Sakamoto – Quarterfinal: 5 Days
The whiteboard in the corner of Glory Gym had been updated again. Big letters with black ink circled Taiga's name with the next date underlined beneath it.
Taiga stared at it while wrapping his hands. Five days. That's all the time he had until his next match. The win against Kazuki had earned him a new kind of attention—not just from gymmates, but from other boxers in the tournament.
And that meant the pressure was real now.
Genji entered the gym with his usual slow, heavy steps and tossed a folder and dvds onto the ring canvas.
"Footage on your next opponent," he grunted. "Name's Shun Oda. Southpaw. Fast, counter-based. Not as wild as Kazuki. But smarter. Typical technical fighter."
Rikuya leaned over the folder while doing shoulder stretches. "This guy's a pure amateur," he said. "Clean punches, solid guard, textbook movement."
Kenzaki approached Taiga, cracking his neck with a smirk. "Which means you'll need to be even sharper. He won't come to brawl. He'll let you make the first mistake."
Taiga nodded, absorbing every word like a sponge.
A few minutes later, Taiga found himself in the ring again—this time sparring with Kenzaki. Rikuya leaned against the ropes, watching with a water bottle in hand, while Genji stood just outside, arms folded and eyes focused.
"Alright, Sakamoto," Kenzaki said, slipping into his stance. "Oda's type plays off rhythm. He reads movement. So if you're stiff or predictable—bam, you're done."
"Got it."
"Let's test that."
The first round started light. Taiga threw a quick jab combo, but Kenzaki didn't react. He simply swayed back, then stepped in with a jab to Taiga's shoulder—not hard, but fast.
"You opened too wide," he said. "Reset."
They went again. This time, Taiga feinted low and jabbed high. Kenzaki ducked under and landed a left hook to the ribs.
"Too readable. Again."
Minutes turned to rounds. Mistake after mistake, Kenzaki exploited them with ease. And yet, Taiga kept coming. He never once backed down or hesitated.
After the bell rang, Kenzaki pulled off his gloves and leaned against the ropes. "Not bad," he said. "You're getting better at controlling distance."
Genji chimed in, "But you need to stop leaning forward when you throw that right. A smart counter-puncher will clip your chin."
"Understood."
"Good," Genji added. "You've got five days. We sharpen your weapon until then."
That night, the gym felt more like home than ever. The others were still working the bags or cooling down. Rikuya sat on the bench beside Taiga, tossing him a cold sports drink.
"You're not just some scrappy street kid anymore," he said. "You're part of this now."
Taiga looked at the worn-out posters of past fighters taped to the gym walls. Some were faded. Others torn. But every one of them told a story.
"I'm going to win this whole thing," he muttered under his breath.
"You better," Rikuya said with a grin. "Glory Gym hasn't had a winner in years. Make us believe again."