Yuichi's hands fly to his head the moment Sekino hits the canvas. His fingers thread through his hair, clutching tight, dragging the skin on his forehead. His jaw locks.

"Are you kidding me…? No… no, no, no…"

His eyes refuse to blink, as if closing them would make the scene real. He paces one step, then grabs the rope, shoulders shaking with frustration.

Shiki watches him quietly at first, but the moment the referee calls "TWO!" he steps closer.

"Yuichi-san… throw the towel."

Yuichi doesn't even look at him. "Shut up. Not yet."

Yuichi bends forward, one hand still on his head, staring at Sekino as if sheer willpower could lift him.

Ryoma reaches the neutral corner, and the ref finally starts the count.

"ONE!"

Sekino is down on one knee and one elbow, the other arm sprawled out, glove sliding uselessly against the canvas.

"Coach… look at him," Shiki insists. "He's not responding. Throw it in."

"No!" Yuichi snaps. "Sekino's tougher than that. He can still go. He… he just needs a second!"

He spins back toward the ring and shouts so loud his throat strains.

"SEKINO! Get up!"

Sekino finally twitches, flinching at the sound. His breathing is ragged. He tries to move his leg, and plants his foot flat on the canvas to anchor himself.

His other knee stays down. His head dangles. His glove shakes as he tries to push off the mat.

Inside his skull, everything spins. The lights melt into streaks, and the crowd sounds like it's underwater, a distant muffled roar that feels a world away.

Shiki steps closer, urgency in his voice. "Look at him. Even if he gets up, what do you think he can do?!"

Yuichi ignores him and barks again. "SEKINO! Stand up! Do you hear me?! Get up! You wanted this…You wanted this fight, right!"

Sekino's breath hitches. He drags his other leg inward, trying to pull himself into a crouch, but the strength isn't there.

Shiki grabs Yuichi's arm. "Throw it now! If you don't, you'll ruin him."

But Yuichi jerks free. "No! It's too soon! He won't accept it if I stop it here. He came for this… he came to reclaim our dignity, to teach that arrogant kid a lesson!"

His voice is half anger, half pleading, like he's trying to convince himself as much as Shiki.

Meanwhile, the ref's still counting.

"SEVEN!"

Sekino forces air into his lungs, braces both feet under him, and pushes. His legs tremble violently, but they straighten by sheer will.

"EIGHT!"

He wobbles, almost falls again, then stiffens his posture just enough to freeze upright.

The ref steps in closer.

"Stand and show me you're good," he says.

Sekino lifts his gloves, and nods without really seeing where he is.

The referee finishes checking him, hand hovering near Sekino's chin, eyes searching for any sign he's gone.

Yuichi exhales sharply, triumphant, pointing toward the ring.

"See? Look at him! He's fine… he can still fight!"

The referee steps back, raises his arm, and signals the restart.

"Box!"

Yuichi stiffens, swallowing hard. "Not many seconds left… Come back to me, Sekino. Don't end it like this."

***

Ryoma wastes no time. He surges in, eyes cold, intent on finishing it while the window is still open.

Sekino tightens his guard and braces himself as the punishment begins.

Dug! Dug!

Bug! Dug!

Thud! Dug! Bug!

Seven heavy punches crash into him. He blocks four, but the others bite deep; one buries into his ribs, another folds into his solar plexus, another clips his shoulder too close to the chin for comfort.

The crowd senses blood. Their voices rise in waves, swelling louder with each punch he throws.

"RYO-MA! RYO-MA! RYO-MA!"

"Here he comes… Ryoma's going for the finish!" one commentator shouts, barely audible above the roar.

Dug! Bug!

"That's another clean shot! That's the eighth of the round!"

Bug! Dug!

"Another one… Sekino's guard is cracking. Can he survive this?!"

Ryoma's eyes burn bright, looks so hungry. And Sekino just absorbs, staggers, and endures.

"Sekino's hanging by a thread!"

"Does he have anything left? Anything at all?!"

The fever spikes. The crowd chants in pulses.

"Finish him!"

"End it!"

"Don't let him breathe!"

And Ryoma obliges, stepping in again, eager to end it before the bell can save Sekino.

But when he gets too close, Sekino clinches in pure desperation. He throws his arms around Ryoma, letting his weight slump onto the younger fighter's shoulder, barely staying upright.

The ref comes to separate, slapping Sekino's arms.

But then…

DING!

The bell finally rings.

Round six is over… but Sekino is still clinging to Ryoma, as though letting go would make his legs give out.

That's when Ryoma leans in and slips a knife into his mind.

"You clinch too long, old man," he says, voice low, mocking. "You held for years in the contender list. But… what are you doing here?"

Sekino forces himself to separate, stumbling back half a step. But Ryoma doesn't stop the sermon.

"You moved up… just to teach me a lesson? Is this the reason you got into the ring."

He finally turns away, walking toward his corner. But his last words hit Sekino harder than the cross that dropped him.

Sekino freezes for half a heartbeat, his breath shaking as doubt slithers in.

He's thirty now. Ranked 8th in Super Featherweight for years was the peak of his career. And he abandoned even that, moved up to Lightweight, scraping into tenth place.

For what?

Just to fight an unranked kid out of spite?

It won't take me higher in the ladder.

It won't bring me closer to the title.

He's not chasing a belt anymore, not climbing the rankings, not building toward a title shot. He came here for revenge, for pride, for the gym's dignity.

But now… he can't even stand straight.

"What am I doing…?"

The thought drifts through his mind as he sways toward his corner, legs barely remembering how to move.

This path he chose, this last crusade, it suddenly feels impossibly far, like reaching for something he was never meant to touch.

It makes him feels like a loser, abandoning his own ambition for something else. The thought alone twists painfully in his chest, filling him with a quiet, suffocating bitterness.

Sekino slumps onto the stool like his entire body has turned to lead. His legs fold without resistance, his arms hang useless at his sides.

His corner erupts around him in frantic motion. A towel scrubs sweat and the thin streak of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. An enswell presses against the swelling on his temple.

Another hand wipes at the cut along his cheek, dabbing, checking, trying to stop what little bleeding there is.

But none of it brings him back. His breathing is still ragged, too quick. His thoughts still scattered, drifting, unanchored.

Yuichi leans in anyway, filling the void with angry words.

"Don't you fold here, Sekino. Remember what he did to Kanzaki. Remember how he dragged that fight out, how he toyed with him. How he humiliated us."

He keeps going, resentment and rivalry, all the buried fury he's carried for years. He doesn't have personal grudge on Ryoma. But at least, he hopes this will spark a fire in Sekino once more.

But it doesn't.

Instead, the words twist in Sekino's foggy mind, reshaping themselves into something else.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

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.