Ryoma does not close the door imdiately. He studies the man’s face again, and this ti, recognition begins to surface as fragnts of mory align inside his mind.
>
The arena lights flash across Ryoma’s mory with sudden clarity. He rembers Ryohei standing bloodied but victorious, and he rembers this man leaning forward between rounds, whispering sothing toward Kimitada Umoto’s corner team.
"Ah," Ryoma says quietly. "Now I rember seeing you at EDION Arena Osaka."
Kurogane’s posture remains upright, but a subtle stiffness creeps into his shoulders. His confident smile stays in place, though it no longer looks effortless.
"I attended many events," Kurogane replies. "Big fights attract people in my profession."
Ryoma lowers his gaze to the business card and reads the title once more: Independent Boxing Manager. The pieces connect quickly, and his deduction forms without hesitation.
"So tell ," Ryoma says calmly. "Did you have a fight with Umoto or sothing?"
Kurogane’s eyebrows lift slightly, though his tone stays asured. "Umoto?" he repeats. "You an Kimitada Umoto? Why would you assu I had a fight with him?"
Ryoma leans lightly against the doorfra, keeping his expression neutral but attentive. "Because you were seated close to his corner that night," he explains. "Either you were trying to approach him, or you were already working with him. And if you were working with him, then you are not anymore."
He lets the silence stretch before continuing. "After losing his title to Ryohei, maybe things beca tense, and he looked for soone to bla. And now you are here, without a champion, looking for another."
Ryoma studies the man carefully, observing the slight tightening in his jaw.
"You lost your client," Ryoma says calmly. "You lost your leverage. And now you are trying to secure a new one before your na loses relevance."
His gaze sharpens. "That sounds desperate to ."
Kurogane’s forced smile lingers a second too long, as if ti hesitates around it. Finally, he drops the act, and stops looking for an excuse.
"Desperate?" he repeats lightly, looking surrendered now. "Do I truly look that way to you?"
"Yes," Ryoma answers without hesitation.
The word lands without aggression, but without rcy either.
"You brought up the Muhammad Ali Boxing Reform Act to suggest I might lose my belt," Ryoma continues. "You frad it as education, but it was intimidation first. Then you offered your services as the solution."
He folds his arms slowly. "That feels less like guidance and more like desperate marketing."
For a brief second, Kurogane’s expression freezes. The smoothness drains from his posture, and sothing more human flickers beneath the professional mask.
"So," Kurogane says carefully, "you actually know about the Muhammad Ali Boxing Reform Act?"
"I do," Ryoma replies evenly. "I said I didn’t, because I wanted to see what you were building toward. I wanted to see how far you would go with the assumption that I was just a clueless twenty-one-year-old you could exploit."
Silence settles heavily between them. The power has shifted, but the tension has not eased.
Then Ryoma exhales once and steps back slightly. "I think this conversation is over. I have things to prepare."
He begins to push the door inward. But Kurogane reacts imdiately and places his palm against the edge before it can close.
"Wait," Kurogane says quickly. "Please, just listen for one more minute."
Ryoma’s expression hardens. "I am not interested. You should look for soone else."
Kurogane keeps his hand on the door, though he does not push forward aggressively. His voice lowers, and the smooth salesman tone disappears.
"You are right," he admits. "I lost Umoto after the defeat. Sponsors pulled back. His team needed a scapegoat, and I was the easiest one to remove."
He swallows once before continuing. "Yes, I need a client. And yes, I am desperate to work. But I am not here to exploit you."
Ryoma watches him without sympathy. "You misjudged your approach, and I can’t accept that."
Kurogane nods stiffly. "You are correct. I opened with pressure because that is what fighters respond to most. I assud you would react to risk more than opportunity."
He straightens slightly, forcing steadiness back into his voice. "But I am good at what I do. I negotiate fair purse splits without damaging promoter relationships. I secure sponsorship clauses that protect long-term earnings. I prevent mandatory traps that corner champions at the wrong ti."
Ryoma remains silent, allowing the man to continue speaking without interruption. He watches carefully, waiting, half-expecting another calculated exaggeration to slip through.
"I analyze sanctioning body patterns," Kurogane adds. "I anticipate ranking shifts before they beco public. I build negotiation leverage months in advance, not weeks."
