Nakahara's lips curl into something rare, a naïve smile. He and Hiroshi are still standing ringside as their boxer walking calmly back to the neutral corner after dropping Kanzaki.
Hiroshi exhales, almost laughing through the release. "One week… and he's already got it. I didn't think he could master it this fast."
His hand trembles with pride. The endless drills, the late nights, the doubt, it all blooms in this moment. Ryoma's flicker isn't a gamble anymore. It's real.
But Nakahara's thoughts cut deeper. To him, it's not just the flicker. He's watching a nineteen-year-old control the ring with nothing but his left.
First as an orthodox out-boxer, then as a flicker stylist, and finally as a tight in-fighter. Three disciplines, one hand.
"He who rules with his left…" he mutters, "…rules the world."
Hiroshi blinks, not hearing him clear. "What?"
Nakahara flinches, clearing his throat.
"N-nothing…"
