a mid-sized production managent firm. They bring a slim proposal folder, outlining stage design, lighting coordination, and broadcast logistics.
Not an hour later, East Gate Promotions follows, offering full event organization support, ticket distribution networks, staffing, venue coordination, speaking as if the fight is already a certainty.
Before the day ends, Kōwa Sports Marketing sends representatives as well, pitching sponsorship packaging and dia rollout strategies, promising to "maximize the Takeda effect while introducing the next generation."
Nakahara listens, slightly stunned. Only days ago, he had been worrying about how to secure these very services; who to call, how to negotiate, whether the gym could even afford it.
But now, they co to him, one by one, riding the sa wave.
Nakahara nods slowly, fingers folded on the desk. "I’ll need ti to consider it," he says. "The venue is still a ways off, and there are other matters I need to settle first. You see... as chairman here, I’m also still a trainer."
The man across from him gives a small understanding nod. "I understand completely," he says. "Big decisions need breathing room."
He rises, smoothing the front of his jacket before bowing, polite and professional, without excess.
"Please feel free to contact whenever you make up your mind," he continues with an easy smile. "And regarding the pricing, nothing in that proposal is fixed. We’re very open to negotiation. I genuinely hope this can be the start of a long partnership."
"I see. I see," Nakahara replies.
The man bows once more. "Then I’ll take my leave. Thank you very much for your ti."
"You as well," Nakahara says. "Have a safe trip."
"Thank you. I’ll be in touch," the man says, the door closes softly behind him.
Only then does Nakahara allow himself to exhale, leaning back into his chair.
He has said almost the sa thing all day, I’ll consider it, without much intention of doing so. The earlier proposals were bloated, their confidence premature, built more on montum than substance.
But this one is different.
That man was Mihara Kazuhiro, Project Lead from Kōwa Sports Marketing. Mid-thirties, calm eyes, no wasted words, not the type who tried to sell confidence louder than his numbers.
He ca all the way from Kanagawa. The pricing is realistic. More importantly, he didn’t try to lock Nakahara into it. He left space to talk.
That alone makes Nakahara feel a faint twinge of guilt to ignore his proposal.
Reaching for the brochure again, he lifts it from the desk with more care this ti. He flips through the pages slowly; marketing strategy laid out step by step, event flow mapped cleanly, past projects summarized without exaggeration. The results are there, clearly stated, no smoke.
And then the numbers again, this ti, he doesn’t dismiss them.
"They’re asking for fifteen million yen, all-in," he says. "Flexible, but that’s the baseline. What do you think? Should we hire them?"
Sera doesn’t answer imdiately. He leans back slightly, eyes drifting to the ceiling for a second, then back to the desk.
"...Honestly?" he says. "If we’re serious about cutting NSN out of our necks, companies like Kōwa aren’t optional anymore."
Nakahara stays quiet, listening.
"Ryoma isn’t just a dostic draw now," Sera continues. "From here on, we’re dealing with international opponents, foreign commissions, overseas dia. Contracts in English. Broadcast negotiations. Sponsors who don’t care about gym loyalty, only exposure."
He exhales through his nose. "We can’t manage all that while you’re still running the gym floor and I’m babysitting fighters."
He gestures lightly toward the brochures stacked on the desk. "Kōwa handles marketing and sponsor acquisition. Logos on posters, package the event, pitch it, sell the story. That alone takes months if we do it ourselves."
Nakahara nods once. "What about this one?" Nakahara asks. "Hoshino Event Solutions."
Sera lets out a short, humorless laugh. "They wanted thirty-two million yen for production? That’s too overpriced, like we’re hosting a world title unification."
Nakahara snorts. "They quoted like I was renting the Tokyo Do."
"And East Gate Promotions?" Sera goes on. "Twenty-seven million for full event operations. Ticketing, staffing, venue coordination." He chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head.
"I lost my appetite the mont they ntioned that number," Nakahara says flatly.
Sera nods. "Just because we won a half-million purse bid, they think cash is falling from the sky."
Nakahara’s fingers drum once against the desk. "So we hire Kōwa?" he says. "Think they’ll co down on the price? Fifteen million still isn’t cheap."
"They might," Sera answers. "But that’s not the point."
