As Hiroshi works on the swelling along the left side of Aramaki’s face, he gradually realizes that Aramaki’s eyes have been unfocused for quite some time. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Hey, Aramaki. You still with us?"

Aramaki blinks and finally looks at him, showing that he had at least heard the voice, if not every word.

Hiroshi lets out a short laugh. "If you keep zoning out like that, don’t blame Ryoma when he throws the towel in for you."

The joke lands badly. Aramaki’s expression immediately hardens. The tiredness disappears from his eyes, replaced by something far more serious.

His jaw tightens. "No. Don’t you dare."

Ryoma blinks. "What?"

"I know my condition," Aramaki says. "I’m not stupid. But just this once, promise me, Ryoma. You don’t touch that towel until I take that belt from him."

The request is serious enough that he doesn’t answer immediately. For a few seconds, Ryoma simply holds Aramaki’s gaze, weighing the words, understanding exactly what they mean.

"Sure, a second’s main job is to protect his fighter," Ryoma begins, smiling casually. "But I’m here to make sure you never have to worry about that towel in the first place. And believe me, I’ve done that job pretty well tonight."

The smile remains easy, almost casual. "Call it arrogance if you want. But he isn’t going to hurt you from here on. He’ll keep fighting. He’ll keep throwing. He’ll probably land a few good shots too. But he’s not going to hurt you more than this."

***

After the corners clear and both fighters are left alone in their respective corners, a strange feeling spreads through the arena.

It’s already the tenth round and very few spectators believe this fight will actually go that far. The visual contrast is difficult to ignore.

After receiving treatment during the break, Serrano looks even fresher than he did a round ago. Meanwhile, Aramaki looks the complete opposite.

The enswell doesn’t make the swollen in Aramaki’s face disappear. His right eye are still narrowed. His expression is dark and serious, like a man preparing for a final charge.

Even among his own supporters, doubts begin to appear whether Aramaki can really survive another round.

Nakahara notices the contrast as well, and the more he looks at both fighters, the more convinced he becomes that Ryoma has made a promise he can’t possibly guarantee.

"You shouldn’t have told him that," Nakahara says. "Keeping your fighter’s morale high is one thing, but promising he won’t get hurt anymore? That’s not something any coach can control."

Ryoma doesn’t respond. His attention never leaves the ring. More specifically, it never leaves Serrano.

***

After the bell rings, and as both fighters leave their corners, a subtle murmur spreads through the arena.

Something looks different this time. Serrano is walking forward with his guard raised noticeably higher than before.

"Hold on! That’s... unusual. For the last few rounds, Serrano has been coming out loose, relaxed, almost daring Aramaki to hit him."

"Exactly! He abandoned the structure a long time ago and started fighting almost entirely on instinct. But look at him now. That guard is much higher. And honestly? He looks more disciplined than ever."

"Serrano has been enjoying the freedom for the last few rounds! What suddenly made him return to the fundamentals now?"

Aramaki immediately reclaims the center, settling into the same compact stance with his disciplined guard high.

Serrano tries to establish control with the jab, but unlike before, there is very little footwork behind it.

Pop. Pop.

The left hand is still there, yet the snap looks duller. Aramaki blocks and parries all of them without much difficulty.

When Aramaki takes a step forward, Serrano immediately answers with a one-two.

Dug. Dug.

Both punches hit the guard, doing little more than halt the advance.

Even Serrano himself can feel the growing reluctance to keep lifting his arms and forcing them to work. Eventually, he lowers his gloves again, and for a brief moment, he stands idle.

Then he suddenly leaps forward and drives a lead hook to the body.

Aramaki tightens his guard, but...

Thud!

The punch still lands.

And a right cross follows immediately, forcing Aramaki to prioritize covering the center.

DUGH!

The shot crashes into the guard. And before Aramaki can react, Serrano plants both gloves against him and shoves hard.

The force catches Aramaki slightly off balance and sends him backward two full steps.

"There he is!"

"Serrano’s throwing away the structure again!"

"And now he’s trying to force the fight on his own terms!"

Back in the blue corner, Nakahara’s expression tightens as he watches the exchange unfold. No matter how the fight has developed, Serrano still looks like the stronger man physically.

"Looking at that," he says to Ryoma, "I can’t tell if you were being arrogant about your job, or if you just gave Aramaki an empty promise and will end up throwing the towel anyway."

But Ryoma continues to ignore him. His eyes remain fixed on Serrano, tracking every movement with quiet concentration.

The way Serrano throws and retracts his punches. The way he pivots. The way he changes angles. Even the rhythm behind that strange rocking motion of his torso.

Sure, Serrano’s face still looks fresh. Aramaki rarely lands anything clean there. To most people, it creates the impression that the champion can comfortably fight all the way to the final bell. But appearances have never meant much to Ryoma.

***

For more than a minute, Serrano keeps Aramaki at bay from mid-range, firing heavy punches that repeatedly crash into the guard.

The crowd and commentators begin anticipating the same thing: one devastating shot that finally leads to a knockdown. Yet it never comes.

A few punches even find Aramaki’s body. Others slap against the head and shoulders.

But through all of it, Aramaki’s legs remain steady. His balance never wavers.

"It doesn’t hurt..."

Eventually, Aramaki steps in behind a compact one-two. Serrano blocks, leans to the side, and swings another lead hook upstairs.

Aramaki dips his stance, and...

Dsh!

The hook lands against the side of his neck, but...

"It doesn’t hurt."

For him, the humiliation of being told by his in-laws that he wasn’t worthy of being a husband and a father hurts far more than Serrano’s punches.

On one hand, that mental strength certainly plays a part. But on the other hand, Serrano’s punches simply aren’t as dangerous anymore.

Aramaki barely reacts. Instead, he immediately answers with a short left hook. Serrano blocks and disengages at once.

The exchange lasts only a second, but it tells Ryoma everything he needs to know.

<< The champion is being careful. >>

<< He’s just trying to protect his lead until the final bell. >>

<< He isn’t sure if his punches will be enough to drop Aramaki. >>

Serrano then fires straight punches in succession, most of them aimed directly at the guard without much concern for creating openings.

Aramaki simply absorbs them on his gloves and forearms.

Dug. Dug. Dug. Dug.

Serrano resets, looking ready to launch another sequence.

That’s when Ryoma finally shouts.

"What are you afraid of, Aramaki?! I told you he can’t hurt you anymore!"

The reaction is immediate. Aramaki slips beneath a one-two, steps inside, and...

BUGH!

The left hook crashes into Serrano’s body.

The champion recoils from the impact, but immediately answers with a left hook of his own.

Dsh!

The punch snaps Aramaki’s head to the side. But he immediately follows Serrano again, repeating the same thought inside his head.

It doesn’t hurt.

It doesn’t hurt.