The thuds of gloved fists pummeling a heavy punch bag resonated through the musty air of a junior high Boxing Club. The room was alive with the grunts of exertion and the swish of ropes being skipped over. Posters of legendary boxers adorned the walls, frozen in moments of their greatest triumphs.
In the center of it all was Akihiko Sanada, the teenage pugilist whose recent accolade had electrified the local boxing scene. His punches were a flurry of disciplined chaos.
“Aki, dude, give the poor bag a break! You're already the champ!” teased one of his club mates.
Kentaro, the coach of the club and Akihiko's foster father, watched closely with arms folded, his hawkish eyes missing nothing. The old warhorse's gaze hadn’t softened a bit despite yesterday's achievement; it was as sharp and demanding as ever. The boxing veteran knew that the true test of a champion wasn't in the winning but in sustaining the spirit that had clinched the win.
Jab, jab, cross.
Akihiko’s expression was unreadable, his hazel brown eyes focused on the motionless target before him. It wasn’t a sense of victory that invigorated his blows—it was the pressing, tingling sensation of unease from his recent skirmish against forces far more frightening than any opponent in the ring.
"Man, our senpai’s really going at it," another club mate murmured, nudging his neighbor with an elbow. "Guess winning that title only made him hungrier."
Why can't I shake off the feeling from that night?
It wasn’t just a bag he was hitting; Akihiko was pushing back against the confusion, the fear, and the thrill of his newly awakened power. With every hit, he visualized the adversaries he had vanquished, feeling again the staggering weight of his latent power coursing through his veins. It was during these moments that he could almost grasp what he was becoming, but the sensation was fleeting, like whispers lost in the cacophony of cheering crowds and gym ambiance.
And why did that weird girl come to watch me yesterday? Who even was she?
"Akihiko," Kentaro's voice broke through the thud of gloves on leather. "Remember to breathe. Power's useless if you burn out before landing the hit that counts."
Too absorbed in his thoughts, the young boxer didn’t listen. He didn’t slow down his pace a bit.
From the benches to the side, some of the club members keep whispering, earnest eyes flickering to their new champion.
"He's just showing off. Wants to prove that yesterday wasn’t some fluke."
"Nah, he's always this serious. But now, it's as if he's trying to punch through the bag, not just hit it."
They didn’t know, couldn’t know, that it wasn’t acclaim that fueled Akihiko’s intensity. It wasn’t the belt. It was the echo of his own pulse against the eerie stillness of the Dark Hour, and the image of the mysterious girl with red hair —the stranger whose gaze made him let his guard down amidst his match. His nose cut still covered with a band-aid was a reminder of the price he paid for her unintentional distraction.
Kentaro threw a towel. “That’s enough. You’re pushing too hard, kiddo. Relax a little.”
Coming back to his senses at last, the champion removed his gloves and grabbed the towel. Relax a little? If only I could tell him... None of this makes sense. His brow furrowed as he dabbed at his face, the physical exertion no match for the mental gymnastics he was performing. “I just need to stay sharp, Kentaro-sensei.”
“There’s being sharp, and then there’s burning out,” the foster father replied, his voice firm but not unkind.
As Akihiko wiped the sweat from his forehead, his mind raced. The motorcycle without a rider. The girl. His own fists glowing with an ethereal energy as he summoned something unfathomable from within. Each revelation was another drop in a rain of enigmas, and the more he tried going back to the regularity of his life—school, boxing, the banter of his mates—the more the abnormal bled through, staining the canvas of his daily existence.
"If you keep this up, you're going to scare away any new recruits," Kentaro chided gently, though his eyes held pride.
Akihiko gave a faint, wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I can’t help it; I want to stay strong," he murmured, mostly to himself. "There are fights out there that boxing alone can't win."
Kentaro sighed, sensing there was a heavy weight on Akihiko's shoulders, one that his triumph couldn't dispel. He approached Akihiko and clapped him on the back, offering silent support. The gym's uproar continued around them, but in that moment, there was an understanding between coach and boxer that ran deeper than words.
When the clock's hands aligned, signaling the end of the grueling session, Kentaro's voice cut through the din of shouts and blows with authoritative clarity. "Alright boys, we’re done for today! Showers, then go home and rest up!"
With a collective exhale, the boys left behind their training as they shuffled towards the locker rooms.
Akihiko followed them silently, his eyes averted, listening to the chatter but lost in the echoes of battle and the mysterious puzzle pieces of a larger game in play. As he pushed through the door, he let the buzz of his club mates' conversations wash over him, the noise creating a comforting barrier between him and his own tangled thoughts.
Eventually, the hiss of the showers tapered off, leaving a damp stillness to hang in the air. The club mates, fresh from their showers and slipped back into their clean high school uniforms, teased each other with their usual camaraderie as they left the locker rooms.
Their laughter, however, was interrupted by a commotion filtering through the doorway of the Club.
