Chapter 1: When the Big Brother Calls

They’ve known each other for a while, long enough to have traded sharp words before. But this one, though... it cuts deeper than anything Hoshino has thrown at him in the past.

Nakahara, however, isn’t the type to bite too quickly. He’s endured enough in his life to know exactly when to hold back. And given what he’s here to ask, he’s well aware most people would take it as an insult.

"I’m not here to humiliate you," he says evenly. "You know better than anyone who I am. You also know how essential sparring is to a boxer, something I can’t afford right now. If you’re worried my fighter might embarrass yours, we can do it quietly."

Hoshino scoffs. "Me? Worried? You think I’m scared that rookie of yours will beat my Naoki in a..."

He doesn’t finish. A chuckle slips out first, and then it grows, building into full-on laughter.

"Nakahara... you’ve been here less than ten minutes, and you’ve managed to insult me and my boxer more than anyone ever has. With all due respect... just leave. And don’t show your face here again."

For a long moment, Nakahara and Hoshino lock eyes. Neither blinks, neither flinches. Then Nakahara turns on his heel and heads for the door without another word.

In the ring, Naoki just stays there silently behind Hoshino. His gaze follows Nakahara, but his expression stays unreadable. There’s no smirk, no gloat, only a quiet observation.

Around the gym, the other athletes have stopped what they’re doing. Heavy bags sway idly, jump ropes hang still. All eyes follow Nakahara’s retreating back, yet no one says a word.

There’s no joining in Hoshino’s mockery, but no one offers sympathy either. To them, Nakahara is just another face in the room, one that barely registers in their world.

Outside, Nakahara’s face is a mask of ice, his jaw set, every muscle working to keep his emotions locked in. But his silence says more than words ever could.

He never came here to start a rivalry, never needed to prove anything. But now, he has a reason. There’s something in his eyes now, calm, cold, but sharpened with a quiet resolve.

It’s the kind of look that doesn’t shout revenge, yet promises it all the same.

After a string of passive-aggressive refusals, capped off with that final jab, Nakahara decides it’s time to head back to the gym and rethink his next move.

But the moment he steps into his office, Hiroshi is there, blocking the doorway.

"Uh, sir... Coach Kirizume called this afternoon."

Nakahara’s brow tightens. A call from Kirizume Boxing Gym this soon? He’d expected they might ask for a Tōjō–Ryoma rematch eventually, but not this quickly.

"Did he say anything?"

Hiroshi shakes his head. "I told him you were out. He just said he’d call again."

The air between them grows heavy, that kind of weight where even silence seems to be holding its breath. Hiroshi shifts his stance, and Nakahara can tell he’s thinking the same thing. Daigo Kirizume wouldn’t call out of the blue unless there was something big on the table.

Before either of them can speculate further, the phone on Nakahara’s desk rings, its sharp tone slices through the stillness.

Nakahara crosses the room and picks it up.

"Nakahara speaking."

"Kirizume," Nakahara replies evenly. "I heard you called earlier. What can I do for you?"

A brief pause, then Kirizume gets straight to the point.

The name freezes Nakahara for a second.

"Renji?" Nakahara asks. "Is he already preparing for another fight? He just defended his belt last night."

The explanation only deepens Nakahara’s confusion, but he keeps his tone neutral.

"I’ll need to discuss this with my team and that kid first."

Nakahara sets the receiver back in its cradle with a slow motion, as though the weight of the call is still pressing down on his hand. His expression is dark, stone cold, but with a faint tightness at the corners of his eyes.

Hiroshi takes one step closer. "Was that... really from Kirizume?"

Nakahara nods once. "He’s asking if Ryoma’s available to spar with Renji Kuroiwa."

It takes a second for the name to sink in, and when it does, Hiroshi’s eyebrows shoot up.

"Wha... wait, Renji? That Renji?!"

He starts pacing in a short, restless loop, stammering through his first attempt at logic.

"That... that makes no damn sense! Renji Kuroiwa... a reigning Lightweight champion, seven successful title defenses. And Ryoma... he only made his pro debut yesterday in a Super Featherweight bout. The pairing makes no sense. He’s not even in the same weight... why...?"

Hiroshi stops, turns to Nakahara, and his voice takes on a sharper edge.

"You know what this is, right? This isn’t about sparring. This is about last night."

Nakahara stays silent, watching him.

"Ryoma beat Tōjō in the opener, made him look bad in front of his own crowd. Now they’re trying to fix their image, can’t risk another loss for Tōjō, so what do they do? They send in the big brother. This is straight-up playground stuff. Kid gets smacked, runs home cry, and calls his heavyweight sibling to handle it."

Hiroshi exhales hard, still shaking his head.

"I swear, they’re dressing it up as a friendly spar, but they just want to put Ryoma in his place."

Nakahara’s gaze drifts downward, eyes narrowing slightly in deep thought. For a long moment, his face is unreadable. But then, slowly, the tension at the corners of his mouth eases.

A faint curve forms, not quite a grin, more like the shadow of one. It’s the kind of expression that hides more than it reveals. But the glint in his eyes betrays it: he’s not worried but intrigued.

"So what if Renji beats Ryoma?" he says at last, voice calm, almost casual.

Hiroshi freezes mid-step, brow furrowing. "...Sir?"

"If Renji wins, nothing changes," Nakahara continues. "We’re still a small club without a name. Losing to a champion from Kirizume Gym won’t hurt us. It won’t erase Ryoma’s debut win either."

He lets that hang in the air for a beat before leaning in just enough to add, "But..."

Hiroshi straightens, sensing something.

"...what if Ryoma manages to beat him? That Renji Kuroiwa?"

Hiroshi’s confusion deepens, his lips parting as if he’s about to object but can’t quite form the words.

His eyes search Nakahara’s face for something, but all he finds there is that same knowing smirk, quiet, dangerous, and entirely self-assured.