His grip on the door loosens, though he does not remove his hand. "I do not take control from fighters. I create buffers so they can focus entirely on training. I absorb political friction so they do not have to."
Ryoma’s gaze remains unreadable. Kurogane then exhales sharply, deciding to be honest now.
"I lost a champion," he admits. "But I do not intend to lose my career with him."
The hallway grows quiet again. And inside Ryoma’s mind, the system whispers.
>
>
***
Ryoma keeps his eyes on the man in front of him, asuring not the words, but the weight behind them.
He remains silent for several seconds as he studies Kurogane’s face. He does not see manipulation anymore, but he does not see purity either.
"Fine," Ryoma says at last. "You get five minutes."
He steps aside and gestures inward. Kurogane blinks once in surprise before stepping into the apartnt. He removes his shoes neatly and lowers his head.
"I apologize for my earlier approach," he mutters. "I misjudged you."
Ryoma closes the door behind him without comnt. He walks toward the living area and gestures toward the sofa.
"Sit."
Kurogane obeys without hesitation. The older professional lowers himself carefully onto the seat, keeping his posture straight and hands resting neatly on his knees.
The irony does not escape the room: a seasoned manager now sitting upright like a student, awaiting judgnt from a twenty-one-year-old boxer.
Ryoma remains standing. He picks up the television remote and resus the paused footage of Okabe’s fight.
The screen lights up with another reckless exchange. Leather thuds echo through the speakers. And Kurogane leans forward slightly.
"Oh," he says. "You are studying Okabe’s fights."
He watches another wild overextension on the screen.
"Don’t tell you are trying to fix his flaws."
Ryoma does not respond, and his silence stretches deliberately between them. Kurogane lets out a quiet chuckle, adjusting his tone with subtle calculation as he shifts into familiar flattery.
"So the rumors are true," he says smoothly. "You were the one behind the sudden evolution inside Nakahara Gym."
But Ryoma ignores the flattery completely. "If I ever need a manager, I will need soone who understands boxing. Not just contracts."
He pauses the footage mid-exchange, and then finally turns his head toward Kurogane. "Now assu you are Okabe’s manager. Now watch this fight... then tell what you would do to improve his career."
***
Silence fills the room as the screen resus playback. On screen, Okabe charges forward after absorbing a jab, swinging wide with exposed chin and planted feet.
Kurogane watches without speaking for nearly half a minute. His eyes track foot placent, shoulder tension, breathing rhythm, and recovery after exchanges.
He does not rush his answer. "First," Kurogane says slowly, "I would stop trying to turn him into sothing he is not."
Ryoma says nothing, but his brow rises slightly, showing a glimpse of interest. He finally lowers himself onto the sofa, leaning back with asured composure.
He rests one arm along the backrest and keeps his gaze fixed forward, signaling that he is ready to hear the rest.
"Okabe is not a technician," Kurogane continues. "His value lies in controlled chaos. But right now, his chaos is uncontrolled."
The footage shows Okabe biting on a feint and committing too heavily.
"He reacts emotionally to contact," Kurogane observes. "He treats every exchange as a challenge to pride rather than a tactical sequence."
He leans forward slightly. "If I were his manager, I would not sell him as a future world technician. I would market him as a pressure disruptor with asurable improvent."
Ryoma’s eyes narrow slightly as he processes the phrasing rather than the confidence behind it. He finds the reasoning grounded and unexpectedly practical, echoing a conclusion he had already begun forming before the doorbell interrupted his thoughts.
The overlap does not go unnoticed, and it forces him to acknowledge that Kurogane’s assessnt aligns with his own earlier analysis.
For the first ti since the door opened, he acknowledges that the man in front of him possess real boxing insight and a asured understanding of how to shape imperfect talent without breaking it.
"I would match him carefully," Kurogane continues. "I would build his record against volu punchers who fold under sustained pressure."
He gestures toward the screen. "And internally, I would demand one improvent only. Not elegance, just discipline after first contact. If he throws first, he must exit at an angle every single ti. That is the beginning. Nothing more."
The system murmurs again.
>
Ryoma keeps his expression unreadable. And Kurogane does not smile this ti.
"I do not need him to beco refined," he says quietly. "I need him to beco reliable."
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