Fight day, March 4th, 2016

Morning at Kaede's workplace

The office feels unusually quiet.

At one corner desk, Aemi leans close to her laptop screen, her brow furrowed, fingers flying fast. She's not working. She's still hunting for tickets.

"Come on, come on…" she mutters under her breath, refreshing the page for the fifth time.

But it sold out, again.

"Ugh, you've got to be kidding me…"

She switches tabs, another ticket site, then a reseller forum, but no luck.

Yuta, sitting beside her, glances over. "What's wrong now?"

Aemi doesn't even look up. "Tickets for Ryoma's fight. Sold out. Everywhere."

Yuta peers at her screen. "Wait, really? Already? That's insane."

Maho, who's been quietly sipping coffee nearby, swivels her chair toward them. "You're joking. It's never sold out this early."

"I know!" Aemi snaps. "Usually we could grab seats the same day, even an hour before the match. They've moved it to Ota gym, bigger places, more seats, but still sold out."

Yuta chuckles. "Guess he's big-time now."

Aemi slumps back, then turns toward Kaede's desk. "Kaedeee… what do we do now?"

Kaede looks up, caught mid-thought, and just smiles awkwardly.

From across the room, Shiba lifts his head. His eyes narrow before clearing his throat loudly.

"If you have so much energy to chat, maybe you could use it for actual work?"

Aemi freezes for half a second before shooting him a look. "What work? We haven't had a single task since yesterday."

Shiba's jaw tightens. "Then maybe you should be worried about that. Idle staff are usually the first to go."

The laughter dies, and the office returns to its dull quiet. But Shiba's eyes linger, not on Aemi, but only on Kaede.

***

By late afternoon, the office begins to empty. Kaede shuts down her computer, stretches, and reaches for her bag.

But then…

"Kaede," Shiba's voice calls suddenly.

She stops mid-motion, her hand tightening on the strap. "Yes?"

"Stay a bit," he says without looking up. "I need to discuss something."

Kaede hesitates. "Is it about work?"

Before he can answer, Aemi stands from her desk, arms crossed. "Stay? For what? You just said there's nothing to do."

Shiba's lips part, but no words come as Aemi simply grabs Kaede's arm.

"Come on, we're leaving."

As they step out of the office, Aemi mutters under her breath.

"He's getting bolder, that creep."

Kaede glances at her. "What do you mean?"

Aemi sighs. "Everyone knows already, Kaede. He likes you. Every time someone mentions Ryoma, he looks like he's about to swallow glass."

Kaede slows her steps, forcing a small smile. "You're overthinking it. He's our team leader. It's normal for him to act that way."

"Kaedeee…," Aemi exhales tiredly. "I'm telling, you better not stay alone with him. Not with that face he makes every time you smile."

Kaede lets it slide and smiles. "If you're free tonight, want to come with me?"

Aemi freezes, and then grins, "Don't tell me… you actually saved a ticket for me?"

"No, not exactly," Kaede laughs softly. "I'm not going to the fight. I'll be with his mother instead, at the barbershop."

Aemi blinks. "Eh? Why? You're his girlfriend. You have to be there!"

Kaede shakes her head gently. "You remember what happened during his last match, right? His mother was rushed to hospital. We were lucky I was there before it was too late. And I just… don't want to leave her alone this time."

For a moment, Aemi just stares at her, then her expression softens. "Wow. You're seriously something else, you know that? Girlfriend of the year."

Kaede smiles faintly, a little embarrassed.

Aemi bumps her shoulder playfully. "Fine, I'm coming with you. Someone has to make sure you don't end up cutting hair too."

***

Meanwhile, Ryoma's still at the barbershop, standing behind a customer's chair, scissors moving with practiced ease. He looks calm, maybe too calm for someone who's supposed to be fighting in a few hours.

Fumiko sweeps near the mirror, glancing at him. "Aren't you supposed to leave soon?"

Ryoma checks the clock. "Still got a bit of time."

Her brows knit slightly. "That's strange. Usually by now, you're already out the door."

Ryoma chuckles lightly. "You want me gone that bad?"

