Chapter 885 - 885: A Lesson in Humility

Hiroshi's brows lift slightly. Only after Nakahara mentions Cuban boxing does he finally recognize the same sense of familiarity he always gets whenever he watches Cabello's fight footage.

"So that's it," he mutters. "He's been studying the champion's fights all this time and ended up copying his style. No wonder Ryohei looks so frustrated. Ryoma spent years telling him to stop fighting like a coward, and now he's doing exactly that himself."

Back inside the ring, Ryohei keeps pressing forward, occasionally forced to reset before hiding his growing irritation behind another taunt.

"So this is what you've been studying back in Tokyo? Running around like Cabello?"

Nakahara slowly shakes his head. "Make no mistake. Ryoma isn't Cabello. Deep down, he's not a runner. He's a killer. And right now, he's suppressing that instinct until the right moment."

He then glances at the timer; less than thirty seconds remain in the round. He knows exactly what that means. After nearly three minutes of relentlessly chasing Ryoma's shadow, even Ryohei's gas tank will begin to run dry.

Normally, Nakahara would have called out from ringside and told his fighter to settle down. This time, he doesn't. Ryohei has allowed his ego and resentment to consume him for far too long. Perhaps a little humility is exactly what he needs.

"Ryohei should be careful what he's asking for," Nakahara mutters almost to himself.

Blinded by his own ego, Ryohei keeps charging forward, relentlessly forcing one combination after another.

Ryoma slips away again, and another check hook snaps against the side of Ryohei's headgear.

Dsh!

This time, however, Ryoma doesn't drift away afterward. Instead, he plants himself directly in front of Ryohei, his stance briefly squared.

Ryohei immediately drives a straight left toward the opening. Ryoma quietly draws his left foot backward, avoiding the punch.

In that one smooth motion, his stance switches to Southpaw, his right glove rises as though preparing to fire a right straight.

Ryohei's eyes widen. The counter he has been waiting for is coming.

"There you are."

Without hesitation, he launches his own right straight, determined to force the dual exchange in the exact same moment.

However…

Dsh!

Ryoma's right hand lands first. Not as a power shot, but as a light southpaw jab.

Ryohei's right cross, however, falls short by an inch, his shoulders turning into the wrong line before he even realizes the angle between them has changed.

And in that instant, Ryoma's eyes flash sharply as he drives his left shoulder forward.

"Now why don't you shut the fuck up?"

His left arm twists like a screw as it shoots straight down the center…

DHUACK!

His weight snaps through the punch at the very last moment, crashing into the exposed portion of Ryohei's face that the headgear fails to protect.

A thin spray of blood bursts from Ryohei's nose as his head snaps violently backward, drawing a collective gasp from everyone around the ring.

For one brief moment, the entire gym freezes. That punch alone should have been enough to stop the sparring.

But Ryoma steps in anyway, and…

BHACK!

His right hand crashes straight into the middle of Ryohei's face before he can recover.

The impact leaves Ryohei stumbling backward, his body no longer moving by conscious command but by pure instinct as it desperately struggles to recover its balance.

Step after unsteady step carries him into the ropes, where his back finally slumps against them.

And Ryoma gives him no chance to recover.

BHUCK! BHUCK! DSH! BHACK! BUCHK!

Punch after punch crashes into the exposed center line of Ryohei's face, each impact violently snapping his head back as the ropes keep him upright just enough to absorb the next one.

Sera is already climbing through the ropes before the combination finishes.

"Ryoma! That's enough!"

But Ryoma still squeezes in two more heavy hooks. They slam into the protected sides of Ryohei's headgear, yet the force behind them still sends shockwaves through his skull.

"Enough already!"

Sera finally drives both hands into Ryoma's chest, forcing him several steps backward before planting himself between the two fighters.

"You've gone too far! Do you want to kill him?"

Ryoma doesn't answer. He simply stares at Sera with an unnervingly blank expression, his breathing already under control, his eyes stripped of any visible anger.

The rage Sera expected to see simply isn't there. Instead, he finds himself standing in front of a face so cold and emotionless that, for a fleeting second, it feels less like a furious boxer and more like a man fully capable of killing without the slightest hesitation.

"...Damn it."

Sera immediately turns around, only to find Ryohei already collapse into a half-seated position against the ropes, his head tilted over the middle strand toward the outside of the ring. His eyes remain slightly open, but whatever awareness had been inside them has vanished.

Around the ring, nobody says a word. Kenta, Aramaki, Okabe, and Satoru can only stare in stunned silence while the other coaching staffs hurry toward the ropes.

Dr. Mizuno kneels beside Ryohei and immediately begins checking his condition.

"Ryohei. Can you hear me?"

Receiving no response, he gently pats both sides of Ryohei's face.

"Ryohei."

Ryohei finally stirs. His eyes drift aimlessly across the gym, unfocused and empty, as though he has only just awakened from a deep sleep.

"...What? What happened to me?"

His gaze slowly sweeps across the people surrounding him.

"...Why's everyone here?"

At that moment, Ryoma quietly walks over and lightly taps Hiroshi's shoulder, silently asking for room.

Believing Ryoma has come to check on his teammate, Hiroshi instinctively steps aside, while Dr. Mizuno shifts aside as well to give him space.

The instant Ryohei sees Ryoma crouching before him, every trace of confusion disappears. His pupils tremble, and fear immediately replaces the vacant look on his face.

Ryoma stares at him without the slightest hint of sympathy. "From now on, watch your manners around me. You don't open your mouth unless I allow it."

The words leave everyone frozen. Nobody expected that kind of cold authority from Ryoma. They had expected anger, maybe frustration after everything Ryohei had said, but not this.

"...And keep your head down in my presence," Ryoma adds flatly. "Do you understand me?"

Ryohei's expression shifts for a brief moment. His body reacts before he can hide it, a small flicker of fear crossing his face as he remains silent in front of Ryoma.

That reaction is enough and Ryoma gives him a small nod.

"Good."

He straightens himself, steps away from Ryohei, and leaves the ring without saying anything else.

For several moments, everyone simply watches Ryoma's back until he walks out of the gym and disappears from their sight.

Then a weak chuckle comes from Ryohei. "Damn... he really didn't go easy on me, did he?"

Everyone turns back toward him. Ryohei is still sitting against the ropes, rubbing the side of his head while forcing a crooked smile.

"My head's still spinning a little," he says with a small laugh. "Guess I got too confident."

Okabe snorts. "Too confident? You spent the entire round acting like you were hunting someone down."

Aramaki shakes his head. "And you still complained that he wasn't fighting you seriously."

Ryohei laughs along, casually throwing back another joke as if the whole thing is nothing more than a stupid mistake he can brush aside.

But the others remain quiet. They know how a national champion like Ryohei should look after taking a beating like that.

He should show anger, frustration, or a wounded pride that refuses to accept what just happened inside the ring. Anything would be more natural for a fighter after such a humiliating defeat, but not laughing it off.

Sera and Nakahara exchange a brief glance. Neither of them says anything, but they both understand what they are seeing.

A fighter can recover from a loss. He can recover from being outclassed in a sparring session. But watching Ryohei respond to it this way worries them in a completely different way.