Chapter 1003 - 1003: The Man Behind the Eyes

Seeing the confusion on Umemoto's face, Ryoma immediately fires a sharp one-two.

Umemoto is caught slightly off guard, but his reflexes remain razor-sharp. He pulls his head back just enough to lessen the impact of the first punch, then immediately tightens his guard to catch the second.

Dsh! Dug.

He quickly angles out, but Ryoma follows him with remarkable speed and fluidity, slipping a body blow into his stomach.

BUGH!

Two hooks cut sharply upstairs, yet Umemoto still manages to block them.

Dug. Dug.

When the cross comes, Umemoto even manages to set a trap for a counter, leaning back just enough before firing a cross of his own.

But Ryoma still manages to evade it. He ducks beneath the punch, then simply walks backward with a loose, swaggering gait.

His grin appears again. "You really don't make this easy, huh?"

Umemoto's eyes sharpen again, curiosity and a trace of confusion returning to his expression. Yet despite everything that might have disrupted his focus, he never truly leaves the zone.

Like a true fighter who exists in complete harmony with his own body, Umemoto seems able to pull his focus back into place without any difficulty.

And with the situation becoming increasingly dangerous, combined with the ominous aura Ryoma is giving off, his adrenaline remains high, keeping his awareness razor-sharp.

Ryoma initiates another attack, cutting off space as he unleashes a series of combinations aimed relentlessly at critical targets.

Jaw. Chin. The base of the ear. Ribs. Liver.

Hook. Hook. Uppercut. Long hook upstairs.

Step in.

Two body blows downstairs.

Yet Umemoto reads everything beautifully, positioning his guard with perfect precision and even pulling his head back at exactly the right moment to let one hook miss by the width of a hair.

Then he drops his guard again, ready for the two body blows.

For once, he leaves his head exposed.

Ryoma immediately goes for it.

And even though Umemoto cannot evade the punch…

Dsh!

…he still manages to turn his face at the last instant, taking some of the impact off the shot as he drives a compact punch into Ryoma's body.

BUGH!

Ryoma's eyebrows lift in genuine amazement.

"Oh?"

Umemoto is already firing again.

One punch.

Two.

Three.

But Ryoma casually lowers his guard and avoids the entire barrage while walking backward, letting each punch pass harmlessly through the space he has already abandoned.

"What the hell was that exchange?!"

"The speed! The timing! They're trading attacks at point-blank range, and somehow both of them are still finding ways to defend!"

"Umemoto read that combination almost perfectly! And he actually managed to land a counter on Ryoma! He's getting sharper!"

"Exactly! His reactions are getting faster and faster! The longer this fight goes, the more dangerous he becomes!"

"And Ryoma keeps answering him with that ridiculous speed!"

"And that grin…"

"He's enjoying this!"

"He actually looks like he's having the time of his life!"

Once he has stepped outside Umemoto's range, the bell rings.

Ding!

Ryoma gives a few slow nods, wearing the arrogant expression of a king acknowledging the skill of a lowly soldier who has somehow managed to earn his attention.

"Not bad. Not bad at all. You've not only learned to read my attacks, but you've even managed to land one upon me." He straightens and gives his chest a single pat. "I suppose I should acknowledge you properly. Of all the warriors this child has ever faced, you alone have earned the distinction of being called the greatest."

The commentators exchange stunned looks, both visibly confused by Ryoma's strange declaration.

"Did he just call Umemoto the greatest opponent he's ever faced?"

"And why is he suddenly speaking in the third person, with that grand regal tone? Is this some new persona of the Cruel King?"

Ryoma's words once again catch Umemoto's attention, stirring the same strange curiosity that has been building with every passing exchange.

The more Umemoto hears him ramble, the more certain he becomes that he is not really fighting Ryoma anymore.

In fact, he has already acknowledged Ryoma as a formidable opponent.

But whatever is standing in front of him now is something else entirely.

Something far beyond the Ryoma he thought he knew.

***

Meanwhile, the Ryoma Umemoto knows is still desperately trying to wake himself up, experiencing the strange sensation of dreaming while fully aware that he is dreaming.

He can recognize that his body is supposed to be somewhere else, inside the ring, fighting Umemoto. Yet no matter how desperately he tries to break through the illusion, nothing responds to him.

