Ryoma's breathing is still ragged, heavy with anger. But as the noise of the bell settles in, he slowly forces himself to calm.
Nakahara slips through the ropes and catches him by the arm, guiding him toward the corner where Hiroshi has been waiting.
"Good job, kid," he says, steady and low. "You've done a great job."
Ryoma doesn't say a word, too tired even just to speak.
Across the ring, Aramaki walks back by himself. His steps remain even, but his shoulders sag, his gaze fixed on the floor, believing he's lost the fight.
Yet, applause rises around the arena, scattered at first, and then swelling into something fuller.
"You fought great, Aramaki!"
"Hold your head high!"
"Chin up, Aramaki! You've given us a hell of a fight!"
The voices follow him all the way to the corner, a chorus of respect that refuses to let him alone in silence. Aramaki just stands there at his corner, chest rising and falling, but this time his chin is lifted.