“What's that noise?” one of the members asked.
“Who knows. Maybe someone came to congratulate our superstar here,” another joked.
Yet, the expression on Akihiko's face was strained.
Seriously? Don’t they have something better to do?
Thoughts of his victory were secondary to the unsettling occurrences that preyed on his mind. The prospect of mingling with adoring fans or probing questions was far from appealing. He had hoped the sanctuary of the gym would remain untouched by the outside world, if just for a while longer.
“Let me check…” Curious to the source of the intrusion, one of the club members volunteered to take a look.
He returned moments later, visibly puzzled by the curiosity painted across his features.
“What is it, Takumi?” asked him one of the boys.
Takumi looked at their senpai and Club captain.
“There's a bunch of people out there looking for you, Aki,” Takumi reported. “Some fans—cute girls included—but also, there's this dude in a suit. Looks kinda suspicious if you ask me.”
A whisper of unease snaked through the group.
Akihiko glanced towards the doorway, a frown carving deep into his jawline. "Fans can wait. I’m not in the mood for this today,” he grumbled. “Do me a favor and keep them busy for me, will you?"
His club mates were quick to oblige, forming an informal barrier as they exited the gym, leaving Akihiko to collect himself.
“Akihiko-kun!”
“Akihiko-kun, wait!”
He ignored the excited calls of his fans as he emerged from the door.
“Argh, quit pushing!” Takumi shouted, struggling to keep the fans at bay along the other club mates. “Practice time is over!”
“Hold on a sec. You’re the captain, aren’t you?”, the man in the suit, his posture stiff and businesslike amidst the throng of youthful exuberance, asked Akihiko as he saw him moving away from his school fans. He pushed Takumi aside, who immediately went to stand between him and his senpai. “Hey, you! Sanada-kun, right? the man insisted, making Akihiko stop a few paces ahead.
Akihiko looked at him over his shoulder. “That’s right,” he replied with laconic indifference.
“I watched your match against ‘Spider’ Ryou in Iwatodai. I’ve never seen a junior high fighter deliver a KO like that!”, the businessman told him, with exaggerated enthusiasm. “I’m with the Tsukioka Corporation, the owner and builder of the best private schools in Japan, including the junior high where Ryou is in. What do you say about enrolling in our senior high school of Osaka next year?”
The stance of the silver haired boxer remained impassive.
“We’ll give you a fat scholarship,” the boxing scout offered, trying to get the attention of the not very receptive student. “You’d only have to pay half your tuition!”
“Hey!” outraged by his audacity, Takumi decided to intervene. “You’re from another school?! That’s against the rules and you know it!”
Wishing to put an end to the annoyance, Akihiko turned around and calmed his club mate with a gesture before addressing the scout. “Sorry, but I don’t see any reason to join a school that places second.”
The scout’s attempt at maintaining a polished facade faltered in the wake of the boxer’s blunt response. “Consider our vast resources, the tra—”
But Akihiko cut him off harshly, “Are you deaf or what? I said no. Get outta here.”
As he turned his back to the man, some fangirls nearby who were still contained by the club members shrieked with excitement.
“Akihiko-kun is so cool!”
“You hear that? He’d never go to your loser school!”
With nothing left to discuss, the man in the suit was left standing awkwardly amid a sea of murmurs and disappointment. He had not expected the junior high champion to be so unfriendly and unyielding.
“Come on already! Go home!” Takumi scolded the small but persistent crowd. “Dammit! We can’t leave until you guys do!”
The loyal friend signaled to Akihiko to keep going while he continued handling the uninvited guests.
Thank you, Takumi. Grateful, the young boxer nodded silently and proceeded to resume his lone march. I owe you one. He briefly looked above his shoulder at the other fellow aspiring boxers. And to you guys too.
Free from the scout's pitch, Akihiko navigated through hallways stained with the golden hues of the setting sun until he reached a seldom-used corner of the school. Here, the clamor of fans and the weight of unwanted proposals slid off his shoulders, giving way to a much-appreciated silence.
Standing there, he released a deep, jagged breath.
Is this the price of winning? A constant invasion to my privacy? He reflected, lamenting the small but bothersome cons of his rising fame. They are like relentless “Shadows”seeking something from me, just like those midnight yokai from Iwatodai. A short lived smile appeared on his lips at that over the top comparison.
Fame, he was learning, was not just a spotlight. It was an open invitation for expectation and encroachment into the quiet life he used to know and enjoy. Akihiko realized a growing longing for the simplicity of the past, for the days when each punch thrown was just a way to get stronger one step at a time, nothing more.
“Huh?”
Suddenly, the champion realized that he was no longer alone. He could hear some firm steps approaching him, their sound resembling those of boots or high heels.
Whoever it was, it let out a short and awkward chuckle as it got closer to the silver haired fighter.
“Couldn't you have handled that with a little more of tact?”
ns 172.70.130.252da2
and then Add to home screen.