Fumiko sighs. "No. But if you're staying because you're still worrying about me, I'm fine. I don't want you losing a fight just because you're thinking about your mother."

He smiles at her reflection. "Don't worry, Mom. I'm not planning to lose."

The customer laughs as Ryoma brushes away the last strands of hair. "With hands that steady, I bet you won't."

Moments later, when the shop already empty, the door chime rings as Kaede and Aemi step in. They are cheerful and bright against the warm glow of the shop's lights.

"Good afternoon!" Aemi calls, waving. "Looks like the champ's still working part-time!"

Ryoma grins. "What can I say? Old habits."

Aemi steps closer, her eyes briefly softening as she sees him in his apron. "Kaede said your skill's impressive. You could make a living cutting hair for girls too."

Ryoma tilts his head. "You want a cut?"

"Yeah, of course," Aemi beams.

"Maybe later," Kaede says, smiling. "I think you should be leaving for the arena."

Fumiko looks up, her tone half-playful, half-sharp. "So that's the plan, huh? You're treating me like a toddler now? Even asking your girlfriend to babysit me?"

The room falls silent. Ryoma and Kaede both freeze, their smiles faltering. For a heartbeat, the tension hangs thick in the air.

Then Fumiko lets out a small laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't look at me like that. Now son, don't make your girl wait too long."

Her smile softens, and Ryoma's expression eases too. He nods quietly and picks up his bag. His eyes linger on her reflection for a moment before he heads toward the door.

"See you soon!"

***

By the time Ryoma reaches Ota Gym, the yard is already quiet. And the moment he steps into the lobby, he can already hear the muffled sounds from inside.

But he doesn't rush. His pace is steady, like it's not even his fight tonight. When he pushes open the locker room door, Nakahara's voice hits him like a whip.

"There you are! What took you so long?" The coach's brow furrows deep. "Aramaki's fight is about to start. If he ends it in one round, you won't even have time to warm up."

Aramaki laughs, waving a hand. "Come on, Coach. My opponent's Junpei. There's no way I'm finishing him in one round."

"Sorry, Coach," Ryoma says, already peeling off his jacket.

Underneath, he's already wearing his fight trunks. Nakahara exhales, recognizing the reason for his delay.

Then his tone softens. "How's your mom?"

"She's fine," Ryoma says, folding his clothes neatly. "Kaede's with her."

Nakahara studies him for a moment, the color in his face, the steadiness in his movements. Ryoma looks good, too good, considering what he put his body through the past week.

A small smile tugs at Nakahara's lips. "If you're that worried about her," he says, "then come back from this fight without a scratch."

The other fighters in the room exchange looks, a few of them scoffing under their breath.

One of the assistant trainers mutters, "Man's still feverish from last night, expecting his fighter to fight Ayano without a bruise… What a clown."

"What did you say?" Nakahara snaps him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You're lucky someone's watching your boxer fight at all, because mine's the one who sold out the tickets."

Before anyone can answer, the door bursts open. A featherweight boxer stumbles in, face swollen and bloodied.

And a staffer pipes in, "Aramaki! You're up next. Get ready!"

As Aramaki reaches the door, the assistant trainer from earlier calls out, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Let's see if you can really finish him in one round, or you'll come back looking like that guy."

He jerks his thumb toward the losing boxer, face swollen and eyes downcast.

Aramaki stops mid-step. It's been more than six months since his last fight. For a second, doubt flickers in his eyes.

Then Ryoma's voice cuts through the room. "Don't mind them. Just fight the way we practiced. You'll be fine."

Aramaki glances back, and nods. He leaves with the team, the door shutting behind them with a soft click.

Every pair of eyes now turns toward Ryoma, quietly hostile. But he doesn't seem to care. He rolls his shoulders, takes a slow breath, and starts to move.

The first few steps are light, then sharper and cleaner. Each punch slices through the air with a crisp snap.

His shadowboxing flows like muscle memory, fluid yet precise. He is left alone by himself, but his composure is unshakable.

The quiet contempt from earlier fades, replaced by a heavy unspoken understanding. They might not like him, but they all see it now.

The gap between them isn't small. It's a canyon.

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