The post-training calm that usually settled over me like a blessed fog was instantly vaporized. Coach's words—"It's about your professional debut."—hung in the air between us, sharp and heavy feeling just like Tyson's punches.
All the fatigue in my body vanished. My focus snapped into a razor's edge(rip Scott Hall), the way it did the moment before the cage door locked. A "next fight" wasn't sparring. It meant a sanctioned amateur bout. It meant stepping into a ring with someone whose sole purpose was to take your head off, in front of a crowd.
I pushed myself up from the mat, my body suddenly feeling both leaden and electric. "My- my pro debut?" I managed, my voice raspy from exertion.
Coach didn't smile. He rarely did. But his dark eyes held a fierce, serious light. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest. "East Japan MMA rookie tournament. Three weeks. It's the biggest rookie tournament for MMA. Good exposure. Tough competition. And it'll help you in reaching the big leagues like Shogun MMA or Samurai F.C"
My mind raced, trying to calculate the logistics, the weight cut, the intensified training schedule. It was scary, but thrilling. This was what all the grinding was for. This was the point.
"You're a tall kid 6'1. I want you in the Welterweight bracket, the weight cut might get annoying but domestically that's all you can go for right now, once you prove yourself then we will progress further." he stated, his tone leaving no room for debate. It wasn't an offer; it was an order from my general.
I gave a single, sharp nod. "Yes, Coach."
"Good." He uncrossed his arms and thrust a thumb towards the office. "Paperwork's on my desk. I need you to fill it out and get it back to me by the end of the week. Medical clearance section needs a signature from your school. Physical form."
The cold thrill in my veins turned to ice.
Medical clearance. From my school.
The world of the Den, my sacred, separate world, just slammed head-first into the world of Aoba High. The two realities weren't just overlapping; they were about to collide with the force of a car crash.
I must have gone pale, because Coach's intense stare narrowed. "Problem, Nakamura?"
Yes. The biggest problem imaginable. My mind flashed through a nightmare montage: handing a form to the stern, nosy school nurse, Ms. Akahoshi, who would undoubtedly have questions. The form being processed through the school's office, becoming a piece of paper anyone could see. Tanahashi finding out. The whispers exploding from "Did you hear Yoshida fell on him?" to "Did you hear Nakamura thinks he's some kind of cage fighter?" It would be social suicide. The careful, invisible life I'd built would be obliterated.
"It's… getting a signature. From school. It's complicated," I said, the words feeling pathetic.
Coach grunted, a sound of pure impatience. "Complicated? It's a signature. You're a student. They have a nurse. Figure it out." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping, low and intense. "Listen to me. I don't push guys who don't have it. You've got something. It's not just the power or the technique. It's the control. The patience you showed with Kenji today? That's fight IQ. That's what wins tournaments. This isn't just another scrap. This is a real opportunity. Don't piss it away because some paperwork is 'complicated'."
The weight of his belief was heavier than any sandbag I'd ever lifted. He saw a fighter where the rest of the world saw a ghost. Letting him down felt like a betrayal of everything I'd worked for.
I swallowed hard, the ice in my veins thawing into a steely resolve. "I'll get it done, Coach."
"See that you do," he said, and with a final, appraising look, he turned and before he walked away, he turned back and looked at me before saying, "either a nurse or try get some teacher who has enough influence in your school to get the paperwork done."He flashed me a rare smile before saying "That's how i did it back in the day". Okay yeah that kinda brought a bit of relief as anyone was better than the nurse but still he was leaving me standing there amidst the echoing emptiness of the gym as my world tilted off its axis.
The walk home was nothing like the peaceful ritual of hours before. My mind was a war zone. Every option was a potential disaster.
Option 1: Forget it. Tell Coach that I couldn't get the signature. The thought made me feel sick with shame. It was the coward's way out. It was admitting that the opinions of people mattered more than my own dreams.
Option 2: Go to Ms. Akahoshi. I pictured her skeptical face, her inevitable, probing questions. "Mixed martial arts, Nakamura? Isn't that rather… violent? Are your parents aware?" It was a non-starter. She'd probably want to call my parents, and that was a conversation I was not prepared to have.
I needed another way. A teacher. It had to be a teacher. Someone who could sign the form, maybe bypass the main office, and wouldn't feel the need to launch a full-scale investigation.
The image of a classroom flashed in my mind. Electrodynamics. A complex problem on the board. A calm, intelligent voice.
Honoka-sensei.
She was young, new-ish to the school but someone with a lot of influence due to her class's amazing performances in competitions and due to her connections. She didn't carry the weary cynicism of the older faculty. She'd praised my work in class. She treated me like a student, not a stereotype. She was sharp, and she seemed… reasonable. It was a huge risk. I'd be handing her the key to my biggest secret. But she was, objectively, my best shot.
The plan solidified, a desperate, fragile thing. I had to ask Honoka-sensei. The tournament was in three weeks. The peaceful, observational strategy I'd planned for school was over. I now had a mission, and it was the most dangerous one I'd ever undertaken.
The next day at school, the air felt charged with a new, personal danger. Every hallway monitor, every glance from a teacher felt like a potential threat. The form was folded neatly and buried at the very bottom of my bag, a secret bomb waiting to detonate.
The committee meeting for the Cultural Festival was that afternoon. What had yesterday been an annoying social obligation was now a crucial scouting mission and a cover operation.
