Isekai in Hajime no Ippo with Gaolang’s Template

The morning of Ippo's fight arrived with an air of nervous excitement. Ippo stood by the front door of their home, dressed neatly in a white sweater, brown pants, and black shoes. His attire was simple yet smart, reflecting his humble nature. His face, however, betrayed the nerves bubbling inside him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting as he waited for Alex to finish getting ready.

Alex soon emerged, dressed casually but confidently, carrying the keys to their SUV—a sleek Nissan. "Ready?" he asked, giving Ippo a reassuring smile.

Ippo nodded hesitantly, though his stomach churned with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

The ride to the venue was lively, thanks to the banter coming from the backseat. Aoki and Kimura were in high spirits, making jokes and teasing Ippo to lighten the mood.

"Ippo, you're so quiet! Don't tell me you're scared," Aoki said with a grin, leaning forward to look at him.

Kimura smirked. "He's just focused. Right, Ippo?"

"Y-yeah," Ippo stammered, forcing a small smile.

Alex, focused on the road, chimed in, "He's just saving his energy. Let him be."

Trailing behind them in a Honda SUV was Coach Kamogawa, the assistant coach, and Takamura. Takamura's booming voice came through the walkie-talkie Alex had set up for the two cars to communicate.

"Oi, Ippo! Don't you dare puke in Alex's car. Save that for the ring!" Takamura's laugh echoed through the device.

Aoki burst out laughing, and even Kimura couldn't suppress a chuckle. Ippo, on the other hand, turned red and waved his hands defensively. "I'm fine! I'm fine!"

Alex rolled his eyes but smiled slightly. "Takamura, quit messing with him. Focus on driving."

The convoy arrived at the venue, a bustling arena filled with fans and fighters alike. The streets were lined with spectators, some waving banners and others holding posters of their favorite boxers. The energy in the air was palpable.

As they parked and stepped out of the SUV, Ippo's heart pounded harder. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as Alex and the others flanked him. The group navigated through the crowd, escorted by venue staff to ensure they weren't delayed.

Inside, the venue was just as lively. Fighters and their teams moved about purposefully, warming up or strategizing in preparation rooms. The noise of the crowd outside filtered in, adding to the tension.

Ippo and his team were shown to a private room designated for his preparations. The room was simple but functional, with benches, a hanging clock, and shelves stocked with equipment. Ippo sat down on one of the benches, his leg bouncing nervously as he stared at the floor.

"Relax, Ippo," Alex said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His voice was calm and steady, offering a stark contrast to Ippo's jittery demeanor. "You've got this. You've trained harder than anyone. Trust yourself."

Aoki and Kimura nodded in agreement. Aoki clapped Ippo on the back. "Yeah, don't overthink it. Just do what you do best."

Kimura added, "Remember, it's just another fight. You've been in tougher situations during training."

Ippo nodded slowly, their words helping to ease his nerves just a little. "Thanks, everyone."

Time passed, and the announcement for Ippo's fight echoed through the intercom. Coach Kamogawa and the assistant coach entered the room, signaling it was time to move.

Ippo stood, adjusting his gloves as his heart raced. Alex stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Stay focused. We're all behind you."

"Yeah, give 'em hell!" Aoki cheered, grinning.

Kimura smirked. "Make us proud."

With that, Ippo walked toward the tunnel, flanked by Coach Kamogawa and the assistant coach. The noise of the crowd grew louder with each step, the bright lights of the arena coming into view.

Alex, Aoki, and Kimura stayed behind, gathering around a small monitor in the preparation room to watch the fight live. The tension was thick, but they all wore expressions of confidence, knowing Ippo was ready for what lay ahead.

"Here we go," Aoki said, leaning forward, his usual humor replaced by genuine anticipation.

Kimura folded his arms, his eyes fixed on the screen. "He's ready."

Alex said nothing, his gaze steady and focused. His confidence in Ippo was unwavering. The fight was about to begin.

The arena roared as the bell rang, signaling the start of the match. Ippo and Mashiba stepped out of their corners, meeting in the center of the ring. The contrast between the two fighters was striking—Mashiba, tall and imposing, with his sharp gaze and lanky frame, slipped seamlessly into his signature hitman style. Opposite him, Ippo stood shorter but sturdier, his stocky build a testament to his relentless training. His hands were tucked tightly into his peekaboo guard, his eyes laser-focused on Mashiba.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation as the fighters began to circle each other, measuring the distance. Mashiba moved fluidly, his left hand already twitching, ready to snap out his signature flicker jab. Ippo inched forward cautiously, his guard high as he studied Mashiba's movements.

