NOVEL NEXT Chapter 35: The Three Wolves
Ryoma walks through the crowd with Hiroshi, eyes scanning faces. He knows most of these kids will fade into obscurity, but not all.
In his previous life, he didn't participate but still followed the event. And amongst these faces, a few of them actually turned into fine boxers. He even spots the one who won it, but of course, he isn't that interested in that guy.
But then, as he keeps scanning, he suddenly stops at one person. Across the plaza, leaning against the low wall with his hands shoved in his pockets, is Shunpei Noguchi.
Ryoma's breath hitches. And just like that, his Vision Grid System flares across his sight:
***
[SCAN: POTENTIAL OPPONENT DETECTED]
NAME: Shunpei Noguchi
AGE: 20
STANCE: Orthodox
RECORD: 3-0 (3 KO)
NOTES: Clinch fouls, headbutts, low blows.
PAST TIMELINE: Defeated Ryoma (3rd career loss).
TRAIT: Dirty Fighter – thrives in chaos.
***
Ryoma scowls at the sight of the man's face.
"…I don't need the reminder," he mutters under his breath. "There's no way I'd forget that ugly face."
But something doesn't add up. In his previous life, Noguchi had never entered the rookie tournament. Yet here he is, leaning against the wall as if he owns the place.
And the moment their eyes meet, Noguchi tilts his head, fixing Ryoma with a stare sharp enough to draw blood. The grin that follows is too precise, and too predatory to be anything but intentional.
Why? Ryoma squints. In this life, we've never crossed paths. There's no reason for him to look at me like we've got unfinished business.
His Vision Grid only drives the point deeper:
***
[Gaze Analysis: Hostile Intent
Threat Level: Elevated]
***
It's a confirmation of what Ryoma already feels crawling across his skin.
Beside him, Hiroshi notices his silence, then chuckles lightly. "Sizing up your competition already? Good. But don't burn a hole through the poor guy."
He pats Ryoma's shoulder. "Tell you what, why don't you stay here? I'll handle the registration inside."
Ryoma doesn't answer. His eyes never leave Noguchi. And Noguchi, still holding that hawk's gaze, doesn't come closer. Instead, he pushes off the wall and begins striding through the plaza, weaving between clusters of rookies. Ryoma narrows his eyes, tracking him step for step, until he sees where Noguchi is heading.
A black sedan idles at the curb. The window slides down just enough to show Daigo Kirizume sitting at the backseat. His expression is smooth as ever, as if the whole plaza is his stage.
Before Ryoma can dwell on Noguchi, another figure draws his attention. It's a boxer with a worn gym bag slung over his shoulder. His face looks gaunt, his clothes threadbare, but his eyes carry that steady, unshakable fire Ryoma remembers so well.
Ryoma squints. "That's… Tatsuki Aramaki."
In Ryoma's previous life, this guy had clawed his way to the finals of the rookie tournament. He wasn't flashy, never relied on tricks or theatrics, but he had an endless engine and the kind of grit that only came from surviving debt collectors, poverty, and the constant shadow of worse.
Ryoma had once respected him from afar, knowing the hell Aramaki had endured just to keep climbing. But now, to his disbelief, Aramaki too is walking toward Kirizume's car.
The sight alone knots Ryoma's stomach. When Kirizume glances his way mid-conversation, with that cold measuring look, Ryoma's Vision Grid all but confirms it. Whatever is being whispered there, it isn't harmless. It carries the tint of something pointed, something directed at him.
"What the hell are you pulling now, Kirizume?"
Considering how their last encounter ended at the Quintessence, it's hard to believe Kirizume isn't already plotting something behind the curtain.
***
Inside the sedan, Kirizume reclines like a man with time to spare. Beside him sits Leonard "Leo" Serrano, a popular YouTuber with a sharp skin fade crowned by short dreads. He's glued to his phone, laughing at his own recent upload, a clip of him humiliating a fake karate master who crumpled after one body blow.
"Woooaa… already past a hundred thousand views," Leo grins, switching between Japanese and English. "By tonight, half a million easy. Maybe I should stream this rookie tournament too. 'From YouTube star to boxing king.' Has a nice ring, no?"
Kirizume doesn't answer. He doesn't need to, because he knows the boy's ego sustains itself.
Noguchi and Aramaki reach the car just as the driver's door opens. A slim man in a sharp suit steps out, his eyes flat and unreadable, the kind of presence that carries authority without needing to raise his voice. When he speaks, it's with the clipped weight of someone delivering orders straight from a crime boss.
"Now that we see him here, it means he's really entering this tournament," the assistant says, almost as if confirming it aloud for Noguchi and Aramaki. His tone doesn't shift as he continues, smooth and deliberate: "Beat him if you can. Break him if you can't. Either way, your future at Kirizume Gym is secure."
Aramaki only gives a silent nod, jaw set hard. After a beat, he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, "If there's no money in this… then there's no point in me stepping into the ring."
Beside him, Noguchi grins like he's already cashing the check. "Heh… doesn't matter how it goes down. As long as I get my shot at him, I'll make it worth the price."
Then Kirizume's gaze slides directly onto the young man sitting beside him.
"You're listening, aren't you, boy?"
Leo finally pockets his phone, pushes the door open, and unfolds himself from the seat with a languid stretch. Then, with the easy swagger of someone who thinks the whole plaza is his stage, he struts straight toward Ryoma.
Ryoma just watches, fists clenched. He doesn't need to hear the words. Their body language alone says everything. There must be a deal, a scheme, and maybe a trap laid bare in daylight.
As he watches that young YouTuber swagger toward him, recognition begins to settle in. And soon, his Vision Grid flickers to life, feeding him another readout.
[Vision Grid System – Target Acquired]
Name: Leonardo Serrano
Notable Traits: Mixed heritage – Japanese and Mexican, African lineage evident in physique.
Based on previous life observation (archived content, circa 2020–21):
– Style: Unorthodox / improvisational (insufficient fight data)
– Viral videos exposing fake martial artists
– Fast-twitch reflexes, explosive bursts of speed
– Excellent balance and natural coordination, even in chaotic situations
– Relies more on instinct and athleticism than on structured technique
Intent Reading: Rival energy detected. Emotional signature closer to envy than hostility.
***
Ryoma exhales slowly through his nose, the memory surfacing, grainy clips from his previous life, years down the line, when Leo Serrano was already a viral name.
Which also means the young man swaggering toward him now is at least five years greener than the version Ryoma remembers.
Leo stops in front of him, grin sharp, and extends a hand in casual greeting.
"Good to see you, prodigy boy!"
Ryoma doesn't take it. Instead, he slides both hands into the pockets of his sweater, his gaze unblinking.
"I know you," Ryoma says flatly. "The guy who loves humiliating people for clicks and views."
Leo chuckles, catching his offered hand with the other as if to shake himself. And that cocky smirk in his face only widens.
"So you do know me," he says, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Feels good to be recognized offline, you know? Guess I'm doing something right."
He tilts his head, self-assured and full of himself, before dropping the sting.
"But don't worry, kid. When I'm done with you, at least you'll get a million views out of it."