The fluorescent lights in the locker room buzzed faintly. Taiga sat on the bench, unwrapping his hands slowly. Each layer of gauze peeled away like the fading adrenaline in his veins. His body ached—left shoulder sore from blocking, ribs tight from one clean hit he took in the second round—but he was smiling and feeling reliefed.
Genji crouched in front of him, carefully inspecting a minor bruise forming near Taiga's cheekbone. "Not bad," the coach muttered. "You took a few, but you gave more."
Taiga winced slightly as Genji dabbed antiseptic on a cut by his eyebrow. "He was tough," he said. "Faster than I thought."
Kenzaki stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Kazuki's a brawler. Street instincts, lots of power, but no control. You kept your cool. That's the difference."
Rikuya came in, towel draped around his neck. "Place was shaking when you landed that last shot," he said with a grin. "You got people talking already."
Taiga looked up. "Talking?"
"Oh yeah," Rikuya nodded. "First round knockout? In your debut? People love that stuff. Your name's already buzzing in a few local circles. You might've just lit a fire in the amateur scene."
Taiga wasn't sure what to say. A week ago, he was shadowboxing in silence. Today, people were chanting his name.
Genji stood. "Don't let it get to your head. One fight is just that—one fight. You've got a long road ahead. And now, everyone will be watching."
Taiga nodded, more serious now. "What's next?"
"Rest," Genji said. "Then we get back to work. This tournament's got more rounds."
Kenzaki added, "And not everyone fights dirty like Kazuki. Next guy might be a counter-puncher, or someone who works the clinch. You'll need to adapt every time."
Just then, there was a knock at the door. A staffer poked their head in. "Hey, someone from Ginga Street Club wants to speak to your fighter."
The room went quiet.
Rikuya raised an eyebrow. "What, Kazuki?"
"Yeah. He's out by the hall."
Taiga stood slowly, still in his gear. He stepped out, finding Kazuki leaning against the corridor wall, an ice pack pressed to his cheek and a towel around his neck. The smug arrogance was gone. In its place was something rougher—resentment, maybe. But also recognition.
"You hit hard," Kazuki said.
"You talk a lot," Taiga replied, arms folded.
There was a long pause.
Then Kazuki shrugged. "Don't think this is over. I'll see you again—down the line. You're not the only one hungry."
"I'll be waiting," Taiga answered.
Kazuki gave a crooked smile before walking off.
Back in the locker room, Genji clapped his hands. "Alright. Get changed. We're grabbing some food. First win deserves a proper meal."
Taiga laughed. "As long as it's not instant ramen."
Rikuya chuckled. "Welcome to the real fight life. Win or lose, we still live like broke amateurs."
Kenzaki added with a grin, "That's the charm of Glory Gym."
As the team packed up, Taiga took one last look at his gloves. They were scuffed. Faint traces of blood stained the knuckles. But to him, they gleamed like gold.
He knew this was just the start.
But for the first time in years, he didn't feel like a stray on the street.
He felt like a fighter.