The room suddenly falls quiet after Nakahara finishes speaking. And almost imdiately, that familiar sense of inferiority begins creeping back into Nakahara’s chest.
The na Ronin is his idea from the very beginning. Maybe even one of the few things he insists on more stubbornly than everyone else around him. The philosophy behind it, the independence, the refusal to chain fighters down like corporate property, all of that matters deeply to him.
At first, hearing soone ask about the aning behind the na actually excited him a little. It gave him the rare chance to make it public.
But now that the words are already out in the open, doubt arrives just as quickly. Maybe that sounded ridiculous. Maybe he talked too much.
And maybe everyone in the room thinks he is an aging gym owner romanticizing samurai philosophy to sound important.
Quickly, Nakahara’s mind starts scrambling for additional words, trying to think of sothing more grounded, more professional, sothing that can salvage the atmosphere before the silence becos embarrassing.
Then suddenly, a few people begin applauding.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
It’s soft at first, polite, and small.
But once several journalists start, others gradually follow along too. A few gym owners seated near the back exchange glances and nod quietly toward each other in acknowledgnt while joining the applause themselves.
Nakahara can only show an awkward smile. At the very least, it does not seem like they completely reject what he says.
"...Well," he mutters while scratching his cheek lightly, "it’s sothing like that."
He gives a small bow before sitting back down beside Ryoma.
But being Nakahara, the inferiority complex does not disappear that easily. Even while so people are still clapping lightly, part of him is already hoping that was the final question and the event can simply end peacefully before he embarrasses himself further.
Unfortunately, boxing press conferences rarely stay peaceful for long. The mont the applause fully dies down, another journalist suddenly rises from the middle row.
"Nakahara-san," he says calmly, "regarding Ryohei Yamada’s next title defense... many people believe you deliberately selected an opponent that is too easy for him. Uchida Nori from Kyoto."
It’s an older reporter from Osaka. His Kansai accent is thick enough that the atmosphere shifts imdiately the mont he starts speaking.
"We people in Kansai naturally support local fighters," the reporter continues, "but Uchida is only ranked number ten. In fact, he even dropped one position recently because he has not fought another ranked contender since losing the Class A Tournant final."
A few journalists nearby begin exchanging brief, knowing glances with one another in silence.
"So people are saying," the reporter adds, "that this is also your way of giving opportunities to underachieving fighters instead of choosing soone truly dangerous."
Nakahara imdiately understands where the question is heading. Still, he forces himself to remain polite.
"When you beco champion," he answers calmly, "there are voluntary defenses you cannot avoid. Naturally, champions usually select lower-ranked contenders for those fights, because the top contenders will eventually receive their opportunity through mandatory defense obligations anyway."
He folds his hands together on the table. "That way, everyone receives opportunities fairly."
"But many people argue," the Osaka journalist interrupts imdiately, "that this is simply cowardice."
The room stiffens almost instantly, tension tightening as several journalists shift uncomfortably in their seats.
"Since last year," he continues, "forr champion Umoto has openly demanded a rematch with Ryohei. Shoji Hamakawa also deserves one. Yet instead, you selected the number ten contender."
The reporter’s gaze sharpens. "Doesn’t that only strengthen public suspicion that Ryohei Yamada beca champion through luck? And perhaps... even you yourself are not fully confident he can defend the belt against either of those forr champions?"
And just like that, the atmosphere inside the room changes completely. This event is supposed to be the formal launch of Ronin Fight Managent, a small but important announcent for a newly established promotional company.
But now the tension no longer resembles a company press conference. It feels like a boxing interrogation instead.
Nakahara’s brows twitch, clearly offended. Still, he reins himself in, forcing his thoughts into order as he searches for a response that will preserve the ceremony’s intent without letting emotion fracture it.
But Ryoma simply pulls the small microphone stand closer. He doesn’t even try to hide his contempt. And even before he speaks, the people from the gym can feel the persona of the Cruel King returning. The version of Ryoma he hasn’t shown in front of dia or journalists for over a year.
"This is the issue with you lot," he says bluntly. "The more we try to stay polite to avoid offending anyone, the more you push us with this lack of respect."
The sa journalist doesn’t back down. "Takeda-kun, respect isn’t sothing you ask for. It’s sothing you earn when you’re worth receiving it."
"Is that so?" Ryoma raises an eyebrow. "I’ve brought OPBF and WBO Asia Pacific titles back to Japan. Is that not enough? This gym has dismantled respected stables in this country over the past two years. Still not enough? Or do I need to bring a world title back before you decide we deserve basic respect?"
The sa journalist smiles, a foxlike curve of the lips. "Maybe... when you beco a world champion, I’ll apologize publicly and swallow every word I said today."
Ryoma lets out a short chuckle, almost amused. "It’s funny. Two regional belts aren’t enough, yet you’re still here defending your pathetic Umoto, soone who couldn’t even hold a dostic title against a fighter you called lucky."
That lands hard and sharp. The old journalist goes silent, tongue clicking as he sits back down, unable to respond further. It’s clear now, this wasn’t just criticism. He ca with personal intent, driven by pride tied to Umoto.
But Ryoma doesn’t stop, because there are still others. He can see several journalists with the sa quiet disbelief, the sa dismissive gaze toward his gym.
"When Ryohei won the Class A tournant, you called it undeserved," he continues, voice cold. "When he beat Umoto, it was a lucky punch. When he beat another forr champion, it was still not enough for you to call him a real champion."
His eyes narrow slightly. "That’s why give Uchida Nori this title fight. You wanted proof, we give you your rematch for Ryohei’s undeserved win in Class-A Final."
A journalist from Osaka raises his hand imdiately. "And if Uchida Nori takes the belt from Ryohei? Would you finally admit that he was just lucky all along?"
"Say it after your Uchida actually does it," Ryoma replies instantly. "But I can say this on behalf of Ryohei right now. He will beat Uchida before the fifth round. And after that, he will give Umoto his rematch."
The room stirs almost imdiately after Ryoma’s final words settle.
A group of journalists from Kyoto shift in their seats, their expressions tightening with mild irritation they no longer bother to conceal. They don’t speak yet, but their posture alone carries enough contempt to be felt across the room.
At the side of the room, Ryohei Yamada sits quietly among the gym mbers. The Japan Champion keeps his arms folded across his chest, posture steady, face calm in a way that almost feels detached.
But underneath that stillness, there is a subtle pressure building in his chest as Ryoma’s words echo again in his mind.
He will beat Uchida before the fifth round.
It’s too absolute, too sharp, and maybe almost reckless.
"What on earth is this kid thinking?"
For a mont, even he feels that the statent borders on an impossible certainty, the kind that can easily turn back on the speaker if reality refuses to comply.
And yet, beneath that unease, there is that kind of reluctant warmth, because that declaration is not just pressure placed on him.
It is support spoken in the most extre form possible, a kind of trust that does not leave room for excuses, only execution.
Ryoma is not hedging, not protecting himself with his claim, not giving himself an out. He is standing in front of everyone and staking his own reputation on Ryohei’s victory.
That thought lingers longer than the tension. And despite everything, Ryohei finds himself sitting a little straighter, eyes fixed forward, as if silently accepting the weight that has just been placed on his shoulders.
User Comments
0 comments from readers