Jin discovered three things the morning after his first professional win.
First—his body hated him.
Second—stairs were now his natural enemy.
Third—his phone would not stop vibrating.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, arms slightly away from his sides because every attempt to move them sent a sharp reminder through his ribs.
"…Ah," Jin muttered. "So this is that part."
He tried to sit up.
His core disagreed violently.
Jin paused halfway, breathing slowly, then rolled onto his side like an old man who had made several questionable life choices. It took him a full minute to sit on the edge of the bed, feet planted, elbows on his knees.
He stayed there.
Thinking.
Not about the fight.
About socks.
Specifically, whether putting them on was worth the effort.
After a long internal debate, he decided it wasn't.
He stood carefully, shuffled toward the kitchen, and nearly dropped his mug when his phone buzzed again on the counter.
Five missed calls.
Twelve messages.
Most from Shimada.
SHIMADA:
ARE YOU AWAKE
YOU DID IT
I REWATCHED IT
WHY ARE YOU SO CALM
ANSWER ME
LEGEND
LEGEND
LEGEND
Jin set the phone down without replying and poured water instead of coffee. Lifting the kettle hurt. Everything hurt. The soreness wasn't sharp like during the fight—it was deep, wide, and uncooperative.
He sipped slowly.
His phone buzzed again.
This time, a new name.
Unknown Number
He didn't answer.
Not yet.
The gym was louder than usual.
Not in the chaotic way it usually was—but crowded.
When Jin slid the door open, conversation dipped for half a second before surging back even louder. There were unfamiliar faces near the benches. Two young boxers stretching a little too stiffly. Someone pretending not to stare.
Jin took a step in.
Someone whispered his name.
He kept walking.
"HEY!" Shimada shouted, launching himself across the room. "YOU'RE LATE."
"I'm on time," Jin replied.
"You're LATE FOR BEING FAMOUS."
"I'm not famous."
Shimada grabbed his shoulders and shook him lightly. "YOU'RE UNDEFEATED."
"Please don't say that."
Mori tossed Jin a towel. "You moving okay?"
"Yes," Jin said.
That was also a lie.
Sato looked him over clinically. "Delayed onset muscle soreness. Peaks around forty-eight hours."
Jin nodded. "I look forward to it."
Someone new approached hesitantly—a teenager, gloves slung over his shoulder.
"Um… Akiyama-san?"
Jin turned. "Yes?"
The kid bowed too deeply. "Can I—uh—ask you something?"
Jin paused.
Everyone watched.
"…Sure."
"What do you think about when you're moving?" the kid asked. "Like, how do you not panic?"
Jin considered.
"I breathe," he said. "And I don't think about winning."
The kid blinked. "That's it?"
"Yes."
"Oh," the kid said, slightly disappointed. Then bowed again and scurried off.
Shimada stared. "YOU JUST GAVE ADVICE."
Jin frowned. "Was that advice?"
Kagawa entered then, cane tapping once.
The gym straightened instinctively.
Kagawa glanced at Jin. "You're stiff."
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
That was it.
No praise.
No lecture.
The gym relaxed again.
That mattered more than Jin expected.
Mari arrived mid-morning, coffee in hand, eyes already scanning.
"You're walking like a seventy-year-old," she said.
"I feel accomplished," Jin replied.
She snorted. "Sit."
He did.
She didn't open a notebook. Didn't record anything. Just sat across from him, elbows on her knees.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Poorly."
"Good."
"That seems to be a pattern."
She studied him for a moment. "What were you thinking in round four?"
Jin answered without hesitation. "That he was tired."
Mari raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
"Yes."
She smiled slightly. "You're very inconvenient to interview."
"Sorry."
"No, you're honest."
She stood, stretching. "There's already interest."
Jin looked up. "Interest?"
"Small. Local. Nothing dramatic." She hesitated. "But it starts early."
Jin nodded slowly.
Weight.
Not pressure.
Just weight.
Training that day was light.
Mostly stretching. Shadowboxing at half speed. Jin moved carefully, feeling where his body resisted and where it flowed.
Ippo watched him quietly.
"You don't rush," Ippo said eventually.
"I try not to."
Ippo nodded. "I think… that's really strong."
Jin smiled faintly. "Thank you."
Takamura leaned against the ropes. "You know what happens next, right?"
Jin looked at him. "More soreness?"
Takamura grinned. "Expectations."
"I'll manage."
"Hah," Takamura laughed. "That's what everyone says."
The call came in the afternoon.
Jin sat on the bench, wrapping his hands slowly, when his phone vibrated again.
Unknown number.
He answered this time.
"Akiyama Jin speaking."
A pause.
Then: "This is from the JBC match committee."
The gym seemed quieter suddenly.
"Yes."
"We have a potential bout offer. Preliminary card. Six weeks."
Jin listened.
Short notice.
Low purse.
Same weight class.
"Understood," Jin said. "May I have time to consider?"
"Of course."
He hung up and sat there for a moment.
Six weeks.
Shimada leaned in. "WAS THAT—"
"Yes," Jin said.
Shimada screamed.
That night, Jin stayed late.
The gym emptied slowly until it was just him and the hum of the lights. He wrapped his hands again—not to train, just to feel the routine.
The ring waited.
He stepped inside, moving gently, shadowboxing in silence.
No crowd.
No bell.
Just movement.
His ribs protested. His legs complained.
He listened.
This time, the quiet didn't feel like an ending.
It felt like space.
Jin stopped, exhaled, and looked at his reflection in the mirror by the ring.
Still the same face.
Just carrying a little more weight now.
And he knew—quietly—that he could hold it.
END OF CHAPTER
Author's Note:
Thank you so much for reading! 🙏
I'm aiming for longer chapters moving forward, so if you enjoyed this one, please comment, vote, and add the novel to your library. Your support really helps and keeps the story going. 🥊