Chapter 990 - 990: Go On Without Me

Kenta keeps Ryoma under pressure, cutting off every attempt to escape with heavy punches and constant forward movement.

<< Move, Ryoma. Move.

<< What the hell are you waiting for? >>

Ryoma gives ground, blocks, slips, and angles away whenever he finds the smallest opening, but there is barely enough room for him to breathe, let alone build one of his usual traps.

<< There! You had an opening. >>

<< Shit… You missed it. >>

<< Stop reacting to him and start making him react to you. >>

Eventually, however, he finds the timing he needs and slips out of Kenta's pressure, reclaiming the center of the ring.

<< There you go. Finally. >>

<< See? Was that really so fucking difficult? >>

From there, Ryoma begins to look like himself again. His footwork settles, his punches become sharper, and his timing returns to its usual precision. Yet something is still missing.

<< Good. Keep that rhythm. Don't rush. >>

<< Now make him think you're going back to the body, and then… >>

But Ryoma does not do it. He fights cleanly and efficiently, but there are no elaborate traps, no strange adjustments, no sequences designed to make Kenta question what comes next.

He is simply boxing.

<< ...That's it? >>

<< Seriously? >>

<< You finally get out of trouble, and this is what you do with it? >>

<< You're fighting like some fucking textbook. >>

<< Where did all that clever bullshit go, Ryoma? >>

The funny thing is, the voice has always been like this: annoyingly talkative, impatient, and clinical to the point of being exhausting.

It has always pointed out openings, criticized mistakes, and barked the next instruction before Ryoma had even finished processing the previous one.

And for years, Ryoma had no problem with it. He listened. He adapted. He used the information. Whatever the voice actually was, the two had always worked together surprisingly well.

But now Ryoma is trying very hard to deny that it even belongs in his head, and apparently the human brain has a rather stupid way of handling that sort of thing.

The more he rejects the voice, the harder it becomes to ignore. Every instruction becomes something he has to argue with before he can even decide whether it is useful.

His attention splits in two: Kenta is fighting him from the outside, while the voice is fighting him from the inside.

Naturally, this does wonders for his concentration. His reactions come a fraction too late. His movements lose their natural flow, becoming stiff and deliberate in the middle of his growing irritation.

His attacks still land, but they are mostly reactions to whatever Kenta throws at him rather than the product of the layered ideas that once made Ryoma so difficult to read.

He is still fighting Kenta. He just has another opponent in his head now. And, rather embarrassingly, that opponent used to be on his side.

Again, Ryoma makes a small mistake with his positioning.

He leaves his head just a little too high as Kenta steps in.

And…

BAM!

Kenta's glove slaps against the side of his headgear.

<< There. Again. >>

<< Your left was too low. >>

<< And you knew he was coming. >>

<< What the hell are you doing? >>

Ryoma grits his teeth. The voice keeps going, clinical as ever, which somehow makes it even more irritating.

<< Don't get angry. Fix it. >>

That last instruction only makes things worse.

Ryoma suddenly surges forward, and a jab snaps out, followed by a right cross and a left hook.

And he doesn't stop. Like a kid who has just been told to behave and immediately decides to prove otherwise, Ryoma launches into another combination, throwing with far more aggression than the situation actually requires.

Kenta brings both gloves up and starts catching the shots on his guard.

DUGH. DUGH. DP. DUG. DUGH.

For once, a right hand slips through and clips the side of Kenta's headgear.

Dsh!

"Good! That's it!" Nakahara shouts from ringside. "Now step off to your left! Make him turn before you throw again!"

<< Exactly. Move. >>

<< Get out and fight smarter for once. >>

But instead of resetting or moving out so he can attack from a different angle, Ryoma stays in the pocket and lets his hands work in a frenzy.

For several seconds, Kenta has little choice but to absorb the barrage, blocking and deflecting as Ryoma pours everything he has into the attack.

Then Kenta takes one small pendulum step. When Ryoma forces another punch through, Kenta simply slaps the punch aside as he moves in.

Turning Ryoma's own forward momentum against him, Kenta's right hand drives straight into the stomach.

BUGH!!!

The punch lands heavy, fast, and deep.

Ryoma's legs buckle immediately. His upper body folds for a fraction of a second, but he refuses to go down, forcing his legs to straighten again through sheer stubbornness.

Unfortunately, staying upright only leaves him there for Kenta to hit again. Kenta raises his gloves, ready to follow up.

But he opts to stop, simply watches Ryoma frozen in place for another second before he eventually drops onto one knee, struggling to pull air back into his lungs.

Kenta blinks, his expression immediately shifting to concern as he looks down at Ryoma. It is not just the way Ryoma is struggling to catch his breath that bothers him. The strange performance he has been putting on throughout the entire sparring session has been getting harder to ignore.

"Ryoma, you okay?" he asks, bending down as if to help him up.

"Damn it, Kenta," Ryoma says, hissing through the pain. "You could've driven another shot. Why did you pull your punch?"

"Exactly," Nakahara says from ringside. "What's wrong with you, Kenta? You showing mercy on him after watching him make mistake after mistake?"

Kenta straightens and turns toward Nakahara. "But, sir. He's got a fight coming up soon. I can't risk injuring him."

"I know you're not supposed to bring your ego into sparring," Nakahara snaps. "But you're taking it too easy on him. He's made mistake after mistake for three fucking rounds, and instead of making him pay for those mistakes, you keep pulling your punches. That kind of kindness is going to dull his instincts."

Then, without even taking a breath, Nakahara turns his attention toward Ryoma.

"And you, kid! What the hell is wrong with you? You haven't been fighting like yourself at all! Have you been out of the ring for so long that you've actually let your instincts go fucking dull?"

Ryoma slowly pushes himself back onto his feet. His stomach is still giving him trouble every time he tries to draw a full breath, but he keeps his face completely flat, as though getting dropped to one knee is merely an inconvenience he has already decided to forget.

He rolls his shoulders once and looks toward Nakahara. "Yeah, I have to admit. I guess staying away from sparring for too long has made me worse."

It is a convenient explanation. And, as far as everyone in this room knows, it is probably the only explanation available.

Ryoma has not sparred with another boxer in the gym for months. Even during his preparation for Nikolai, he relied entirely on the Phantom Mode feature for his sparring work, something nobody here even knows exists.

Now that he has stopped using it, this is the first time in months that he has had to deal with an actual training partner again.

But the real issue behind his terrible performance isn't a lack of sparring. It's the result of him denying the Vision Grid and the existence of the voice inside his head. So if Nakahara wants to blame the rust, Ryoma has no reason to correct him.

"Now Kenta," Ryoma says, putting up his stance. "Would you be kindly help me back into shape, and stop being so soft on me?"

Seeing that stubbornness, the voice inside his head lets out a resigned sigh.

<< Fine... >>

<< Let's see how far you can go without me. >>