Alvarez doesn’t respond imdiately. He leans back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the armrest before he exhales and pushes himself to his feet.
Without another word, he walks toward the office door and stops there, one hand resting against the fra as he looks out over the gym floor.
The gym feels more crowded than usual, the air thick with movent and noise. Journalists linger near the edges, watching closely, waiting for a mont they can turn into a story.
Inside the ring, Villanueva is already in the middle of a sparring session with Paulo Ramos. The pace is high, the exchange intense.
Ramos presses forward, compact and relentless, his stance steady, almost deceptively relaxed. He doesn’t waste motion. Every step keeps him balanced, centered, allowing him to fire off tight bursts of punches without overreaching.
His gloves move in quick succession; short, controlled flurries that co in waves, each combination flowing into the next without breaking his rhythm.
"Don’t chase too far," Virgil calls from outside the ring. "Keep your base. Let him move, then close."
Across from him, ndoza watches just as closely. "Angle out, Dante. Don’t give him the line."
Villanueva responds instantly. He gives ground, not in retreat, but with intent. He takes one step back, then a pivot. His torso turns smoothly, shoulders slipping just outside the path of the incoming punches.
Ramos keeps the tempo but his flurry always cuts through space that’s no longer there. Villanueva doesn’t stay still long enough to be trapped. He shifts again, a side step this ti, changing the angle just enough to force Ramos to reset his footing if he wants to continue pressing.
anwhile, the journalists watch closely, so of them exchanging quiet murmurs, their expressions sharpened with focus.
"That pressure... he’s not wasting anything."
"Yeah, but he’s not landing clean either. Look at the angles."
"Villanueva’s controlling the space. Ramos has to reset every ti."
"Still, that output... if even half of those get through in a real fight."
"He’s testing him. Seeing how long he can keep that movent up."
"Or breaking his rhythm slowly. That kind of pressure adds up."
The rhythm builds. Ramos advances with pressure, his output constant, forcing exchanges. Villanueva answers with movent, controlling space, disrupting timing, never letting the aggression settle into a clean pattern.
"Good, keep him turning," ndoza calls out.
"Cut the angle," Virgil responds almost at the sa ti.
The two styles clash in a steady flow, pressure against control, volu against precision. Neither gives way, both forcing the other to adapt with every second that passes.
Despite throwing fewer punches, Villanueva still manages to keep the exchange balanced. The aggression remains on Ramos’ side, but the control never leaves Villanueva.
From the outside, it doesn’t feel one-sided. If anything, it feels like a quiet stalemate disguised as intensity.
***
By the end of the third round, the bell cuts through the motion, and both of them finally step back.
Their breathing is heavier, but only briefly. It doesn’t take long before the tension eases, replaced by sothing lighter.
"Still slippery as ever, old man," Ramos says, rolling his shoulders as he exhales.
"You’re just too lazy," Villanueva replies, pulling his gloves off slightly. "If soone my age can still give you trouble, then Philippine boxing’s future looks bleak."
"What are you talking about?" Ramos scoffs as he walks back to his corner. "Don’t act like you’ve beaten ."
"Of course not," Villanueva shoots back, turning toward his own corner. "I’ve never taken you seriously."
anwhile, Alvarez still stands by the office doorway, his gaze steady but distant. His attention isn’t fully on the sparring anymore, his thoughts circling back to Ryoma’s situation, weighing options he still hasn’t decided on.
More than a decade in this business, and this is the first ti he’s dealing with fighters asking for professional security before a fight. And he has no ready solution. The only thing that cos to his mind is right in front of him, the fighters ndoza has in this gym.
After a mont, Alvarez finally steps out of the office, stops at the corner of the ring, and leans slightly toward ndoza.
"We got a problem," he says, exhaling through his nose.
Villanueva straightens slightly, his expression shifting, while ndoza turns his head, already reading the weight behind those words.
Alvarez glances once toward Ramos, then toward the journalists still hovering around, before lowering his voice.
"About that kid..." he continues. "Looks like they’ve started making their move to disrupt his preparation."
Villanueva blinks, confused. "That kid? Whose kid?"
"Ryoma Takeda," Alvarez answers. "Your opponent."
Villanueva frowns. "And who’s ’they’ supposed to be?"
ndoza exhales lightly. "There are things you don’t understand yet about Ryoma Takeda’s situation."
Before the conversation can go further, he notices Dizon stepping in quietly and stopping just right behind Alvarez.
ndoza shifts his attention. "Sothing happened with our guests, Dizon?"
Dizon nods once. "Their first night here didn’t go well. There was a disturbance. They couldn’t sleep at all."
"Disturbance?" ndoza repeats.
Alvarez exhales again, slower this ti. "They’re asking for security. And given the situation... I can’t just ignore it."
