Chapter 785: No Direction Without Pressure

Once Ryoma ends the conversation with Kirizume, he places the receiver back into its cradle and stands there for a brief moment before returning to his seat.

He sits down more heavily than usual, his expression already settled into something darker, the kind of seriousness that immediately changes the atmosphere around him.

The effect is subtle but noticeable. The momentum of the Yoyogi discussion slows as if everyone in the room instinctively understands that whatever was just said carries weight.

Papers remain open but untouched, and even the earlier confidence in the room begins to thin out as silence stretches a little longer than necessary. No one interrupts him. They wait.

It is Nakahara who finally speaks. "So? How is it?"

"Just as we expected," Ryoma says. "Aramaki versus Serrano is confirmed. Kirizume also accepted our demand for Kazuya Tojo to fight Satoru. We’re just back on the original schedule. There’s nothing else that needs attention right now."

Nakahara gives a slow solemn nod, and then gestures lightly toward the table as a signal for the discussion to continue.

Kurogane picks it up immediately by outlining possible funding alternatives and adjustments to their early capital structure.

Others at the table follow, contributing suggestions, evaluating risks, and responding to each other with the ease of people returning to familiar ground.

But Ryoma remains slightly detached from it all. He listens, or at least presents the appearance of listening, yet his focus does not fully settle on any of the voices around him.

Instead, his thoughts continue moving through several threads at once, each one demanding attention without offering resolution.

Aramaki’s training and preparation remains in his mind, followed by his own upcoming fight against Liam O’Connell, then the unresolved tension with Kirizume, and beneath all of it, the NSN proposal and Reika’s role in it, which lingers in a different way from the rest.

None of it feels separate anymore. Everything overlaps, each decision connected to another in ways that are becoming harder to isolate.

And even as the meeting continues around him, Ryoma finds himself unable to return fully to the room.

***

And by the time they begin narrowing down possible directions, it is already close to four in the afternoon.

They manage to identify a few workable solutions; adjustments in sponsorship structure, revised vendor negotiations, and alternative short-term funding arrangements. But none of them carry the same certainty or immediate impact as NSN’s proposal.

Eventually, Nakahara leans back slightly in his chair and glances at the time.

"Let’s stop here for today," he says calmly. "We’ll continue this later."

A few faint acknowledgements follow. The fatigue of extended calculation and discussion has already settled into the room.

Kurogane gives a small nod, but adds his own quiet remark before the meeting fully disperses. "We will need to exhaust all these options. I just hope one of them is willing to give us money upfront."

With that, the meeting is officially wrapped. The staff begin tidying their materials, some still exchanging brief comments about figures or projections as they prepare to leave.

Nakahara and Ryoma, still dressed in their training suits, rise almost at the same time and make their way out without needing to say much.

Their presence as managers has reached its limit for the day. But the rhythm of the gym below has not stopped waiting for them.

"Aramaki looked sharper today," Nakahara says casually.

Ryoma gives a small nod without slowing his pace. "Serrano’s style forces that."

"You’re still pushing him into those half-speed scenarios?" Nakahara asks.

"At this point," Ryoma says, "it’s less about conditioning and more about pattern recognition. If he can’t read Serrano’s rhythm before the fight, strength won’t matter."

Nakahara hums quietly, then glances slightly toward him. "And you?"

The question lands more directly this time. Ryoma doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze stays forward as they head toward the stairs.

"Liam O’Connell is not the immediate concern," he says at last. "Right now, Aramaki takes priority. If I split focus, neither of us gets what we need out of preparation."

Nakahara studies him for a moment, then gives a small nod.

"Fair," he says simply.

They continue down the stairs together, the sound of the gym fully returning now; steady, familiar, and waiting for them as if nothing else above had existed at all.

The amateurs and younger fighters are still training, still needing guidance, still relying on the structure that brought them here.

Hiroshi, Sera, and Kenta can keep things running, but they are not enough to fill the space entirely, especially when the gym’s identity itself is tied so closely to Nakahara and Ryoma’s presence. For many of them, these two are still the reason they came in the first place.