He taps the brochure lightly. "Ryoma’s value right now is higher than it’s ever been. If Kōwa is even half as capable as they claim, they can pull in sponsor deals worth twice that fee before August... without you knocking on doors, without the gym looking like it’s begging for support."
Nakahara doesn’t interrupt.
Then Sera’s eyes turns cold, looking serious now. "If we want leverage against NSN, we need alternatives. Real ones. Not just threats."
Then a dull thud sounds from the hallway outside, followed by the rhythm of multiple footsteps. The athletes return from their roadwork, shoes scraping against the concrete, voices loose with laughter and heavy breathing.
The noise filters into the office through the open window, and the familiar presence of the gym reasserts itself.
Nakahara exhales slowly and places the brochure flat on the desk. "We’ll talk about this later," he says. "For now, focus on Ryohei. If he wins that title fight, the montum grows stronger. And Ryoma’s fight becos easier to sell without us forcing it."
Sera lifts his eyes toward him. He rises from his chair, signaling the end of the discussion. He nods once, understands the reasoning, and he does not argue against it.
"...To be honest," he says after a brief pause, "my confidence in Ryohei winning is not high. But I will bring out the best version of him. If there is even a chance, I will make sure it shows in the ring."
Nakahara gives a small nod in acknowledgnt. "That is enough," he says.
***
Over the next few days, more companies visit the gym, each hoping to ride the sa montum.
Mihara Kazuhiro from Kōwa Sports Marketing returns as well, and stays in Nakahara’s office far longer than before.
Three additional etings follow. And the last one stretches into a grueling six-hour session in a cramped conference room in Kanagawa, where numbers are challenged line by line and assumptions are stripped bare.
Throughout it all, Nakahara holds his ground. Eventually Kōwa Sports Marketing settles with ten million yen deal, with a performance-based bonus tied directly to dostic broadcast share results.
Nakahara signs the docunt without ceremony. Mihara exhales quietly, the tension finally leaving his shoulders.
"Thank you for trusting us," Mihara says. "We won’t treat this like a single event. We’ll treat it like the beginning of sothing that lasts."
Nakahara grips his hand firmly. "Results first," he replies. "Words co after."
Mihara nods, accepting the condition without protest. "That’s fair. We’ll make sure the results speak loudly."
The very next day, the press release hits the wires. The announcent of the partnership doesn’t just ripple through the Japanese boxing community; it acts as a formal declaration of independence.
Within forty-eight hours, Kōwa’s machinery begins to work. It starts with carefully placed profiles in Nikkan Sports and Boxing Magazine Japan, painting Nakahara’s gym not as a rogue operation, but as a "New Era Powerhouse."
By the end of the week, the narrative crosses the Pacific. Highlights of Ryoma’s previous knockouts against Jade McConnel and Paulo Ramos begin appearing on major combat sports hubs in the U.S. and Europe.
The "Takeda Effect" is no longer a local phenonon. It is becoming a global curiosity.
***
Las Vegas, Nevada
The desert heat is kept at a firm sixty-eight degrees inside the headquarters of NSN. High above the Strip, the glass walls of the executive suite filter the neon glare of the city into a soft expensive glow.
Logan Rhodes sits behind his mahogany desk. He isn’t looking at spreadsheets or internal mos. He is reading a translated headline from a prominent Japanese sports portal.
"...Kōwa Sports Marketing confirms partnership with Nakahara Gym; Plans for international ’ga-Event’ in motion..."
Logan leans back, scrolling further. He skims a snippet from a syndicated Arican editorial that Kōwa has clearly influenced:
"With Ryoma Takeda’s managent opting for an independent marketing route, the traditional gatekeepers of the Pacific circuit may find themselves locked out of the biggest payday of the decade. The question remains: can a boutique firm and a local trainer handle the logistical weight of a world-class promotion?"
A sharp smile pulls at the corner of Logan’s mouth as he puts the tablet onto the desk.
"Ten million yen and a dream, is that it, Nakahara?"
He reaches for a crystal glass of water, swirls it once, and looks out over the Vegas skyline.
The ambition is cute. The dia buzz is professional. But Logan knows the difference between a narrative and the brutal crushing reality of global logistics.
"Go ahead," Logan whispers, his voice laced with a cold amused challenge. "Build your stage. Light the lights. Show what ’independence’ looks like when the first real bill cos due."
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