The venue smelled wrong.
Jin noticed it the moment he stepped inside—bleach layered over old sweat, like someone had tried to erase history and failed. The hallway lights were too bright, the walls too white. Nothing here felt like Kagawa Gym.
Shimada Haru, however, was vibrating with energy.
"THIS IS IT," Shimada whispered loudly. "THIS IS A REAL PLACE."
"You're not fighting," Mori Kensuke reminded him.
"I'M EXPERIENCING."
Jin adjusted the strap of his bag and kept walking. His pace didn't change. Left foot. Right foot. Same as always.
Mari Iimura walked beside him, notebook conspicuously absent. "How do you feel?"
"Hungry," Jin said.
She nodded. "That means the weight cut worked."
"That's comforting," he replied flatly.
The weigh-in was chaos pretending to be order.
Fighters lined up, towels draped low, eyes darting everywhere except where they should. Someone was shadowboxing in place. Someone else was aggressively chewing gum like it had offended him.
Jin stepped onto the scale when called.
The number blinked.
Then settled.
"Junior Lightweight—clear."
No drama. No relief rush. Just confirmation.
Shimada pumped a fist. Mori exhaled sharply like he'd been holding his breath for Jin.
Mari watched Jin's hands.
They were steady.
The opponent stepped up next.
Kurosawa Daichi.
Twenty-three.
Shorter. Thicker through the shoulders.
Right hand wrapped like a weapon.
He made weight too, then turned and grinned like this was already his night.
"Late starter, huh?" Kurosawa said casually. "Heard you move a lot."
Jin bowed politely. "I do."
Kurosawa laughed. "Good. Makes it easier to chase you."
Jin met his eyes. Calm. Curious.
"We'll see," Jin said.
Mari's pen twitched in her pocket.
The locker room was quieter.
Too quiet.
Shimada sat on the bench staring at Jin like he was watching a bomb with a timer he didn't understand.
"Say something inspiring," Shimada whispered.
Jin looked at him. "Hydrate."
"That's not—"
Coach Kagawa entered, cane tapping once against the floor.
Everyone straightened.
The coach looked at Jin.
"Breathe," Kagawa said.
"Move," he added.
"Finish."
That was all.
Takamura leaned in from the doorway. "If you lose, don't cry on the canvas."
Jin bowed. "I'll cry later."
"…I still hate him," Takamura muttered.
The gloves went on.
The world narrowed.
Crowd noise became distant, like sound underwater. Jin bounced lightly on his toes, testing the canvas through the soles of his shoes.
Different texture.
Same purpose.
Mari stood just outside the locker room, arms folded, watching him like she was memorizing something.
"You ready?" she asked.
Jin thought of the gym.
The broken fan.
The whiteboard.
The bananas.
"Yes," he said.
Walking to the ring felt longer than it should have.
Lights flared overhead. Applause rose and fell in uneven waves. Jin didn't look for faces. He didn't need to.
He stepped up.
Through the ropes.
The canvas dipped slightly under his weight.
And then—
Silence.
Not literal silence.
But the kind where nothing unnecessary gets through.
Jin rolled his shoulders once. Bounced twice.
Across from him, Kurosawa cracked his neck and grinned wide.
The referee stepped in.
Jin focused on one thing.
Waiting.
The bell hadn't rung yet.
But he was already there.
END OF CHAPTER
Author's Note:
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