The footage arrived on a Tuesday.
Coach Kagawa didn't announce it. He didn't gather the gym or clear the ring. He simply set a small television on a folding table near the corner and slid a DVD into the player.
"Come look," he said.
That was enough.
Jin wiped sweat from his face and joined the others as the screen flickered to life.
His opponent moved first.
Compact stance.
Forward pressure.
Hands always active.
"Lightweight," Mori muttered. "But he fights like he hates space."
On-screen, the man stepped inside behind a stiff jab, shoulders rolling, combinations short and sharp. No wasted motion. No dramatic wind-ups.
Shimada leaned closer. "I don't like him."
"That's not analysis," Sato replied.
"I don't care."
Jin watched silently.
The opponent wasn't fast in a flashy way. He didn't explode. He advanced. Relentlessly. Every step reduced the ring.
"Pressure fighter," Mori said. "Breaks rhythm."
"Breaks comfort," Kagawa corrected.
Jin nodded slowly.
That sounded familiar.
They watched three fights.
The first showed aggression unchecked—early knockdown, overwhelming pace.
The second showed cracks—countered while overcommitting, clipped on entry.
The third showed adjustment—patience layered onto pressure.
"Good chin," Ippo said quietly.
"Yes," Kagawa agreed. "But not invincible."
Jin exhaled through his nose.
Film didn't hit back.
But it did reveal habits.
Training shifted again.
Coach Kagawa changed drills mid-session, cutting combinations short, forcing Jin to work in tight space. No long retreats. No drifting.
"Small steps," Kagawa said. "Angle, don't flee."
Jin complied, muscles protesting as he reset his footwork again and again.
The bag felt closer than usual.
Good.
Comedy broke the tension exactly when it needed to.
Aoki volunteered to imitate the opponent.
"I have the spirit," he declared.
He charged forward wildly and immediately ran into the ropes.
Kimura sighed. "You didn't even punch."
"I intimidated the air."
Shimada applauded anyway.
Mori pinched the bridge of his nose.
Jin smiled despite himself.
Sparring emphasized pressure.
Sato volunteered again.
This time, he didn't circle.
He stepped in.
Jin felt it immediately—the subtle panic of reduced space, the urge to back straight up. He resisted, pivoting instead, letting punches graze gloves instead of face.
The round was ugly.
That was the point.
After the bell, Jin leaned on the ropes, breathing controlled but deep.
"Better," Sato said. "Still uncomfortable."
"Yes," Jin replied. "That's useful."
Coach Kagawa watched without comment.
Which meant approval.
Mari caught Jin during cooldown.
"You're quieter," she said.
"I'm concentrating."
"No," she corrected gently. "You're internal."
Jin considered that.
"Is that bad?"
"Not necessarily," Mari said. "Just don't disappear."
He looked at her then, really looked.
"I won't."
She smiled, satisfied.
The gym took on a rhythm.
Roadwork.
Pressure drills.
Film review.
Between sessions, life continued in familiar, ridiculous ways.
Aoki started calling Jin "The Wall."
Kimura refused to acknowledge it.
Shimada began drafting imaginary headlines.
Ippo asked thoughtful questions.
"Do you think pressure fighters get tired of pushing?" Ippo asked during stretching.
"They get tired of not succeeding," Jin replied.
Ippo nodded like he'd been handed a secret.
Midweek brought fatigue.
The honest kind.
Jin felt it in his calves during runs, in his shoulders during pad work. Not weakness—accumulation.
Coach Kagawa noticed.
"Tomorrow is lighter," he said.
Shimada protested. "WE'RE LOSING MOMENTUM."
"We're keeping him alive," Mori replied.
Jin appreciated that.
That evening, Jin and Mari walked again.
No destination.
Just movement.
"Do you feel pressure yet?" Mari asked.
Jin thought about it.
"No," he said. "I feel direction."
Mari glanced at him. "That's dangerous too."
"Everything is."
She laughed softly.
They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light.
"After this fight," Mari said casually, "things will change."
"Yes."
"Media. Expectations."
"Yes."
She looked at him. "I'm not asking you to promise anything."
Jin met her eyes. "I know."
The light changed.
They crossed together.
The opponent's name echoed more frequently now.
Whispers.
Articles.
Speculation.
Jin ignored most of it.
He focused on what he could touch.
Canvas.
Rope.
Breath.
Late Friday night, Jin stayed behind again.
The gym was empty, lights dimmed to their lowest setting.
He shadowboxed in the ring, imagining forward pressure closing in, imagining calm responses instead of panic.
Film didn't hit back.
But the ring would.
He stopped, chest rising and falling steadily.
Two weeks down.
Four to go.
Jin stepped out of the ring, towel over his shoulders, and glanced once more at the whiteboard.
The countdown stared back.
This time, it didn't feel threatening.
It felt honest.
END OF CHAPTER
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading! 🙏
We're deep into preparation now—pressure, adjustment, and small character moments building together. If you're enjoying the story, please comment, vote, and add it to your library. Your support really helps and keeps the chapters coming longer.
See you in the next chapter 🥊