For a brief moment, Kirizume actually tries to read it properly. Not the surface meaning, not the polite phrasing, but the intent underneath Nakahara’s words. Just for a second, his thoughts run clean, almost rational.

It sounds like a structural suggestion, a managerial direction, a possible long-term adjustment for Serrano’s path if taken without emotion attached. It almost makes sense, almost, at least until Kirizume’s pride takes over.

Because in front of him is still Nakahara, the same man who spent three decades running a struggling gym that only survived because of borrowed opportunities and occasional help from Kirizume’s own network.

A man whose fighters once only appeared as undercard names, fillers between real bouts. That history doesn’t disappear just because the present has changed.

And now that same man is sitting here, speaking about Serrano, his Serrano, a fighter built inside Kirizume’s system, not someone elevated by it from the outside.

And Ryoma Takeda, the young co-promoter with barely a year in the business side of boxing, already shaping decisions that sound like they belong in executive meetings rather than gym conversations.

Yes, Nakahara Gym has risen, and yes, the results are real. But Kirizume has lived through far longer cycles than this.

And right now, what he hears is not advice offered in sincerity, but an insult born from audacity, fueled by short-term success and mistaken confidence. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

Kirizume leans back slightly, and then the frustration finally breaks through in a controlled edge.

"Tell me, Nakahara," he says, voice low, "how much capital have you actually accumulated in just one year of this so-called ’investment’ in boxing?"

His eyes stay fixed on Nakahara. "You’ve moved into a new building. You’ve started talking like you understand long-term structure. So what is this? You think my business is one bad decision away from collapsing if I don’t listen to you? Is that it, Nakahara? Or is that what your golden boy told you to say?"

Nakahara does not answer immediately. Because, unfortunately, part of it is not entirely wrong. Not the accusation itself, but the concern behind it.

The fact that Ryoma, during their discussion, had raised the possibility that Kirizume’s reputation and promotional structure could become vulnerable if handled poorly at this stage. That there’s risk in inertia, risk in pride, risk in misreading momentum. And Nakahara understands, more than most, where this anger comes from.

Kirizume has always been like this, never fully free from the weight of comparison, never fully comfortable when someone speaks to him as if they are standing on equal ground without having walked the same decades.

Silence stretches, and Nakahara makes no attempt to explain himself. Kirizume watches him closely, until something sharper flickers behind his gaze, as though he is now reassessing the entire intent behind Nakahara’s earlier words.

"Ah, I see... After Serrano beats Sonoda Eizan, your Aramaki moves up to number one. That makes him the next mandatory challenger. But Serrano still has more than ten months before his next title defense obligation."

Kirizume leans in slightly, voice dropping. "So this is what it is. You’re a greedy old man trying to get your fighter to the top as quickly as possible without ever having to face Serrano, because you already know he can’t win against him."

His gaze stays locked on Nakahara as the air between them tightens. "And yet you still came here pretending this was advice given for my benefit."

His expression hardens. "You disappoint me, Nakahara."

Nakahara exhales, and then speaks without hesitation. "I’ve already thought that far ahead. In fact, that was one of the possible outcomes I considered before coming here in this freezing weather."

Instead of satisfying Kirizume, the admission only sharpens the tension in the room. Kirizume’s restraint breaks for a split second, his hand lifts sharply, fingers curling into a fist as it rises over the table, as if he is about to slam it down.

At that exact moment, footsteps echo from the corridor. At that, Kirizume’s hand freezes mid-air.

His wife appears, carrying a basket of laundry as she passes through the hallway without sensing the atmosphere inside the dining room. She continues on without a pause and disappears toward the back of the house.

Kirizume remains still, holding himself together, aware that she may return at any moment.

And she does, just as quickly, stepping back into view with an easy, domestic calm.

"Oh, Nakahara-san," she says lightly, glancing toward the table. "Your tea hasn’t been touched. Would you like me to make you some coffee instead?"

Nakahara shakes his head politely. "No, thank you. I should be leaving soon anyway. It’s only going to get colder outside."

"Ah, that’s right. Then why don’t you see him off, dear?" she adds casually to Kirizume as she turns away again. "It’s not good to let him go back alone in this weather."

And just like that, she disappears once more. With her absence, the silence returns, heavier than before.

"You know I wouldn’t be caught dead walking you out," Kirizume says flatly, eyes still fixed ahead. "So I suggest you leave on your own and go home the way you came, with that little toy of yours, before the night gets any colder. I didn’t work to earn money just to keep two luxury cars outside so I can drive around an old man like you who has no sense of his place."

The insult lands, sharp and deliberate. Nakahara’s expression changes only slightly, but the warmth from earlier is gone.

His gaze drops for a moment, not in submission, but in quiet acceptance of the insult as it lands. The corners of his mouth tighten almost imperceptibly, as if holding something back that he has no intention of letting out here.

A slow exhale follows, heavier than before. And his eyes lift again, steadier now, colder in a restrained way. Nakahara finally shifts, as if preparing to stand and end it there.

But then he stops. His hand tightens slightly, jaw sets. Something in him refuses to let the conversation end like this.

Slowly, he turns back toward Kirizume. "Indeed, part of me genuinely wants Aramaki to become a champion. And I have no doubts about his ability to beat Serrano. And even if he fails, it won’t seriously damage my gym’s reputation. I still have Ryoma."

His gaze sharpens. "But the question now... what if Serrano loses to my fighter? And this is not just Aramaki. This is a fighter from Nakahara Gym? After what Ryoma did to your Serrano back in Rookie Tournament, and then Aramaki beats him too... what would be left of your gym then, Kirizume?"

Nakahara’s final words hang in the air a little longer than they should.

Kirizume’s expression shifts into something more unsettling. His eyes narrow slightly, not at Nakahara anymore, but at the idea itself, as if he is suddenly seeing the shape of something he had been refusing to look at directly.