Two weeks had passed since Ippo received his professional boxing license, and the anticipation was building toward his debut. Coach Kamogawa finally called him into his office with a serious expression.
"Sit down, Ippo," Kamogawa said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. "It's time."
Ippo's heart started racing. "Time for what, Coach?"
"Time to tell you who you're fighting." Kamogawa picked up a file from his desk. "Your opponent for December fifteenth is Yūsuke Oda."
"Oda?" Ippo repeated the name, trying to commit it to memory.
"That's right. He's got five professional matches under his belt—three wins, two losses. Nothing too impressive, but he's hungry for a victory to get his career back on track."
Yagi looked up from his paperwork nearby. "Oda trains at the Nishikawa gym. He's got decent technique but lacks stamina. Should be a good matchup for your debut."
At that moment, Aoki and Kimura wandered over, having overheard the conversation.
"Yūsuke Oda?" Aoki laughed. "You mean the guy who gassed out in the third round against that nobody from Osaka?"
"The same one who got dropped by a body shot from a part-timer?" Kimura added with a grin.
"Don't underestimate him," Kamogawa warned sternly. "Every opponent is dangerous until the final bell rings."
But Takamura, who had been listening from the heavy bag, couldn't resist chiming in. "Come on, Coach. Oda's a bum. Kid's got no heart, no stamina, and definitely no power. Ippo's gonna steamroll him."
"Yeah!" Aoki agreed enthusiastically. "This'll be easier than hitting a heavy bag!"
The casual dismissal of his opponent made Ippo uncomfortable. "But what if—"
"What if nothing," Kimura interrupted. "The guy's gutless. You saw how he fought his last match? Spent more time running than fighting."
That evening, the gym members decided to celebrate the announcement with dinner at Iwata's Chinese Noodles. The familiar restaurant was buzzing with their usual banter.
"So," Takamura said between slurps of ramen, "anyone want to bet on which round Ippo finishes this guy?"
"First round, definitely," Aoki declared confidently. "One good shot and Oda's done."
"I say second round," Kimura countered. "Ippo might take his time, feel him out a bit."
Ippo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You guys are making me nervous. What if I'm not ready? What if I mess up?"
"Kid," Takamura said seriously, setting down his chopsticks, "you knocked out Miyata in sparring. You passed your licensing test like it was nothing. Oda's not even in the same league."
At a nearby table, two young women were having their own conversation. One of them, a pretty girl with short brown hair, kept glancing over at their table with obvious interest.
"That's him," she whispered to her friend. "The boxer I was telling you about."
"Which one?" her friend asked.
"The young one with the kind face. I heard he's really strong despite how he looks."
But Ippo was too focused on his anxiety to notice the attention.
"What if I freeze up? What if I forget everything I've learned?"
"Then you'll remember it when someone tries to punch your face off," Aoki said cheerfully.
"Aoki!" Kimura scolded. "You're not helping!"
"What? It's true! Nothing focuses the mind like imminent violence!"
Takamura laughed. "Don't worry, Ippo. Fighting is like riding a bike. Except the bike is trying to knock you unconscious."
"That's... not reassuring," Ippo muttered.
After dinner, Aoki suddenly pulled out a deck of playing cards with a mischievous grin.
"Time for some fortune telling!" he announced dramatically.
"Oh no," Kimura groaned. "Not the cards again."
"What's wrong with my fortune telling?" Aoki demanded, shuffling the deck with exaggerated flourish.
"Your accuracy," Takamura said dryly. "Remember when you predicted I'd lose to that journeyman last month?"
"That was a fluke! My cards are usually spot-on!"
Aoki spread the cards in front of Ippo with ceremonial seriousness. "Pick one, and I'll reveal your destiny!"
Ippo hesitantly selected a card from the middle of the spread. Aoki flipped it over with dramatic flair.
"The King of Hearts!" Aoki proclaimed. "Victory is assured! Your opponent will fall before your mighty fists!"
"See?" Takamura said with a smirk. "Ippo's definitely going to lose."
"Why do you say that?" Ippo asked, confused.
"Because Aoki's predictions are always wrong," Kimura explained. "It's like a natural law of the universe."
"Hey!" Aoki protested. "My fortune telling is an ancient art passed down through generations!"
"Yeah? Which generations? The ones that all starved to death because they couldn't predict where their next meal was coming from?"
---
Meanwhile, across town at the Nishikawa gym, Yūsuke Oda was finishing his evening training session. He was a lean, somewhat handsome young man with an arrogant demeanor that didn't quite match his modest record.
As he unwrapped his hands, his girlfriend Reiko approached with an annoyed expression.
"You're done already?" she asked, checking her watch. "The other guys are still training."
"I'm a natural," Oda replied dismissively. "I don't need to overtrain like those other losers."
He tried to put his arm around her shoulder, but she pushed his hand away with obvious irritation.
"Maybe if you trained more, you wouldn't have lost your last two fights," she said coldly.
Oda's face darkened. "Those were flukes. Bad luck. This next fight is going to be different."
"It better be. Because if you lose to some nobody amateur, we're done."
"Done?" Oda's voice cracked slightly.
