Kawahara Boxing Club, Chiba City.
Noon light slants through the tall windows, pale and dusty, catching sweat as it drifts in the air like smoke. The gym hums with the steady rhythm of leather on pads, sharp and relentless.
By the office, three men crowd over a folded newspaper on the desk, the bold headline bleeding through the page:
"Kobayashi Ayano — MVP, All-Japan Rookie of the Year."
Suda Hajime folds his arms, his jaw tight. "It's a damn insult," he mutters. "Ayano knocked out his man in front of the whole country, took the trophy home, and they still list him as Class-B. Meanwhile, that foreigner who lost in the Final walks away with a Class-A license. Someone explain that to me."
Beside him, Naoto Miyasaka slaps the paper against the wall, frustration spilling over. "Easy… must be Kirizume's pulling strings again. One phone call to the JBC and Serrano gets fast-tracked. You really think it's about merit?"
