NOVEL NEXT Chapter 64: Nakahara's Joy
By late afternoon, the gym doors creak open, and Kenta strides in first, sweat darkening his shirt, breath heavy but under control. He doesn't stumble, doesn't gasp. His pace is steady even after kilometers on the road.
Behind him, Okabe and Ryohei push through, their chests heaving but their voices still sharp enough to bicker.
"You're losing your edge," Okabe pants.
"Edge? You were staring at my back the whole run," Ryohei shoots back, grinning through the exhaustion.
Their banter bounces off the gym walls, boyish, alive. Nakahara's eyes narrow as if to scold, but the lines on his face soften almost instantly.
For the first time in years, the gym hums with the rhythm of youth again, because soon, Kobo and Tsutomu push through the doors. They are later than the pros but far fresher than they should be.
Kobo's shirt is damp, but his expression calm. Tsutomu rolls his shoulders loosely, as if cooling down rather than finishing a hard run.
Nakahara raises his brows, impressed. "Ho. You two don't even look tired. Not bad. Not bad at all." His voice carries pride he hasn't felt in years, already mapping their potential.
Kobo bows politely, a faint smile on his face. Tsutomu nods, though his eyes drift sideways, toward Ryoma sitting on the bench.
Ryoma's hands are still buried deep in his sweater pocket, and his stare is knife-sharp, daring Tsutomu to keep looking. Tsutomu's grin stiffens. He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck with a forced laugh.
The doors bang again. Four more high schoolers stumble in, legs shaking, breaths ragged. One drops straight onto the floor, another clutches the wall, pale and wheezing. The last two collapse on a bench, dripping sweat onto the cracked wood floor.
Nakahara is on them in a heartbeat, crouching low, his voice steady but gentle. "That's good. That's good. You made it back, that's what counts." He pats one boy's shoulder firmly, helps another sit upright. "If you're smoking, quit it. If you can't quit now, then cut it down, little by little. Stamina won't come back any other way."
The boys nod weakly, too winded to answer. To Nakahara, it's not weakness he sees, but heart. They returned, and that's enough. His chest warms, for the first time in years, his gym feels alive.
Ryoma keeps his gaze steady, reading every line on Nakahara's face. The coach hasn't worn that kind of smile in years.
He doesn't like the newcomer. But if their presence brings even a spark of life back into the old man, then for now, he can endure it.
As the minutes pass, Nakahara glances at the clock, even looking at the street beyond the dusty windows, waiting for two other highschoolers who are still missing.
His grip tightens on the window frame. Finally, he turns to Okabe and tells him to look for them.
"Okabe! Check the road. Maybe something happened to them."
Okabe waves him off, shaking his head. "Forget it, coach. They've quit already. Don't get your hopes up."
The words hang heavy in the room. Nakahara forces a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. For a moment, he looks older, the lines on his face sinking deeper.
Ryoma rises from the bench, rolling his shoulder once before slipping into stance before the mirror, and starts shadowboxing.
His frame sharpens with each movement, jabs snapping, footwork quick, eyes coldly fixed on his own reflection, with his Vision Grid analyzing his form.
The crisp rhythm draws the newcomers' gaze. Kobo and Tsutomu watch most intently, leaning forward, hungry to catch any sign of weakness.
But just as they settle into observing, Nakahara's voice cuts through.
"Kid! That's enough. Go home and rest up. You're still healing."
Ryoma lowers his guard without protest. He nods once, buries his right hand deep in his pocket, as the other one grabs the bag.
Kobo exhales through his nose, his face looks annoyed. Tsutomu clicks his tongue softly, shoulders slumping. They had just begun to study him, and Nakahara ruined it with a single order.
Ultimately, Ryoma steps out the door without a sound, leaving only the trace of his presence behind, heavy as a shadow that refuses to lift.
When the door shuts, Tsutomu leans in close, his voice low. "What now? If we stay longer, the old man's gonna ask us to pay."
Kobo frowns, eyes still on the empty doorway. "Damn it… if we leave now, we've got nothing to bring back. Empty-handed."
They stand in uneasy silence, until Tsutomu forces a laugh and sidles toward Hiroshi.
"Uh, excuse me," he says, voice casual but too careful, "if someone wanted to… join properly… what's the fee?"
"Nothing big," Hiroshi says. "Three thousand yen to sign up, five thousand a month after that."
Tsutomu blinks, his jaw tightening. Kobo swallows, forcing a polite nod. It's cheaper than Minato Bayside Gym, yet reluctance still flickers across their faces.
Before either think about withdrawing, Nakahara's eyes catch lack of enthusiasm in their faces. He immediately comes over, eyes bright, mouth breaking into a smile that trembles with both pride and worry.
"Hey now," he says quickly, almost tripping over his own words. "Don't let that scare you off. If that's too heavy, I'll make it easier. Twenty percent off… for all of you."
He gestures to the group, his voice thick with warmth.
"Money shouldn't stop you from stepping into the ring. What matters is your spirit. Sweat, laughter, the sound of gloves on leather, that's what keeps a gym alive, and your body healthy. If you want it, I'll open the door for you, to be professional boxers."
"Once you turn pro, you don't pay a thing," Ryohei says with a smirk.
Okabe chuckles. "And looking at you lot, maybe you actually have what it takes."
Tsutomu and Kobo glances at each other, and then slip toward the corner, voices hushed, eyes flicking to make sure no one listens in.
Tsutomu mutters first. "Tch. This is useless. Let's just quit. Coach Tsuchida doesn't pay us enough to sit around pretending."
Kobo shakes his head, jaw tight. "If we quit now, he'll tear us apart. Better to at least ask him for money to cover the fee."
"Ask him?" Tsutomu scoffs under his breath. "You think he'll give it?"
Kobo presses his lips thin, thinking. Then a different light sparks in his eyes. "What if… we stall? Tell the old man we need time. A week, maybe. By then we'll have seen enough, and we won't even need to join for real."
Tsutomu's eyes narrow. "Yeah… that could work."
Returning to Nakahara, their expressions change as if on cue. Their smiles are soft, eyes lowered in humility.
Tsutomu bows slightly, speaking with syrup in his tone. "Sir! We really… we really want to be like Ryoma-aniki someday. But we're still high schoolers. We should talk this over with our parents first."
Kobo chimes in with perfect timing. "If you don't mind, let us stay for a week? We'll try to save from our allowance by then."
Nakahara's face warms instantly. Relief and excitement fight for space in his smile. He waves his hand as though brushing aside any doubt.
"Of course, of course. Family first. Take your time. This gym isn't going anywhere."
His eyes shine with the fragile pride of a man who dares to hope again. Tsutomu and Kobo bow deeply, murmuring thanks they don't mean, and then take their leave.
The other newcomers shuffle behind them, and Nakahara escorts them out, his steps quick, his posture tall, like a tavern owner seeing off guests he prays will return tomorrow.
Inside, silence hangs for a beat. Okabe leans against the wall, arms folded, clicking his tongue.
"Old man's way too fired up. You'd think those kids are world champions already."
Ryohei smirks faintly, shaking his head. "He's starved for it. Let him dream a little."
Kenta doesn't smile. He watches Nakahara's back through the open door, his voice low and steady.
"Dreams are fine. But if they don't come back, that's not just disappointment. That'll cut him deep."
The three stand in the quiet gym, the weight of unspoken concern pressing heavier than the silence itself.