Without warning, Mashiba snapped his flicker jab forward—a whip-like motion that sent the leather glove slicing through the air. Pop! The jab struck Ippo's guard with a sharp crack, forcing him to take a step back. Mashiba didn't relent, launching another flicker jab, then another, each one faster than the last.

Ippo started weaving left and right, trying to avoid the stinging blows, but Mashiba's precision and reach made it nearly impossible to evade completely. One jab grazed Ippo's temple, another clipped his cheek, and a third thudded against his forearms as he kept his guard up.

Mashiba smirked faintly, his cold demeanor unshaken. He threw a sudden straight right, aiming for Ippo's face. The punch came like a spear, but Ippo managed to duck just in time, slipping the blow. However, the force of Mashiba's punches and his constant pressure had cornered Ippo.

The crowd's cheers grew louder as they realized Ippo was now backed into a dangerous position, trapped against the ropes with Mashiba standing tall in front of him. Mashiba's flicker jab began raining down like a relentless storm.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Each jab snapped forward with blinding speed, and Ippo's head snapped back repeatedly as he struggled to weave out of the onslaught. Left, right, left—Mashiba's long arms kept him at a frustrating distance, his reach making it nearly impossible for Ippo to retaliate.

Coach Kamogawa shouted from the corner, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Weave, Ippo! Get inside! Don't stay on the ropes!"

Mashiba, sensing the opportunity to overwhelm Ippo, tightened his control of the space. He shifted his stance slightly, stepping into his punches to make them even more punishing. His flicker jab snapped forward again, landing with pinpoint accuracy.

Ippo gritted his teeth, enduring the stinging pain of each jab. He began weaving more urgently, dipping his head low and swaying side to side, creating small openings. The crowd gasped as Ippo, despite being pummeled, showed no signs of backing down.

Mashiba noticed the increased movement and adjusted, flicking his jab slightly lower. Ippo weaved inside, slipping the jab by mere millimeters. His muscles tensed as he closed the gap. He planted his feet, drawing his left arm back to deliver a devastating hook.

But just as Ippo's glove was about to connect, DING!—the bell rang, signaling the end of the first round.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement spilling over as Ippo and Mashiba stepped back to their corners. Ippo froze for a moment, his arm still cocked, before letting out a frustrated sigh and lowering his hand.

Mashiba's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes as he turned and walked back to his corner.

Ippo trudged back to his corner, his breathing heavy but steady. His cheek was red and swelling slightly from Mashiba's jabs, but his resolve was unshaken.

"You did good, Ippo," Coach Kamogawa said firmly, patting his shoulder as the assistant coach applied an ice pack to his face. "But you need to time it better. Don't just charge in recklessly."

Ippo nodded, his jaw set. "I almost had him…"

Alex, watching from ringside, leaned forward, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Stay sharp, Ippo. You've got more rounds to figure him out. Just don't let him control the pace."

Meanwhile, in Mashiba's corner, his coach offered calm but firm instructions. "Keep the distance. Don't let him inside no matter what."

The bell rang, signaling the start of the second round. The tension in the air was palpable as Ippo and Mashiba stepped out of their corners. The crowd buzzed with excitement, sensing the shift in Ippo's demeanor. He was more aggressive now, his eyes locked on Mashiba with a fiery determination.

Ippo advanced quickly, closing the distance between them with short, deliberate steps. He feinted with a jab, then launched into a powerful left hook. Mashiba's sharp reflexes kicked in as he pivoted to the outside, narrowly avoiding the blow. Before Ippo could adjust, Mashiba leaned back, dodging an uppercut that came within inches of his chin.

Undeterred, Ippo pressed forward, throwing a straight right aimed squarely at Mashiba's torso. Mashiba raised his elbows, blocking the punch with a practiced motion. The impact echoed through the arena, but Mashiba remained composed, retaliating with his signature flicker jab.

Pop! Pop! The jab snapped out like a whip, its speed and precision forcing Ippo to weave. Ippo ducked low, slipping inside the jab, his movement sharp and calculated.

Mashiba's eyes narrowed, and he immediately fired off a powerful right cross, aiming to catch Ippo mid-motion. In that split second, Ippo's mind flashed back to the advice Alex had given him during training:

"When Mashiba throws a cross, he leaves his weight overextended. Slip to the outside—it's your chance to counter."