I walked into classroom 3-B after the final bell. Hikari was already there, a whirlwind of colorful Post-it notes and binders spread across a desk. "Satoshi-kun! You're here! Okay, I made a list of potential themes based on popularity metrics from last year's festival!"
Kurayami was already in her chosen seat by the window, a single earbud in, her sketchbook open. She didn't look up as I entered.
I took my seat, my usual back-row position feeling exposed instead of safe. My backpack, with its incriminating contents, I placed on the floor between my feet. I looked at them both with completely new eyes. Hikari, with her vast social network—if she found out, would it be all over school by dinner? Kurayami, with her terrifying perception—would she just know by looking at me?
"So!" Hikari began, clapping her hands together. "I think a 'Maid & Butler Cafe' is a surefire winner! It's classic, it's cute, everyone loves it! We can have a photo booth with props!"
Kurayami didn't even glance up from her sketching. "The concept is aesthetically derivative and intellectually bankrupt. It offers no unique cultural value." Her voice was flat, definitive. "A 'cute' theme is an insult to the concept of exhibition."
Hikari pouted, putting her hands on her hips. "Well, what do you suggest, Miss Morbidity? A funeral parlor?"
"An immersive haunted experience," Kurayami stated, finally looking up, her amethyst eyes gleaming with a dark light. "Utilizing psychological dread and atmospheric tension, not cheap theatrics. A journey into the subconscious fear of the participants."
They both turned to me. The silence stretched. My heart was hammering. All I could think about was the medical form. Do they have a nurse on site at these tournaments? What if I get cut?
"Nakamura?" Hikari prompted. "Hello? Earth to Satoshi-kun?"
I blinked, forcing myself back into the room. Right. The festival. I cleared my throat. "The assignment sheet specifies 'family-friendly,'" I said, my voice sounding strangely calm compared to the storm in my head. "Kurayami's version would likely traumatize the elementary school kids. Hikari's version is… well, it's been done. A lot."
I paused, looking between them. An idea formed, not just for the festival, but as a way to seem engaged. "What if we combine them? A two-part experience. A bright, cheerful, and intentionally generic 'carnival' entrance. Cotton candy, bright lights, silly games. It lowers their guard, creates a sense of safety. Then, the main attraction is a sophisticated, genuinely scary haunted house. The contrast will make the scary part feel even more intense. I can calculate the crowd flow, the timing, the layout to maximize the effect."
The silence that followed was profound.
Hikari's pout vanished, replaced by a dazzling, genuine smile. "Whoa. That's… actually amazing, Satoshi-kun! A bait-and-switch! I love it!"
Kurayami studied me, her head tilted. I could almost see the equations ticking behind her eyes. "Thematic dissonance used as a weapon to heighten the desired emotional response." A faint, almost imperceptible nod. "Acceptable."
For a moment, the tension over the form eased. We had a plan. We worked for another twenty minutes, dividing tasks. Hikari would source materials for the 'carnival,' Kurayami would design the haunted house layout and aesthetics, and I would handle the logistics and structural planning. We functioned, bizarrely, as a unit.
But the entire time, the form in my bag was a pulsing, anxious weight.
The meeting began to wind down. Hikari gathered her rainbow of notes. "Okay! I'm gonna go see about getting a budget approval from the student council! See you guys tomorrow!"
She bounced out of the room, her energy leaving a vacuum in her wake.
Kurayami stood silently, tucking her sketchbook under her arm. She paused beside my desk on her way out. Her eyes flicked down to my bag, then back to my face.
"Your solution was efficient," she said, her voice low. "You process variables quickly." Her gaze felt like an X-ray. "You seem… preoccupied today, however. The calculations are there, but the focus is divided."
Then she was gone, gliding out the door without a sound, leaving me chilled by her perception.
I was alone. Honoka-sensei was at her desk, sipping from a mug, reviewing some papers. This was it. The moment of truth. The cage door was about to lock.
My mouth went dry. I felt a tremor in my hands and clenched them into fists. This was harder than any sparring session. This was vulnerability. This was handing someone the power to destroy the life I'd built.
I took a deep breath, the same kind I took in the few seconds of silence before a fight began. I reached into my bag, my fingers closing around the folded packet of papers. I stood up.
The walk to her desk felt infinitely long. Each step echoed in the empty classroom. My schoolbag felt like it was filled with stones.
She looked up as I approached, a mild, curious smile on her face. "Nakamura-kun? Did you forget something?"
"Sensei?" I said, my voice thankfully steady, belying the frantic beat of my heart. "I have a… a somewhat unusual request. Could I speak with you for a moment? In private?"
Her smile didn't fade, but her eyebrows raised slightly in curiosity. She gestured to the chair beside her desk. "Of course. Is everything alright?"
I sat down, the chair creaking under my weight. This was it. No going back. I pulled the forms from my bag and placed them on the desk in front of her.
"Everything's fine, Sensei," I said, my voice low. "I… I need a favor. A signature."
She picked up the forms, her eyes scanning the top page. I watched her face, every second stretching into an eternity. Her expression shifted from polite curiosity to confusion, then to dawning surprise as her eyes found the words "Mixed Martial Arts," "Rookie Tournament," and "Medical Clearance."
She looked up from the papers, her gaze sharp and utterly focused on me. The friendly, approachable teacher was gone, replaced by a sharp intellect assessing a completely new data set.
"Nakamura," she said, her voice calm but laced with a new, serious intensity. "What is this?"