Chapter 6: Out of Sync

After five days of recovery, Ryoma already back in the gym. Coach Nakahara told him to take a full week, but of course Ryoma never listens.

His next fight is already fixed for May 15th, less than four weeks to prepare. So today, he’s back sparring with Ryohei inside that shrunken ring, each side cut shorter by two meters now, still not allowed throwing a punch.

"Don’t overthink," Nakahara calls from outside the ropes. "This drill is about instinct. It’s fine if you get tagged. Every punch slipping through your guard is teaching your body."

But for Ryoma, it’s easier said than done.

Because no matter how sharp his mind is, he’s still fighting against something he can’t shake, the gap between his soul and muscle memory.

He’s back in his 18-year-old self only recently. It’s still his own flesh and bone, but feels like borrowing someone else’s body.

With the fight against Aramaki, he has learned its weakness. But its strengths, its limits, its reflexes... they’re still unfamiliar to him.

And only now does he take serious attention to the strange feelings.

"Shiiiit... it feels more like controlling a robot I’m not accustomed with."

Sometimes he expects fatigue that never comes, other times a burst of speed leaves him stumbling.

Even the timing of his reactions can feel foreign, like a machine he hasn’t finished learning how to operate.

The muscles don’t always fire the way he expects. The reflexes sometimes lag, leaving him off-balance.

"It’s a miracle I had even experienced being in the zone before."

Ryoma’s brain can picture the perfect slip. He knows exactly how little he needs to move, how sharp the angle should be.

But when he tries to execute...

Dsh!

Ryohei’s glove cracks against his cheek.

He actually read it. He was sure he could slip it at the last instant with the smallest movement possible. That’s what confident defense is supposed to look like.

And yet...

Dsh!

He fails again. His timing is always a fraction off, and the harder he tries to understand why, the further the answer slips away.

Dsh, dsh!

Each punch only feeds his frustration, tangling his thoughts until he’s chasing shadows instead of the truth.

"What’s wrong, kid?" Ryohei teases. "Your form is getting worse. Did Aramaki hit your head too hard before?"

Even right now, Hiroshi can see his form unraveling with every movement, and he thinks it’s the drill that ruins it.

"I’m sorry, Coach." Hiroshi leans closer to Nakahara, keeping his voice low. "We should stop this. I’m afraid we’re only throwing off his rhythm."

Nakahara doesn’t take his eyes off Ryoma. He’s seen it too, but something tells him Ryoma needs this more than anything.

"He’s just... overthinking," Nakahara says. "Rely too much on your head, and you stop trusting your body. In the ring, or in any sport, you need both working together. You don’t get time to think your way through every move."

Back in the ring, Ryohei’s punches keep slipping through, snapping against Ryoma’s face. And Ryoma finds himself leaning harder on his Vision Grid system now.

Maybe I should learn how to use this system to its fullest.

And then, he begins to stare too long at each spot, tracking every twitch, every arrow. And the system, bound to his eyes, takes it as intent.

It’s layering him more data over the very place he’s fixating. What should’ve been guidance turns into clutter, all because of where he chooses to look.

But now, he’s overanalyzing things, even starts focusing on information that doesn’t matter in the heat of a fight.

Wait... Ryohei’s breathing turns rough.

His chest...

His mouth...

Is he exhausted?

Will he back off?

But no, Ryohei’s grin gives it away. His breathing is unstable not because of exhaustion, but excitement.

Damn it. He’s enjoying this too much.

Frustration boils over, and before Ryoma realizes it, his left hand lashes out.

Blugh!

His glove smacks straight into Ryohei’s nose.

"That hurt, damn it!" Ryohei yelps, rubbing at it.

"S-sorry..." Ryoma stammers, lifting a hand with an awkward smile. "Didn’t mean to."

"You weren’t supposed to hit back! I didn’t even wear headgear ’cause of that!"

"Hey, Ryohei," Nakahara cuts in. "Just because I told Ryoma not to punch doesn’t mean you get sloppy. Don’t let the drill make you careless. Now enough talking, keep going!"

The sparring resumes, but nothing changes. Ryoma still can’t find his rhythm. He isn’t even thinking about form anymore, only about mistimed slips, Ryohei’s rough punches, and everything except his own flow.

Until finally...

"That’s enough!" Nakahara barks, calling it off. "Kid, get out of the ring. Take a break."

"But Coach," Ryoma protests, frustration on his face. "It’s only the second round."

"Don’t push it. You’re still recovering," Nakahara says as he turns away.

That’s the excuse he gives. But the truth is, Nakahara can’t ignore how off Ryoma’s movements look. Now Hiroshi’s warning creeps back into his mind, maybe this drill really was a mistake.

Meanwhile, at Minato Bayside Gym, Ryoma has been under the microscope for a week now.

Yuichi Sōda, the head coach, sits with Tsuchida Inejiro, the trainer directly in charge of Toru Kanzaki’s camp. Together, they’ve been dissecting Ryoma, going as far back as his Interhigh days, but these last two days focusing entirely on his war with Aramaki.

They break it down frame by frame: the sharp jabs that closed Aramaki’s right eye, the way Ryoma’s punches seemed to vanish mid-attack, the logic behind each exchange, even the knockdown Ryoma suffered.

"See that?" Yuichi pauses the footage. "He blocked clean, but still dropped to his knees."

Tsuchida leans in, squinting. "So that was deliberate?"

"Planned or not, two things are clear," Yuichi says. "First, he’s no ordinary rookie. He stays calm in the chaos, every punch thought out. Second, he’s got a fatal weakness. His stamina. With that build, he must be cutting brutal amounts of weight."

"So we go after that? Same as Aramaki did?"

"Of course. But we can’t copy Aramaki’s loss either. Body shots alone won’t cut it. After all, Kanzaki’s not an inside brawler. He can mix his punches, keep pressure from all angles, make every second a nightmare. You only need to train him to put more weight behind his punches."

Yuichi finally kills the video, ejects the memory stick, and hands it off. "Kanzaki fights a lot like Takeda himself. But unlike Takeda, he doesn’t drain himself with weight cuts. That’s his edge, he can push full throttle from bell to bell. He doesn’t need Aramaki’s style, but the target’s the same: drain Takeda’s tank. Once his legs are gone, so is he."

Tsuchida crosses his arms. "What about his right hand?"

Yuichi goes quiet. He’s seen it himself, how Ryoma grew hesitant to throw his right in the third and fourth rounds. He knows something was off.

But...

"It’s still unclear," Yuichi finally says. "We can’t gamble on it. We need to prepare as if he’s still dangerous with both hands."

Tsuchida smirks. "Maybe we should send someone to find out for sure."

Yuichi narrows his eyes. "...A spy?"

"It’s not against the rules," Tsuchida shrugs.

Yuichi shakes his head. "That seems... unethical, and if found out, our name could be tarnished."

"Well, that’s... if we get caught," Tsuchida presses. "And we could just send someone unrelated to us, no?"