Funny thing about boxing, sometimes the fight that breaks you isn't in the ring. It's on the scale.
Two days before the weigh-in, Ryoma is still more than a kilo over the limit. Close, yet painfully far.
The special sparring in the shrunken ring had already been scrapped two days ago. Nakahara has him back in the full-sized ring now, just to readjust his spacing.
All that's left are mitt sessions. With Ryoma's condition, three hard rounds of sparring would be reckless.
"One-two!"
Pat, pat!
"One-two-three!"
Pat, dum, pat!
"One-six!"
Pat, dsh!
Each call is a target, Nakahara guiding his form, tightening angles, forcing focus. The punches still snap with rhythm, the technique still sharp.
But Nakahara can feel what's missing. There's no weight behind the gloves. His gas tank is already dry, his arms stringy, his body running on fumes. That last kilo hangs over them like a mountain.
