Isekai in Hajime no Ippo with Gaolang’s Template

Two weeks had passed since Ippo's grueling fight against Mashiba. The days following his victory had been filled with congratulations, a few light sparring sessions, and some much-needed rest. However, the memory of his clash with Mashiba—and the awkward encounter with Kumi—still lingered in his mind.

On a crisp morning, Ippo and Alex were jogging through the familiar streets of their town. The sky was clear, the air carrying a slight chill that made their breath visible as they kept a steady pace.

"You've been quiet all morning," Alex said, glancing sideways at Ippo.

"I guess I've just been thinking," Ippo replied, his tone soft.

They rounded a corner, and Ippo slowed his pace as the bakery came into view. He stopped altogether in front of the door, staring at it as though it were some insurmountable challenge. Alex stopped beside him, placing his hands on his hips.

"You gonna just stand there, or are you going in?" Alex asked, his tone light but his gaze steady.

"I don't know," Ippo mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. "What if she doesn't want to see me? I mean, I fought her brother. That's got to make things awkward."

Alex smirked. "Ippo, you went in there before knowing who she was. You can't just avoid the place forever. You're overthinking it. Go in, grab some bread, and stop worrying about things you can't control."

Ippo hesitated, glancing at the bakery door, then back at Alex, who raised an eyebrow expectantly. Finally, with a sigh, Ippo steeled himself and pushed open the door, the bell above jingling to announce his arrival.

The warm aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, a comforting scent that momentarily eased his nerves. Ippo scanned the counter, expecting to see Kumi's familiar face, but instead, a middle-aged woman stood there, smiling kindly at him.

"Hi there, what can I get for you?" the woman asked, her voice cheerful.

"Oh, uh…" Ippo stammered, caught off guard. "I was just… uh, looking around."

The woman tilted her head slightly. "You seem like you were looking for something specific. Or someone, maybe?"

"N-no, it's nothing," Ippo replied quickly, though his eyes betrayed him as they flicked toward the counter again.

The woman chuckled knowingly. "Ah, you must be looking for Kumi. She's not here anymore. She quit just before the year ended.

Ippo's heart sank slightly. "She… she quit?"

The woman nodded. "Yep. Said she was going to work at the same company as her brother. It's a shame—she was such a nice girl and really popular with the customers. We're all going to miss her."

Ippo nodded slowly, murmuring a polite thank-you as he paid for a loaf of bread and stepped outside.

Alex was leaning against the wall, waiting for him. "Well? How'd it go?"

Ippo held up the loaf of bread but didn't answer right away. He tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth, chewing silently as they started walking.

After a moment, Ippo spoke. "It's strange… It's the same bread, but it tastes different somehow."

Alex raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain," Ippo said, tearing off another piece. "It just doesn't feel the same."

Alex, clearly skeptical, grabbed the loaf from him and took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before shrugging. "Tastes the same to me. You're imagining things."

Ippo smiled faintly, knowing Alex wouldn't understand. "Maybe," he said quietly, though deep down, he knew it wasn't just the bread.

The two continued their walk back to the gym, the atmosphere between them light but thoughtful. As they approached the familiar building, Ippo felt a small pang of determination swell within him. Whatever lay ahead—whether it was in the ring or outside of it—he'd face it head-on.

And for now, he had training to focus on.

Far from the quiet streets of Tokyo, the bustling heart of Osaka's Namba district roared with life. Amid the lively atmosphere, a modest but lively boxing gym buzzed with activity. Fighters of varying skill levels trained hard, their sweat dripping onto the wooden floors as the echoes of punches hitting heavy bags and pads filled the air.

Near the edge of the gym, a middle-aged man with neatly combed hair and glasses, dressed in a tracksuit, scanned the room with a look of mild irritation. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out above the noise, "Sendo! Where's Sendo?"

A younger fighter paused mid-combo and gestured toward a small room in the back of the gym. "He's in there, coach. Watching videos again."

The coach sighed, muttering under his breath. "That kid…" He made his way to the room, already anticipating what awaited him.

The door was slightly ajar, and the faint sound of a commentator's voice narrated the action on the screen inside. Pushing the door open, he found Takeshi Sendo, the wild-haired powerhouse of their gym, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his eyes glued to a small TV. On the screen, the replay of Ippo Makunouchi's fight against Ryo Mashiba played in vivid detail.

"You didn't have that kind of fire at the West Japan Rookie King tournament," the coach remarked, adjusting his glasses as he leaned against the doorframe.

Sendo didn't look up, his gaze fixed on the screen. "West Japan Rookie King? That was boring as hell," he said bluntly, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I got so damn frustrated out there."

He finally turned to face his coach, his eyes lit with a dangerous excitement. "But now… I've finally found him."

"Found who?" the coach asked, though he had a feeling he already knew.

"East Japan Rookie King," Sendo said, his grin wide and feral. He turned back to the screen, watching as Ippo overcame Mashiba in the final moments of their match. "Finally, an opponent I can connect with. Watching him… it's like I can feel the electricity. I can't wait—it gives me such a rush."

The coach adjusted his glasses nervously, clearing his throat. "About that…"

Sendo frowned and turned to him, his excitement dimming slightly. "What? What's the problem?"

The coach hesitated before delivering the news. "I got a message from Tokyo earlier. Ippo's withdrawing."

The room fell silent for a moment. Sendo's smile faded, replaced by a look of disbelief. "What the hell do you mean he's withdrawing?!" he shouted, springing to his feet.

"He's still injured," the coach explained, holding up a hand to calm him down. "His fist—it's supposed to heal in two months."

Sendo stared at him, his frustration bubbling over. "Two months? That's barely in time!"

Before the coach could respond, Sendo spun on his heel and stormed out of the room.

"Hey, where are you going?!" the coach called after him.

Sendo didn't stop or look back. "To Tokyo," he said simply, his voice filled with determination.

The coach slapped his forehead in exasperation. "Are you crazy?! There's still roadwork to do!"

But Sendo was already out the door, leaving behind his stunned coach and a gym full of curious fighters.

For Takeshi Sendo, the road to Tokyo had just become more than a trip—it was the beginning of a rivalry that would soon shake the world of boxing.

To be continued…