Chapter 4: Technique Over Power
The sharp trill of Joji's alarm pierced the silence of his room at 5:15 AM. Today was Saturday—a day of rest for most—but not for Joji. Today, he was scheduled to spar with Rukio Akami, the strongest member of the gym. The thought alone made his heart flutter with a mix of excitement and nerves. As he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he reached for his phone and hesitated.
After a moment of indecision, he sent Mina a message, inviting her out for a morning jog. She didn't reply immediately, so Joji assumed she was still asleep. He waited a few minutes, staring at his screen, before sighing and setting it aside.
He laced up his shoes and stepped outside alone. The cool air nipped at his skin, the streets still hushed and tinted in blue morning light. Jogging through familiar roads, Joji found himself near Mina's house. He slowed down as he approached her gate, torn between boldness and anxiety. Should he ring the doorbell? What if her father answered and misunderstood? The imagined scene—a scolding and maybe worse—was enough to make him shake his head and jog past, whispering a silent curse at his own cowardice.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned home to the warm, savory scent of grilled fish and rice. Uncle Naru was already in the kitchen, dressed for work and humming softly to himself.
"Eat up, Joji," Uncle Naru said with a grin. "Big day today, huh?"
Joji nodded, grateful for the food and the normalcy. After breakfast, he relaxed in his room and booted up his gaming console to burn through some nervous energy. Despite the action on screen, his thoughts drifted toward the gym. Toward Rukio.
By late morning, Joji knew it was time. He packed his gloves, wraps, and a water bottle into his gym bag, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped outside. The streets were livelier now, filled with chatter and the clanging of market stalls. Even so, Joji walked with focus.
When he arrived at the gym, the air was already thick with sweat, energy, and the rhythmic beat of fists on pads. Joji immediately started warming up—stretching, shadowboxing, jumping rope. Familiar faces nodded at him in greeting. Noon approached fast, and the usual crowd filtered in.
At exactly 1 PM, Coach Haruto's commanding voice echoed through the gym.
"Joji! Rukio! Ring."
Joji felt his stomach clench. He pulled on his gloves and headgear as he made his way to the ring. Rukio was already there, tall and composed as always. He gave Joji a short nod.
But before the spar could begin, Joji raised his hand and turned toward the coach.
"Coach... I don't mean to question you, but why am I sparring with Rukio? I've only been training here for, what, seven weeks?"
Coach Haruto folded his arms. "Fair question," he said. "But this isn't just about your level—it's about your style."
Joji blinked. "My style?"
Rukio spoke up then, a bit of confusion in his voice. "Yeah, I've been wondering too. I haven't even met Oharu Kiyama in the ring yet. All I've seen is a name and a few stats."
Haruto motioned for both of them to come closer to the ropes. "That's because I have a video."
He pulled out his phone and opened a clip, tilting it toward them. "I've been analyzing Oharu's last few fights. The guy's a boxer-puncher—balanced between offense and defense. Very patient, but aggressive when you give him an opening. Reminds me of you, Joji."
Joji blinked, surprised. "Me?"
Coach nodded. "You don't realize it, but your instincts fit that profile. You blend jabs with footwork, wait for mistakes, then strike. Rukio needs to prepare for that style. Not brute force. Not endless aggression. Controlled calculation."
Rukio leaned closer to the screen, watching intently. "So that's what he's like... huh."
"I don't want you to fight Oharu blind," Haruto said. "Today's spar isn't about going full force. It's about strategy—how to read a boxer-puncher. Joji's the best test you'll get without giving away your own hand."
Joji's nerves didn't exactly vanish, but they were now coated in purpose.
"Ready?" Coach asked.
Both fighters nodded.
The bell rang.
The spar began slow. Rukio barely threw anything in the first round, moving with cautious precision. He circled Joji, watching everything—the way Joji jabbed and shifted weight, the small feints, the sudden tempo changes. Joji didn't press the pace, knowing the goal wasn't to win, but to simulate. Still, he moved with intention, snapping out jabs, slipping, countering softly.
Their gloves tapped, their feet shuffled. The sounds of the gym faded into the background.
Every now and then, Joji's punch would land with unexpected sharpness. A right cross found Rukio's jaw—light but clean. A body hook made him grunt. But Rukio kept his composure, never retaliating with full power, clearly working to restrain himself. His eyes never left Joji's movement. He was solving a puzzle.
By the third round, Rukio started experimenting—trying different angles, stepping in with delayed jabs, fainting wild swings only to retreat and watch Joji's reaction.
Joji kept pace, feeling both studied and respected.
They went on like this for nearly an hour. Coach Haruto occasionally called out adjustments.
"Watch his reset!"
"Test his counters with a double feint!"
"Move in, bait the shoulder roll!"
Joji was drenched in sweat. Rukio, too, had lost the calm sheen he entered with. He wasn't winded, but he was thinking hard. Between rounds, he muttered to himself.
"Can't commit too early... he's baiting me... predictable rhythm won't work..."
Then, after the final round, the bell rang.
Rukio backed off and pulled his mouthguard out. "I got it," he said, panting.
Coach raised a brow. "Got what?"
"Controlled aggression," Rukio said, a fire kindling in his eyes. "I'll make Oharu think I'm coming in hard and obvious. Give him that pattern. Let him expect it. But right at the point he counters—boom—I shift. Step back, sidestep, throw from a new angle. Use his rhythm against him."
Joji sat on the edge of the ring, wiping his face with a towel. "So you're... baiting his instincts?"
"Exactly," Rukio said. "Make him believe he's winning every exchange... until he's not."
Coach Haruto gave a small nod. "That's it. Controlled aggression. That's how you beat a chess player—by pretending to play checkers."
As the gym returned to its rhythm, Joji stayed seated, quietly proud. Rukio climbed out of the ring and gave Joji a pat on the shoulder.
"You did good," he said. "You've got a sharp style. Dangerous, if polished right."
Joji smiled, still catching his breath. "Glad I could help."
Later, as he packed up, he glanced at his phone.
Still no reply from Mina.
But Joji didn't mind. Today, he wasn't the student. He was part of someone else's breakthrough.
And someday soon, it would be his turn.
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[End of Chapter 4]