***

At the moment, the youngsters in the gym are engaged in technical sparring; pre-arranged exchanges and scenarios performed at controlled intensity, focusing on technique, timing, and reaction rather than free improvisation.

Under Sera’s supervision, pairs move in circular motion, repeating set sequences as instructed, carefully maintaining rhythm and distance as if rehearsing fragments of an actual bout.

"Hey, you two!" Sera calls out at one pair. "Don’t overdo it. I don’t want you turning this into an actual fight. Control is part of the sport. If you lose that here, you lose everything later."

The pair immediately eases their intensity, adjusting their rhythm as they continue the drill.

A moment later, Ryoma approaches another pair. The two trainees immediately pause mid-exchange, stepping back and bowing slightly.

"Ah... Ryoma-senpai."

Ryoma simply gives a small wave of his hand. "Don’t stop. Continue, please."

They hesitate for only a second before resuming their sequence, moving again into the pre-set pattern.

From a distance, Nakahara observes everything quietly, his attention moving from one pair to another, assessing rhythm, posture, and discipline across the gym floor. Eventually, his gaze settles on Ryoma. And almost immediately, something feels off.

The two trainees Ryoma is watching begin to make small but noticeable mistakes. Yet Ryoma simply stands there with his hands clasped behind his back, watching in silence.

It is so unusual, because in this gym, Ryoma is known for being sharp, precise, and almost relentless in correction. He is the one who notices the smallest flaw in foot placement or timing, the one who stops drills mid-exchange to adjust a stance or point out a better angle.

It is also why the younger fighters prefer when he supervises them; his feedback is immediate and exact.

But now, there is nothing coming from him, only observation. And as the silence stretches, the two trainees begin to falter further. Their movements lose confidence.

One possibility forms in their minds that they are performing perfectly and therefore require no correction. Another forms just as quickly, that Ryoma is disappointed and has chosen not to intervene at all.

Neither thought helps them. Their timing slips further, their reactions becoming less certain with each exchange, until even their basic rhythm begins to fracture under uncertainty.

Nakahara watches this progression, his expression tightening slightly as he confirms what he is seeing.

Then he walks over.

"Ryoma..."

But Ryoma does not turn immediately. His head shifts just a bit, almost like a delayed reaction, before he answers.

"Yes?"

Even without seeing his face, Nakahara understands, for the past several minutes Ryoma has not been watching the pair in front of him at all.

Nakahara exhales slowly. "Go home and rest. You’ve been doing too much since this morning. You know rest is also part of professional discipline, don’t you?"

Ryoma does not respond right away. He remains still for a few seconds longer before giving a small nod. Then he turns and walks toward the locker room.

A short while later, he emerges carrying his bag, moving straight toward the exit without greeting anyone.

Nakahara watches him go in silence, the confirmation settling deeper in his mind that Ryoma’s thoughts have never really left the problems waiting upstairs.

***

And perhaps, one might think that once he steps outside the building, there will be relief. But there is not.

Because waiting not far away, over two hundred meters down the curb, is a parked car. Inside it, two familiar foreigners sit still behind the windshield.

Even at that distance, Ryoma can clearly see the license plate. And more importantly, he can see their attention fixed on him.

<< It’s them again... >>

<< I’m telling you... just confront those gaijin directly. >>

<< No need for a detour to the convenience store just to buy peanuts and then act like Denzel Washington. >>

Ryoma takes one steps with his right leg, but then stops, already questioning that option.

Sure, he has no doubt that these people have dirty motive toward him. But it’s been more than a month, and they still haven’t done anything.

Confronting them now would feel so wrong. There’s no reason for him telling them not to park their car there.

Eventually, he turns around to head back home. Despite that, his mind can never settle, and his head keep looking back once for a while.

This isn’t just careful observation or heightened attention anymore. It already leans into hyper-awareness bordering on paranoia.