NOVEL NEXT Chapter 77: Stolen Legacy
May 15th, 2015. Rookie King Tournament Quarterfinals, Block B.
Korakuen Hall isn't packed, but it buzzes louder than last week. In the ring, two Featherweight rookies trade shots, yet the response is more chatter than roar.
"Come on, rookie, show some guts!"
"Hit him harder! My grandma punches faster than that!"
The calls flare, then fade into background noise. Most people scroll through phones or murmur in groups. They're not here for this fight. They're here for the name printed boldest on the flyer.
Latecomers shuffle down the aisles, beer in hand, whispering apologies. Screens glow like scattered stars, everyone counting the minutes until the main event.
"Who's fighting?"
"No idea. Looks like featherweights."
"So Ryoma's not on yet?"
"Not yet. He closes the show."
"Thank God…"
Most of the crowd is here for one reason: to see Ryoma. And it makes sense. Even with only two professional fights, he's managed to leave a mark each time.
You could say he's the main attraction of tonight's mini-card. That's why his fight is scheduled for the very end.
The matchmakers even put him in the red-corner locker room, sharing space with Rikuya Senda and his crew, as if he is the star.
***
The locker room smells of tape, sweat, and antiseptic. Water bottles clink, chairs scrape. Rikuya sharpens his rhythm with sharp shadowboxing, his coach Masashige barking in his ear.
"Remember, Rikuya! He's not your opponent, he's your meal. Eat him before he eats you."
"Yes, sir!"
Confidence fills the room, spilling over when Masashige strolls toward Nakahara, grinning.
"Nakahara-san… is it true your kid injured his right fist?"
Nakahara only nods. No point hiding what Masashige already saw.
"And you're still letting him fight? Are you insane?"
"We feel responsible after beating Aramaki," Nakahara says evenly. "Even if we lose, at least we didn't run."
Masashige walks away, shaking his head with a sigh. "Throwing away a future over something so trivial… ridiculous."
Ryoma listens in silence, eyes fixed on Rikuya. His Vision Grid maps the fighter; hand speed, rhythm, and balance. He's a solid rookie, but Ryoma knows he'll lose.
"Coach," Ryoma asks suddenly, "can I say something back to them?"
"Why? Did it get under your skin?"
"Not really. It's just…"
Ryoma's words cut short.
He remembers fighting Shunpei Noguchi in his other life. That was his third defeat, and the one that hurt the most.
A part of him wants to offer advice, maybe even leak a hint. But…
"Forget it," he mutters, shaking his head.
Maybe it's better if Noguchi takes the win tonight. That way, he can settle it himself later. The thought alone twists a crooked smile across his face.
Nakahara catches it, suspicion flashing in his eyes. The kid's already thinking too far ahead, and Nakahara doesn't like it one bit.
"Kid… forget the one down the road," Nakahara warns. "The man waiting for you tonight is sitting in the other locker room."
"Oh, don't worry, Coach," Ryoma's smile harden, eyes burn with hatred. "There's no way I could forget him. Or his words. Or what they did to us."
***
When the last Featherweight returns, shoulders sagging from defeat, a staffer calls Rikuya next. And Rikuya roars, slapping his own cheeks.
Masashige grins. "That's the spirit."
But as they move to leave, Ryoma finally calls out.
"Hey, Rikuya!"
The team stops, offended by his tone.
"Be careful out there," Ryoma warns. "Keep your eyes on his lead foot."
Rikuya clicks his tongue. "Save your advice for kids at the gym. I don't need lessons from a brat who's barely laced his gloves."
Masashige smirks, shaking his head, brushing off Ryoma's words as rookie arrogance.
Ryoma just watches them go, with a smirk tugging at his lips. It lingers, and then breaks into a low chuckle.
Nakahara frowns. "What's so funny, kid?"
"They'd better pray it ends quick," Ryoma says. "If it drags, Rikuya might walk out crippled."
