Genji walked up to the whiteboard and changed the countdown.
Sakamoto – Novice Amateur Debut – 1 Week
The faded ink squeaked as Genji capped the marker and stepped aside. It's been a rough 2 weeks, huh?
"Alright," Kenzaki said, cracking his neck. "Quit dawdling around, let's see what you've learned for the past 2 weeks.."
Taiga exhaled and stepped into the ring, he put on the heavy gloves. Sweat already clung to his back from the warm-up drills. This wasn't just another spar. It was prep for war.
Kenzaki was in his gear—headguard on, gloves up. Despite his casual, sleepy-eyed demeanor, Taiga had seen him move. The man was fast, experienced, and didn't waste punches.
"Remember what we watched," Kenzaki said. "Kazuki Ren's not just aggressive. He's tricky. Dirty. He uses angles, taunts, and rule-bending to break you down."
Taiga nodded. His fists tightened.
Outside the ropes, Genji stood with arms crossed, and Rikuya leaned against the post, chewing gum like it was a sport.
"Start!" Genji barked.
Kenzaki advanced instantly—not with wild punches, but with presence. He pressured Taiga, stepping just inside jab range, forcing Taiga to move.
Taiga launched a jab to create distance—pop—but Kenzaki parried and countered with a quick body shot. Taiga grunted.
"Lesson one!" Kenzaki said. "Fighters like Kazuki want you to flinch first. He'll faint, grin, maybe drop his hands—don't react emotionally. React smart."
They circled again.
Kenzaki fainted a right, then came in with a short elbow bump—not a real strike, but enough to mimic Kazuki's dirty style.
Taiga instinctively pushed back. Kenzaki used the momentum, shifting his feet and tagging him with a hook.
"See? He'll bait frustration. You give him one second of anger, and boom—he owns the pace."
Taiga wiped sweat from his brow. "So what do I do?"
"Stay cold. Don't let his rhythm control yours. And keep your lead hand up when you're clinched—he'll try to rabbit punch."
Round two started. This time, Taiga kept a high guard and focused on short movements. Kenzaki pressured again, using subtle shoulder bumps and tight angles to crowd him.
"Lesson two," Kenzaki said mid-spar. "Control the inside. Dirty fighters don't want a technical war—they want chaos. You give them discipline instead."
Taiga timed a jab and pivoted left—Kenzaki smiled, slightly impressed.
Outside, Rikuya smirked. "He's learning."
Genji grunted, eyes glued to every movement. "He has to."
Taiga began throwing educated counters—nothing flashy, but purposeful. He ducked under Kenzaki's right, slipped inside, and tapped the ribs.
Kenzaki nodded.
"Good. You're not just reacting anymore—you're thinking."
Round three. Kenzaki started pressing harder, adding in clinch scenarios, subtle pushes, even fake low blows to test Taiga's reactions.
Taiga gritted his teeth but stayed composed, parrying, moving, tying up when needed.
"Lesson three," Kenzaki grunted, pushing off. "Ref's eyes aren't always there. Learn when to be tough and when to complain."
He feinted a headbutt—Taiga stepped back, reset, and launched a stiff jab down the middle.
Pop.
Kenzaki stepped back, and Genji called it. "Enough. Good rounds."
Taiga collapsed to the ropes, panting hard. Kenzaki took off his gloves, walking toward him.
"You've got tools now," he said. "Not just fists. Tools."
Taiga looked up. "Will it be enough?"
Kenzaki cracked a smile. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On how sharp you keep them when the real blood starts flowing."