"You heard me. I didn't sign up to date a loser. Win this fight, or find yourself a new girlfriend."
As Reiko walked away, Oda felt a chill run down his spine. His manager, Mikami, approached with his usual concerned expression.
"Oda, we need to talk about your training regimen," Mikami began. "Your last fight—"
"I know, I know," Oda snapped. "But this opponent is just some kid. Makunouchi whatever. How tough can he be?"
"That's exactly the attitude that got you in trouble before. This kid knocked out his licensing test opponent in one punch. He's not some pushover."
Oda laughed nervously. "Come on, Mikami. It's probably just luck. Besides, I heard from some guys that his friends were calling him pathetic."
That last part was a lie, but Oda needed something to boost his confidence.
"Look," Mikami said seriously, "I don't care what you heard. This kid is dangerous. You need to take this seriously and train properly, or you're going to get hurt."
For the first time, doubt crept into Oda's mind. But his pride wouldn't let him show it.
"Fine," he said reluctantly. "I'll show you and everybody who's the real deal."
---
Back at the Kamogawa gym the next morning, Ippo arrived early to find the place already buzzing with activity. Word of his upcoming debut had spread, and several gym members were discussing the fight.
"Morning, future champion!" Aoki called out cheerfully.
"Don't jinx him," Kimura warned.
Kamogawa emerged from his office and immediately put Ippo to work on mitt practice. But something was different about the coach's approach today—the combinations were more complex, the pace more intense.
"Your debut is in ten days," Kamogawa explained as they worked. "We're not just preparing you to win—we're preparing you to look good doing it."
PAH! PAH! PAH!
Ippo's punches thundered into the mitts with frightening power.
"Good! But remember, power without precision is wasted energy. Make every punch count."
As they trained, several gym members stopped to watch. Even they were impressed by the improvements Ippo had made since his sparring match with Miyata.
"Look at that form," one of the veterans whispered. "Kid's moving like he's been boxing for years."
"And that power... I've never seen anything like it from a debut fighter."
Takamura, working nearby on the speed bag, called out encouragement. "That's it, Ippo! Show them what real punching looks like!"
But despite all the positive reinforcement, Ippo couldn't shake his nervousness. This would be his first real professional fight, with real stakes, in front of a real crowd.
As if reading his thoughts, Kamogawa stopped the mitt work and looked him in the eyes.
"Nervous?" the coach asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. That means you understand what's at stake. But remember—you've already proven you belong in that ring. Now it's just a matter of showing everyone else."
-----
That afternoon, Ippo was surprised to find his mother waiting for him when he got home from school.
"Ippo," she said with a mixture of pride and worry, "I heard about your fight."
"You did?"
"Takamura-san stopped by the boat this morning. He told me all about it." She paused, studying his face. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
Ippo thought about the question seriously. A few months ago, he'd been nothing more than a bullied fish boy with no direction in life. Now he was ten days away from his professional boxing debut.
"Yes, Mom. I'm sure."
She smiled and reached into a bag beside her chair. "Then you'll need these."
She pulled out a pair of boxing trunks—bright red with "IPPO" written in bold white letters across the waistband.
"I made them myself," she said proudly. "For my champion."
Ippo felt tears forming in his eyes as he held the trunks. The craftsmanship was perfect, and he could see the care and love that had gone into every stitch.
"Thank you, Mom. They're perfect."
"Just promise me you'll be careful in there."
"I promise."
------
The days leading up to the fight passed in a blur of intense training. Kamogawa worked Ippo harder than ever, refining his technique and building his conditioning. Takamura provided moral support through his usual combination of encouragement and insults.
"Remember," Takamura said during one particularly grueling session, "Oda's going to try to make this ugly. He knows he can't match your power, so he'll try to turn it into a messy brawl."
"How do I prevent that?" Ippo asked, breathing heavily.
"Simple. Don't let him dictate the pace. You go in there and fight your fight—pressure boxing, body work, then finish him with that devastating uppercut of yours."
Finally, the day before the fight arrived. Ippo felt a mixture of excitement and terror as he went through his final preparations.
At the weigh-in at Kōrakuen Hall, he got his first look at Oda in person. His opponent was taller and more experienced-looking, with a cocky smirk that suggested he wasn't taking the fight seriously.
"So you're the famous Makunouchi," Oda said as they faced off for the photographers. "You look smaller than I expected."
"Don't think you can go on calling me a clown and get away with it."
Ippo said nothing, but he could feel the intensity in Oda's grip when they shook hands. This wasn't going to be as easy as everyone thought.
After the weigh-in, as Ippo jogged through the streets near Kōrakuen Hall, he found himself thinking about that day when he'd caught ten leaves with his jabs. It felt like a lifetime ago—back when he was weak, scared, and helpless.
Tomorrow night, he would step into that ring as a professional boxer. Win or lose, he was no longer the same person who had been beaten up under a bridge.
As he ran, Ippo could almost feel Yuto's presence encouraging him forward. The template had given him someone he could truly chase endlessly, but the heart—the determination to never give up—that was all his own.
"Tomorrow," he said to himself as the lights of Kōrakuen Hall came into view, "I become a real boxer."