The words hang heavy. Nakahara scowls, irritated at the misplaced joke. But Hiroshi studies Ryoma quietly. That smirk, that eerie confidence, it isn't bravado.
Like Ryoma, Hiroshi also knows that Noguchi isn't just another rookie. He's one of Daigo Kirizume's pieces on the board, a weapon placed here to ruin someone's career.
***
Just as Ryoma feared, Rikuya's fight drags. From the locker room they hear muffled gasps, sharp with dread. Hiroshi looks worried; Nakahara uneasy.
"By the sound of it, they're past the third round," Nakahara mutters. "That's fine. More material to study. Kenta should be recording now."
Ryoma just shakes his head. "Not fine… not fine at all."
Moments later, commotion stirs in the hallway, Masashige's voice cracking through the walls, sharp with rage.
"This is a disgrace! What's use of point deductions if it comes to this?"
The door bursts open. Rikuya stumbles in, slung over his team's shoulders. His face is clean but swollen, temple cut, left leg dragging. Ryoma needs only a glance before his Vision Grid confirms it a sprained ankle.
"Told you to watch his lead foot," he says flatly.
Masashige spins on him, furious. Rikuya glares, pride stung. But Ryoma just keeps going, voice edged with a dry chuckle.
"That cut… a headbutt? And your leg, he stepped on it, right?"
They don't say a word, because Ryoma's right. Noguchi smothered Rikuya with every dirty trick wrapped as accident; a butt, a stomp, then a finishing punch as he stumbled.
It's such a bitter loss, and it's the kind Ryoma knows all too well.
"It hurt, didn't it?" Ryoma needles.
Rikuya bristles, ready to snap. But a staffer calls Ryoma to prepare.
Ryoma rises calmly. At the door, he glances back with a smirk. "Take it easy. This brat will finish him for you."
Nakahara snaps, swatting his shoulder. "Just mind your own fight!"
But Ryoma's chuckle lingers, grating on Rikuya's wounded pride.
"You really studied Noguchi that much, huh?" Nakahara scoffs. "If only you'd spent that time on Kanzaki. It'll be ridiculous if you lose here."
"I've watched him," Ryoma says coolly. "Tens, hundreds of times. I know him better than his own trainer. That's why, even with just my left, I'll win this."
***
The moment Ryoma steps out of the corridor, the hall erupts. Fans nearest the aisle lean forward, arms stretching as if one touch could pass along the fight.
Further back, people rise onto their toes, craning their necks for a glimpse. Voices crash together into a hungry roar.
"Ryoma! Do your best!"
"I came just to see you!"
"Win by knockout this time!"
Ryoma lets the noise wash over him. Not a flicker of it reaches his focus; he is no longer the boy who lived for applause.
Kaede is here too, tucked beside Aemi. She doesn't shout or wave, only watches in silence, eyes tracking each step, a small, furtive hope clinging to her face.
"Hey… Kaede!" Aemi nudges her. "Why so quiet? I picked these seats for you, you know. Call him."
Kaede startles, then smooths her expression into something composed. "If I shout, I'll break his concentration. You know how much this fight means to him. He's facing Toru Kanzaki, the one he once looked up to at school. And Kanzaki…"
"Yeah, yeah." Aemi waves a hand, bored. "You told me already. Twice. No need to rehearse it again."
Ryoma doesn't see them. His hood pulled low, he walks with a steady, controlled calm, eyes fixed forward. Under the shadow of the hood his gaze is a blade, locked on the man in the ring.
Kanzaki rolls his neck in the blue corner, irritation carved across his face even from a distance. He's assigned like a challenger, as if the night were set for Ryoma's arrival, and the crowd proves it.
"Tch." Tsuchida clicks his tongue. "Two pro fights and they already treat him like a champion."
"They're not cheering for him," Kanzaki mutters, eyes narrowing. "They're cheering for my boxing, the style he stole from me. Let him enjoy it. Tonight I'll break his nose and take it back."