Sera studies him; the exhaustion, the stubborn pride, the thin thread of something close to madness in Ryohei's eyes. Now he finally understands why the crowd always frays Ryohei's calm.

"I don't hate him," Ryohei says, voice low. "I love watching Ryoma's fights too. And he's done a lot for the gym. But I… I'm a man."

The words land like a stone. It's not bravado, but an admission.

Sera exhales, the edge in his voice softening. "I shouldn't have compared you to Ryoma. But trying that counter now…"

Hiroshi lifts a hand, hesitant. "Sorry to interrupt, but… Ryohei can do counter too. It's not that hard to pull… I guess."

Kenta cuts in before Sera can argue. "The counter here is not just a punch-back. He's betting on a single hit that breaks legs more than body, a punch timed when the opponent's committing his weight. If you hit it right, you paralyze him. If you miss, you throw yourself forward and get nailed."

Hiroshi blinks. "Like a dual exchange?"

Sera nods, turning his full attention to Ryohei. "A dual exchange is what happens when timing fails. The worst, if you screw everything, your opponent hits you first. You get hit while you throw your own weight forward in full momentum. Meaning, you get countered instead. Have you thought about that? Ryohei?"

Ryohei meets Sera's eyes. He isn't defiant now, only determined.

"I tried it last round," he admits. "I missed. But those misses told me the rhythm. The exchanges taught me the timing."

Sera watches him, searching the boy's face for reason or recklessness. Finally he exhales and crouches to Ryohei's level.

"Do you know what it takes to land that counter?" he asks.

Ryohei lists the components as if reciting a set of axioms: "Timing. Angle. A setup to bait him. And the courage to throw the punch."

Sera's expression tightens. "Yes. But more than that… you must be numb. Cold-blooded. Calculate everything and refuse to let anything else in. Not anger. Not the roar of a crowd. That's what you've been losing."

Before they can argue it further, the referee's voice cuts cleanly across the corner.

"Seconds out!"

Sera rises without finishing the lecture, and leaves. Hiroshi and Kenta slip through the ropes behind him.

But at the apron Sera pauses, and then calls back once more.

"Hey…"

Ryohei turns.

"No emotion," Sera says, voice low but iron-true. "Be a true villain. No fury, no show… just the plan and the punch. Understand?"

Ryohei's jaw tightens, and his gaze sharpens.

The fever in his eyes cools into something like resolve. He nods once, small and grave, and turn to face his opponent.

***

Across the ring, Kobo bounces lightly on his toes, testing his legs, shaking his arms as though reacquainting himself with a body borrowed for the night.

His face bears the clear marks of damage, swelling along the cheekbone, a faint bruise under the eye. He's hurt, yes, but his stance remains solid, his legs steady beneath him.

Ryohei, on the other hand, feels the toll of his own recklessness. He's never been a brawler, never relied on slugging it out toe-to-toe.

All the dual exchanges so far have burned through his stamina like gasoline on dry grass. The only thing keeping him upright until now is sheer spite.

"This'll be the last…" he mutters under his breath, rolling his shoulders. "No backing down now."

The bell for the sixth round rings.

Ding!

And the arena seems to inhale all at once.

The commentators lean forward, voices brimming with tension.

"And here we go… round six begins! Both fighters have taken hell, but neither's willing to quit!"

"Look at them! No hesitation this time. Ryohei's been controlling the fight so far. And now his eyes say it all. He's going for the finish!"

"But Kobo's still alive in there. This round could be the breaking point!"

The crowd rises with the call, the air charged with that electric buzz that comes only before something grim, when everyone knows one of them won't walk away the same.

Kobo takes the center of the ring again, rooted like an anchor that refuses to lift.

Ryohei doesn't change his approach, still light on his feet, circling, gliding. But He can feel the legs trembling beneath him. They might not last even just for this round.

But he hides it, forcing them to move, even mixing in the pendulum step he'd only just learned.

"He looks different somehow," one commentator murmurs, intrigued.

"His footwork…" says the other. "Never seen him move like this. Almost looks like he's enjoying himself."

Ryohei presses in, closing the gap. A 1-1-2 combo: jab, jab, cross…

Dug, dug, dug!

All blocked.

He hops back, circling sideways, resetting.

Again, the pendulum step, and this time a 1-2-1, jab-cross-jab…

Dug, dug, dug!

Still all on the gloves.

He slides out once more, and circling sideways.

His rhythm holds steady, but it's not Soviet-style precision; it's more like hit-and-run. A trap, meant to bait Kobo into lunging.

He repeats the rhythm. This time Kobo blocks, and then fires back; two hooks.

Ryohei sees the window, but no, Kobo's not leaning forward. Not yet. This is not the condition he looks for his counter.

Patience, he tells himself, backing off and bouncing on his toes.

He feints, probes with quick lefts, while thinking and scheming.

How did Ryoma do it?

In our spar… he dragged me into his rhythm.

Shiiit…

Should I… use verbal abuse on this kid? Get under his skin?

He keeps dancing, jabbing, slipping in and out. Then he lingers a bit longer inside, baiting Kobo to throw a heavy swing.

But Kobo answers it with compact hooks, and it leads to a few exchanges in close range.

Dug, dug, bug, bug, dsh, dug!

Most are blocked, but…

"One solid shot crashes into Ryohei's ribs," one commentator beams.

Ryohei grits his teeth, snaps back a left…

Dsh!

…and escapes.

Damn… this is harder than I thought.

His legs feel like sandbags now. He won't last much longer at this pace.

What now? Think… come on, think.

But nothing comes but the thought of dropping the plan altogether, playing it safe. No point risking everything on a counter when the trap won't spring.

Fine. Forget it. Just keep the lead. Run if I have to.

And Kobo, patient and disciplined, has been told by his coach to wait, to let Ryohei burn himself out.

"Keep dancing, clown… Once you gas out, I'll bury you."

***

Back to his risk-free plan, Ryohei steps in, just enough to control distance with his jab.

Dug!

Dug, dug, dug!

Dug, dsh, dug!

Seven jabs, only one lands on Kobo's cheek. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep the points ticking.

He repeats, and Kobo's guard stays high. That's when Ryohei spots the ribs, an opening. So he dips and…

No, there's no satisfying thud this time.

Kobo's shoulder turns. A wide hook's coming.

Ryohei sees it, flinches, and pulls away.

No shit… that was close.

His heart's pounding, faster than his breath.

And that's when it hits him. He doesn't even have the nerve to trade. Let alone to set up for a counter.

Is this what Ryoma went through in his fights?

He's scared. And he hates it.

And what he hates more? It's Kobo's cockiness.

"What's wrong?" Kobo jeers, lips curling with contempt. "Too scared for another slugfest? What a coward… pathetic."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.