May 14th, 2015.
The morning air in Suidobashi is quiet, almost too quiet for a fight week. Inside Dr. Hayashi's clinic, the hum of the X-ray board fills the room as the doctor studies the faint line on the screen.
"…Still there," he says, tapping the shadow. "Tiny, almost invisible. But it's a fracture. It hasn't fully healed."
Nakahara folds his arms. Hiroshi's jaw tightens. Ryoma exhales, face shadowed by disappointment. For a moment he'd allowed himself hope. But the machine kills it in an instant.
"You can't use this hand," Dr. Hayashi warns. "Honestly, you shouldn't fight at all. One wrong impact and it gets worse."
"Then I won't use it," Ryoma answers.
The doctor stares, incredulous. "Boxing isn't done with one hand."
Nakahara steps in. "We've prepared for it. He'll manage."
Dr. Hayashi sighs, strips off his gloves. "Reckless. All of you. Listen well: your right hand is off-limits. Push it once, and you may not get another chance."