Ryoma does not answer imdiately. Instead, he slowly turns his chair toward the window beside his desk and watches the light snowfall drifting across the streets outside.
"Do you know why so global audiences have started losing interest in La Liga and Bundesliga, Kirizu-san?" he begins.
Kirizu frowns. The sudden shift toward European football catches him completely off guard.
"What does that have to do with..."
"Monopoly," Ryoma cuts in.
Then he turns back, his tone remains casual. "When Real Madrid and Barcelona beco too dominant, or when Bayern Munich keeps stripping the best players away from every dostic rival, the competition becos predictable. People get bored. Rivalries lose their edge. Eventually the entire ecosystem starts losing value."
Ryoma then leans back slightly. "The sa thing is happening in Japanese boxing. And I have to admit, Nakahara and I helped create it. We crushed Iron Fox Gym. We buried Narisawa Gym. We turned gym rivalries into major storylines, and every ti their fighters lost, their reputation collapsed with them."
Only now does Kirizu begin to understand where the conversation is heading. For the first ti since entering the office, Kirizu feels genuinely unsettled.
"Now imagine the sa thing happens to you," Ryoma continues. "The last aningful counterweight disappears. People stop seeing gyms competing with each other. They stop seeing factions. Rivalries. Narratives."
His finger taps lightly against the desk. "If the dostic scene turns into Nakahara Gym’s private swimming pool, then Japanese boxing slowly loses its heat. And if that happens, I’m the one who loses."
A short laugh escapes him. "It becos much harder to sell a fight when everybody already knows who’s supposed to win."
The realization finally reaches Kirizu. It’s never a sympathy, not charity, not friendship. Ryoma never intends any of those things.
"So..." Kirizu says slowly. His throat feels unusually dry. "I’m being kept alive just to play the villain in your story?"
Ryoma shrugs. "You can think of as a business partner or a competitor. I don’t really care. But I want the public to keep seeing us as enemies. I need the dia talking about Kirizu Gym and Ronin Fight Managent like we’re locked in a war that’ll last the next decade."
Kirizu slowly nods. Finally, he understands, while Nakahara is driven by emotion, Ryoma only cares about business.
Unfortunately, that understanding changes nothing.
"There’s a problem with your idea," Kirizu says, "I’ve already challenged Aramaki publicly. Your side accepted it publicly. If I suddenly withdraw now, everything you’ve said about preserving my reputation becos aningless."
Ryoma simply shrugs. "That’s your fault for not listening to my advice from the beginning."
Kirizu’s jaw tightens. "Then there’s no point discussing this any further." Kirizu rises from his chair and begins adjusting his coat. "It seems I wasted my trip."
"Ah." Ryoma suddenly raises a hand. "What if I told you there’s still a way?"
Kirizu stops. Slowly, he turns back. One eyebrow rises with curiosity.
"You could make Serrano injured," Ryoma says simply.
"Injuring my own fighter?" Kirizu bellows, eyes widened by anger. "Have you lost your mind?"
"No." Ryoma shakes his head. "Not actually injured. You just need the paperwork."
For a mont, Kirizu cannot believe what he’s hearing. "You want to forge dical records?"
Ryoma blinks once. "Kirizu-san," he says, sounding genuinely puzzled. "Why are you acting shocked now? Co on. Let’s not suddenly pretend paperwork is where you draw the line."
Kirizu says nothing after that. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t dismiss the idea, and doesn’t even bother concealing the uncomfortable truth that part of him is already considering it.
"You need a reason to cancel the fight," Ryoma continues flatly. "And you need ti. An inactive champion is still a champion. The commission will create an interim title fight. Aramaki gets his opportunity. Serrano keeps his belt. And you keep your reputation."
"But Serrano can’t fake his injury forever," Kirizu says. "Eventually, the commission will force him to have a mandatory title fight against the interim champion."
"I’ll keep Aramaki busy," Ryoma says. "I can delay the collision for a few months. And anwhile, you keep pushing the narrative that Serrano is preparing for the world stage."
Silence fills the office. The idea looked like it ca out of a whim. But hearing it now, it sounds too prepared, far too much of it sounds convenient.
Almost like Ryoma has already thought through every possible outco long before Kirizu arrived.
Eventually, Kirizu asks the only question that matters. "And what stops you from exposing all of this later?"
Ryoma laughs out of genuine amusent. "Simple. If I expose you, you can expose . Half the public will believe you. Half the public will believe . And suddenly our rivalry becos even bigger."
He taps the desk once. "More attention. More controversy. And more money."
For the first ti in the conversation, Kirizu genuinely struggles to decide whether the man sitting across from him is a genius, a madman, or sothing far more troubleso than either.
Kirizu remains silent for several monts, weighing every implication of the proposal. The more he examines it, the more he dislikes it. Yet that dislike alone does nothing to change the reality in front of him.
Eventually, he exhales through his nose, gives a reluctant nod, and turns away.
"Fine, I’ll do it as you say."
He starts walking toward the door, but with every step, a growing sense of unease settles inside him. Kirizu gradually realizes just how dangerous Ryoma has beco, that he finds himself genuinely afraid of him.
It has little to do with money, influence, or even the growing power of Ronin Fight Managent. It cos from Ryoma’s ability to see the board several moves ahead and guide people toward the outco he wants, all while making them believe they arrived there on their own.
Just when Kirizu’s hand reaches the doorknob, Ryoma suddenly speaks again.
"Wait. There’s sothing else."
Kirizu pulls the door open but does not leave. He lingers there, glancing back over his shoulder.
"While you’re arranging Serrano’s injury," Ryoma says, "it might be a good idea to start looking for another star. I can even give you a na."
This ti, Kirizu turns around completely. The irritation and caution remain, but the fear and contempt montarily give way to curiosity.
"Liam Kuroda," Ryoma says, leaning back in his chair. "Since losing to Kenta, he practically disappeared from the scene. But the truth is... he spent most of last year demanding a rematch, sothing Masahiro Nishiyama could never afford to give him."
A faint smile appears on Ryoma’s face. "And if I were a betting man, I’d wager he never extended his contract with Raging Fox Gym."
Kirizu blinks several tis, imdiately sees the huge opportunity.
Liam still carries value. And unlike Serrano, Liam Kuroda has the sa qualities that once made Renji Kuroiwa the backbone of the gym: discipline, ambition, and the ability to make an entire gym work harder simply through his presence.
It is exactly the kind of fighter Kirizu desperately needs right now. More importantly, if Ryoma’s assumption is correct, then Liam Kuroda may be available.
And judging by the state of the division since Kawamoto Sozen vacated the belt to pursue a world ranking, the Japanese Welterweight scene has beco noticeably thinner. With Liam Kuroda, another national title suddenly feels within reach.
Yet Kirizu says nothing back to Ryoma, no gratitude, no acknowledgent. He keeps his face flat, steps out of the office, and quietly closes the door behind him.
Ryoma simply shrugs, a faint smile remains on his face, relaxed and almost boyish. It is the sort of expression that makes him difficult to understand, because there is no trace of malice, triumph, or even relief.
To him, it seems this is simply another day, another problem solved, another piece moved across the board in a ga he genuinely enjoys playing.
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