Back in the present, Ippo instinctively executed the move. He slipped to the outside of Mashiba's cross, positioning himself perfectly for a counter. His muscles coiled like a spring, and he unleashed a thunderous left uppercut that snapped Mashiba's head back.

The crowd erupted as Ippo followed up with a clean right cross, landing squarely on Mashiba's jaw. The force of the punch sent Mashiba stumbling backward, his long legs giving out as he dropped to the canvas.

The referee quickly stepped in, starting the count.

"One! Two! Three!"

Mashiba sat up, his face a mask of frustration and determination. His coach shouted instructions from the corner, urging him to stay calm. By the count of eight, Mashiba was back on his feet, shaking off the cobwebs. He raised his gloves, signaling to the referee that he was ready to continue.

The fight resumed, and Mashiba's demeanor shifted. Gone was the calm, calculating fighter from earlier rounds. He was aggressive now, his movements sharp and purposeful. He launched his flicker jab again, snapping it out with blistering speed.

Ippo weaved under it, closing the gap once more. But Mashiba anticipated the move, stepping back and launching a devastating right uppercut. The punch sliced through Ippo's guard, catching him clean on the cheek.

A gasp rippled through the crowd as a thin trail of blood trickled down Ippo's face. He staggered slightly but quickly regained his footing, his eyes burning with resolve.

"Stay sharp, Ippo!" Coach Kamogawa's voice boomed from the corner.

Ignoring the sting of the wound, Ippo pressed forward. He bobbed and weaved, slipping another flicker jab and stepping inside Mashiba's range. He wound up for a left hook, pouring every ounce of his power into the punch.

But Mashiba's reflexes saved him again. He leaned back, just enough to avoid the hook, the punch missing by a hair's breadth.

DING! The bell rang, signaling the end of the round.

The two fighters stepped back, their chests heaving as they returned to their corners.

Mashiba's face was flushed, and a faint bruise had begun to form on his jaw from Ippo's earlier combination. In Ippo's corner, the assistant coach quickly dabbed at the cut on his cheek, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

"You're doing good, Ippo," Kamogawa said, his voice steady but firm. "But don't get careless. Keep working the timing—he's starting to show cracks."

Across the ring, Mashiba's coach was equally animated. "Stay sharp! Don't let him close the distance! Keep the pressure on!"

As the fighters prepared for the third round, the crowd buzzed with anticipation. Both Ippo and Mashiba had shown flashes of brilliance, and it was clear this fight was far from over.

The bell rang for the start of the third round, and Ippo came out of his corner like a bull, charging straight at Mashiba.

His intense focus and determination were palpable, but so was Mashiba's defiance, his tall frame resuming the hitman stance with precision.

Mashiba lashed out with a flicker jab, the whip-like punch cutting through the air with terrifying speed. Ippo slipped inside the jab, his head weaving low as he closed the distance. Mashiba, always a step ahead, quickly followed up with a right uppercut aimed to punish Ippo for his aggression.

But just as the uppercut began to arc upward, something unexpected happened. Ippo's forward momentum collided with Mashiba's elbow mid-motion, catching him flush on the nose. The accidental strike sent a spray of blood from Ippo's nostrils, his head snapping back slightly from the impact.

"Ah!" gasped the crowd as they saw the blood. Ippo instinctively stepped back, resetting his stance, a hand briefly brushing the crimson trail now dripping down his face.

Coach Kamogawa bellowed from the corner. "Focus , Ippo! Stay in control!"

Ippo's eyes narrowed, and he surged forward again, this time with more ferocity. He ducked under another flicker jab and twisted his hips, unloading a vicious left hook to Mashiba's body. The impact landed solidly, causing Mashiba to grunt and briefly falter, but his composure remained intact.

Mashiba retaliated instantly, launching a sharp hook aimed at Ippo's head. The punch connected, snapping Ippo's head to the side, but he didn't back down. The two fighters began exchanging a relentless flurry of blows—hooks, jabs, and straights—each punch thrown with the intent to end the fight.

The crowd was on its feet, roaring as the two warriors battled in the center of the ring, neither giving an inch. Sweat and blood flew with every impact, the brutal contest pushing both fighters to their limits.