He glances at ndoza, more direct now. "Can I borrow two or three of your guys? Amateur ones. If things get physical, I don’t want any pro licenses getting dragged into it."
ndoza’s gaze shifts across the gym floor, already scanning. "Is it that serious? You think a couple of amateurs will be enough?"
"We just need presence," Dizon answers. "Soone to stay alert at night, make sure they can rest. If things escalate, our guys can call the police."
ndoza nods slowly, weighing it, before making his decision. He turns his head and calls out across the gym.
"Douglas! Destin! Get over here."
Two n look up from across the floor. They make their way over without rushing, but there’s sothing in the way they carry themselves; loose, unbothered, a little too comfortable in their own space.
Douglas, with a shaved head, moves with a slight swagger, while Destin, his hair unkempt, lifts his chin in greeting instead of nodding.
"Need sothing, boss?" Destin asks.
ndoza studies them for a mont before speaking. "You two busy for the next five weeks?"
Douglas snorts. "Busy? That a new word I should learn?"
A faint smile crosses ndoza’s face before it fades again. "Alvarez has a side job for you. We need at least two people to watch over our guests from Japan. Mostly night duty. Making sure no one disturbs them. ans you’ll have to pause your training for a while."
Douglas rolls his shoulders once, cracking his knuckles. "There’s pay, right?"
"Of course," Alvarez answers.
Destin lets out a short breath, a grin forming. "As long as there’s money, I’ll stand wherever you want."
Alvarez nods, then gestures toward Dizon. "Go with him. He’ll handle everything you need while you’re there."
His expression tightens slightly. "And rember... they’re honored guests, and also our opponents. Watch your attitude around them. But don’t ntion you’re from this gym. I don’t want them thinking we’re sending people to spy on their preparation. Keep it neutral and professional."
Douglas and Destin nod, then pack their things before heading out with Dizon. And with that, the request for "professional bodyguards" is fulfilled.
***
anwhile, Paulo Ramos is already being surrounded by journalists near the ring, questions coming from multiple directions as microphones and recorders push closer.
"So, what do you think about Villanueva’s condition going into the fight?" one of the journalists asks.
Ramos exhales lightly, almost amused. "Honestly? I’m more worried the old man’s going to lose his title this ti."
"But you seed to struggle a bit just now," another voice cuts in. "Or are we seeing it wrong?"
Ramos shakes his head. "No, he’s still a difficult opponent. I won’t deny that. But against soone like Ryoma Takeda, just being difficult isn’t enough."
Before another question can follow, an arm hooks around his shoulder from behind. Villanueva leans in, pulling him slightly as he faces the journalists.
"You should believe what this kid is saying," he says casually. "He knows exactly what it feels like to lose to Ryoma Takeda."
Ramos clicks his tongue. "What are you talking about, old man..."
Villanueva chuckles. "Not just him. The whole country knows."
A few journalists laugh, the mory clearly still fresh enough to sting.
"That was a painful loss," Villanueva continues. "So it’s only natural. When soone carries that kind of mory, even a nightmare starts to look worse than it really is."
The laughter spreads wider this ti, and Ramos just exhales through his nose, letting it pass without arguing.
It’s not like he can deny it, because that loss didn’t just stay inside the ring. It followed him long after, circulating in ways he never asked for.
In fact, Aqualis Labs had capitalized on it for their Surge Blue campaign, recreating the mont with a dramatized scene of a fallen "monster" slumped at Ryoma’s feet, mirroring exactly how Ramos had gone down that night.
The visual spread fast, turned into jokes, then s. And for a while, it was everywhere across the Philippines. Ramos doesn’t react to it now, but the way his jaw sets for just a fraction of a second says enough.
"Speaking of your loss against Ryoma," one of the journalists presses, "are you planning to challenge him again? That’s still your only loss. Don’t you want a rematch?"
"Of course," Ramos answers. "We’ve sent requests more than once. No response so far. But I get it. After taking the OPBF belt from McConnell, he’s tied up with Thanid Kouthai. And now..."
He glances sideways, "...he’s aiming for this old man’s title."
"Relax," Villanueva cuts in. "I’m not letting that kid take my belt. I’ll unify the OPBF and WBO Asia Pacific titles first. After that, you can fight him and fix your reputation."
"Hey, don’t forget our deal," Ramos shoots back. "If you pull that off, you give the shot. Title fight for that OPBF belt."
Villanueva shrugs. "I don’t mind. Just don’t use that as an excuse to run from your nightmare."
Ramos scoffs. "Don’t get ahead of yourself, old man. If you keep taking this lightly, that nightmare might end up being yours."
Villanueva laughs, loud and easy. "I’ve lost enough in my career. No nightmares left for . Even if I lose the belt."
He glances at Ramos briefly. "Not that I’m going to let him beat ."
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