The bell above the gym door rattled like it hadn't been oiled in years.
Akiyama Jin paused with one hand still on the handle, the smell of sweat and disinfectant already leaking out to greet him. The sign above read Kagawa Boxing Gym, the paint faded enough that the last letter was peeling.
He stepped inside anyway.
The gym was smaller than he expected. One ring. A few heavy bags. Mats patched together with tape. It wasn't the kind of place you saw on posters or sports magazines. Two boxers were skipping rope in opposite corners, both young, both fast, both pretending not to stare at the stranger who had just walked in wearing running shoes and a backpack.
Jin bowed slightly out of habit.
"Uh—hello," he said.
No one answered.
A man's voice barked from behind the ring. "If you're lost, the convenience store's next door."
Jin followed the voice and found the coach leaning against the ropes, towel around his neck, stopwatch in hand. Kagawa Genji looked like he had been carved out of irritation. His hair was graying at the temples, his eyes sharp and unimpressed.
"I'm here about joining," Jin said.
The coach looked him up and down once. Shoes. Build. Posture.
Then he frowned.
"…How old are you?"
"Twenty-two."
There was a beat of silence. Then the coach snorted.
"Too old."
One of the younger boxers laughed under his breath.
Jin nodded like he'd expected that answer. "I figured you might say that."
"And you still came?"
"Yes, sir."
Kagawa clicked his stopwatch and blew his whistle. "Three minutes break! Hydrate!"
The boxers scattered. One of them whispered loudly, "He looks like an office worker."
Jin pretended not to hear.
"You box?" Kagawa asked.
"I used to," Jin said. "Amateur. University club."
"And then you quit."
"Yes."
"So why are you here now?"
Jin didn't answer immediately. He set his backpack down carefully, like if he rushed the words, they'd fall apart.
"Because I don't want to be thirty and wondering what would've happened if I didn't."
The gym was quiet again. The younger boxers were pretending very hard to stretch.
Kagawa stared at him for a long moment, then jerked his chin toward a mop in the corner.
"Bathrooms need cleaning," he said. "If you're still here after, we'll talk."
Jin bowed again. "Thank you."
Two hours later, Jin was scrubbing the floor when the gym door opened again.
"Wow," a woman's voice said, amused. "This place really hasn't changed."
Jin glanced up. A woman in a long coat stepped inside, notebook tucked under her arm, camera slung casually at her side. She scanned the gym with practiced eyes, already taking mental notes.
Kagawa groaned. "Iimura. What do you want?"
"Mari," she corrected, smiling. "I'm just here to check in. I heard you picked up a new prospect."
Kagawa scoffed. "I didn't pick up anything."
Mari's gaze drifted—and stopped on Jin, kneeling on the floor with rubber gloves and a mop.
"…Is that him?"
Jin froze mid-scrub.
"He's cleaning," Kagawa said. "That's all."
Mari raised an eyebrow. "You make prospects clean now?"
"I make everyone clean."
She studied Jin openly now, not rudely, just observantly. The way his shoulders stayed relaxed. The way he listened without intruding. The way he didn't rush to explain himself.
"Amateur?" she asked.
Jin nodded. "Former."
"And late," she added lightly.
"Very."
Mari smiled. "That's brave. Or stupid."
"Still deciding."
She laughed softly and scribbled something in her notebook.
Kagawa waved her off. "Don't write about him."
"I didn't say I would," she replied. "I just like interesting people."
Jin returned to the floor, ears slightly warm.
By the time the gym closed, his arms were sore and his hands smelled like bleach.
Kagawa tossed him a towel. "You can come back tomorrow."
Jin caught it. "Thank you, sir."
"You'll run with the others. Hold pads. Get punched. No promises."
"That's fine."
Kagawa hesitated, then added, "You're not here to dance."
Jin met his eyes calmly. "I'm here to fight."
Outside, the sun was already setting. Jin sat on the steps to lace his shoes when Mari stepped out beside him, pulling her coat tighter.
"You didn't spar," she said.
"Not yet."
"You didn't argue, either."
"There wasn't anything to argue about."
She looked at him sideways. "Most boxers I meet talk too much."
"Most reporters ask too many questions."
She laughed again, genuinely this time.
"I'm Mari Iimura."
"Akiyama Jin."
They shook hands.
"You know," she said, "Japan doesn't really like boxers like you."
"Because I'm old?"
"Because you don't look desperate," she replied. "People like hunger. Blood. Drama."
Jin thought about that. "I'm hungry," he said. "I just don't like making a mess."
Mari watched him for a moment, then nodded.
"Good luck tomorrow, Akiyama."
As she walked away, Jin looked back at the gym door. The sign creaked slightly in the evening breeze.
For the first time in years, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.
END OF CHAPTER
Author's Note:
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