Then, amid the barrage, Mashiba's right arm absorbed a particularly powerful blow from Ippo. A sickening crack echoed faintly, and Mashiba winced, pain flashing across his face. His arm had fractured under the strain of blocking Ippo's punch.

But Mashiba didn't stop. His mind raced, the pain pushed aside as he thought of the reason he was here—his sister, Kumi, and the life he was fighting to give her. "I can't stop," he thought, clenching his jaw against the agony. "Not now, not ever."

Even with the injured arm, Mashiba threw a looping hook with his left, catching Ippo cleanly on the side of the head. The impact stunned Ippo momentarily, his balance faltering. Mashiba seized the opportunity, stepping forward and unleashing a brutal right cross, followed immediately by an uppercut that snapped Ippo's head upward.

The crowd roared louder, sensing Mashiba's momentum. He reared back for another right cross, this time aiming to finish the fight.

But Ippo, bloodied and battered, wasn't finished yet.

As the cross came hurtling toward him, Ippo slipped to the outside, evading the blow with a precision honed through countless hours of training. With Mashiba overextended, Ippo saw his opening. He twisted his body and threw a crushing overhand right that connected squarely with Mashiba's temple.

The force of the punch was undeniable.

Mashiba's body buckled, his legs giving out as he dropped to his knees, his head swaying unsteadily. The referee immediately began the count.

"One! Two! Three!"

Mashiba tried to rise, his spirit as fierce as ever, but his legs betrayed him. No matter how much he willed his body to move, it wouldn't obey.

"Seven! Eight! Nine!"

The referee waved his arms, signaling the end of the fight. The arena erupted in cheers as the announcement echoed through the venue:

"It's over! Winner by knockout, Makunouchi Ippo!"

Ippo, drenched in sweat and blood, staggered to the center of the ring, his arm raised in triumph. His face, though battered, was alight with a mixture of relief and joy.

"I did it!" he shouted, his voice trembling with emotion. The words echoed through the arena, a declaration of victory not just in the ring, but over the doubts and fears that had weighed him down.

In the crowd, cheers turned into chants of his name:

"Ippo! Ippo! Ippo!"

In his corner, Coach Kamogawa nodded approvingly, pride evident in his expression. Alex, Aoki, and Kimura were on their feet, cheering wildly, while Takamura smirked, his arms crossed.

As Ippo stood tall in the ring, the moment was his, a testament to the strength of his resolve and the culmination of his hard work.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as the ring announcer stepped forward, microphone in hand. His voice boomed over the speakers, capturing the attention of everyone in the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the fight ends at 3 rounds, 2 minutes by knockout! The winner, and the new East Japan Rookie

King... Makunouchi Ippo!"

The cheers erupted even louder, the energy in the arena reaching its peak. Ippo stood in the center of the ring, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. His face was bruised, his nose still trickling blood, but his expression was one of quiet triumph.

A staff member entered the ring carrying the Rookie King trophy—a polished golden piece that glimmered under the bright lights. The announcer handed it to Ippo, who took it with both hands, his fingers trembling slightly as he held the weight of his victory.

Ippo's lips curled into a shy smile, his humble nature shining through even in this moment of glory. He glanced nervously at the crowd, his cheeks tinged red with embarrassment at the overwhelming attention. The cheers of his fans and the sight of their ecstatic faces filled him with a warmth he could hardly describe.

With a small breath to steady himself, Ippo lifted the trophy above his head, eliciting an even louder wave of cheers. The crowd chanted his name with renewed vigor.

"Ippo! Ippo! Ippo!"

From his corner, Coach Kamogawa clapped, a satisfied smile gracing his usually stern face. Aoki and Kimura hollered and cheered, while Alex stood with his arms crossed, nodding in approval, a proud smirk on his face. Takamura, leaning against the ropes, simply chuckled and shouted, "Not bad, rookie!"

Ippo looked at his team, his smile widening as he held the trophy high once more, a symbol of the hard work, sacrifice, and determination that had brought him to this moment.

The announcer stepped forward again. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it one more time for your new East Japan Rookie King—Makunouchi Ippo!"

The crowd erupted again, and Ippo's heart swelled with gratitude. This was his moment, and though he was shy in the spotlight, the pride in his achievement radiated from him.

As he stood there, holding his trophy aloft, Ippo realized that this was just the beginning. There were more challenges ahead, tougher opponents to face, but for now, this victory was his to savor. The road to greatness had only just begun.

To be continued…