He tries to move his hands, his legs, but he can't. He strains his entire body, willing even one finger to twitch, but the sensation never comes.

He even tries to open his mouth and shout, only to realize that he cannot move that either.

His voice exists only inside his head.

"Wake up!"

"Come on! Wake up!"

"Move!"

"Move your fucking body!"

He screams until his thoughts feel raw.

"I have a fight!"

"I can't lose this fight!"

"This is important!"

"I need to get back up!"

"Someone wake me up!"

"Please!"

There is something else waiting for him beyond the panic, something far more terrifying than being unable to move.

If he loses here, everything falls apart. The title, his career, everything he has built, everything he has sacrificed.

All of it.

"No…"

"I can't lose here."

"Not now."

"Please, I can't lose now."

Ryoma becomes certain that his eyes are wide open. He forces them wider, straining against the darkness until his entire mind seems to ache from the effort.

But there is nothing. No ring, no lights, no crowd.

There's only complete darkness before him.

"Please… somebody wake me up!"

"Please!"

Then another thought slips through the panic; he has already been here too long.

Maybe the fight is already over.

Maybe the referee has counted to ten.

Maybe Umemoto has already been declared the winner.

And now he's lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

"No…"

"No, that's not possible."

"It hasn't ended yet."

"I'm still fighting."

"I have to be."

But the longer he remains trapped inside that darkness, the harder it becomes to believe himself that Ryoma begins to cry.

Not quietly, not with any dignity, but with the desperate denial of someone refusing to accept something his mind is already beginning to understand.

"No…"

"Please…"

"I don't want to lose."

"Please don't let it end like this."

In a moment like this, all the bitterness from the failures of his previous life comes rushing back to him.

Ten years spent living through a private hell of despair, blaming himself inside a dark room with a bottle of liquor in his hand.

Those memories come crashing back with such force that the old despair almost feels real again, pressing down on him from every direction.

But then, something inside his chest refuses to accept it.

A fierce rejection suddenly sparks within him, burning so intensely that Ryoma can no longer endure the pressure building inside his own mind.

The heat grows stronger, until that desperate refusal seems to push back against the darkness itself.

And then, somewhere within that endless blackness, a faint light suddenly appears.

At first, his vision is nothing but a blur, like he has just awakened from a long, deep slumber.

Then shapes begin to emerge through the haze, followed by colors, movement, and the faint outlines of something standing directly in front of him.

As his vision gradually clears, Ryoma finally recognizes Umemoto standing before him, still wearing his gloves, still inside the ring.

He even can hear the arena roaring around him, thousands of voices crashing together as the local supporters scream for Umemoto to finish him.

"Finish him, Umemoto!"

"Don't let that bastard stand there any longer! Put him back on the canvas!"

"Knock him out, Umemoto! Show everyone who deserves that belt!"

"Take his head off and bring the championship home!"

"Finish the champion! Don't give him another chance to fight back!"

"Umemoto, destroy him! This is your chance to take everything from him!"

The hostility pouring down from the stands surrounds Ryoma from every direction, yet for the first time, he feels strangely grateful to hear those voices.

"This is... Edion Arena."

"I haven't lost yet."

Before Ryoma can fully process those thoughts, Umemoto suddenly moves forward and sends a punch.

His movements are incredibly fast, far sharper and cleaner than anything Ryoma remembers seeing from him before.

Ryoma is caught slightly off guard, and instinctively tries to raise his hands to protect his face from the incoming attack.

But strangely enough, his arms still refuse to move. All he can do is watch as Umemoto's punch flies directly toward his face.

"No, please... move!"

For a brief moment, that familiar despair returns, the unbearable realization that he has managed to stand again but still cannot defend himself.

Then, without warning, Ryoma's body moves on its own.

His head tilts away from the incoming punch, avoiding it so cleanly that the glove passes within a hair's breadth of his face.

More punches follow, forcing Ryoma to desperately search for the defensive movements he knows; establish the pendulum step, pull the head away, bring his guard back into position.

But once again, none of those movements happen. Instead, his body performs an entirely different defensive maneuver, tilting his head and upper body just enough to slip each punch.

There is almost no footwork involved, and his hands never rise to protect his face.

"What the hell is this?"

"What's happening to my body?"

"Why can't I control it?"

"Who..."

"Who is controlling my body?"