Meanwhile, the red corner locker room is steeped in silence, broken only by the rhythm of Ryoma's shadowboxing. His fists slice the air in steady arcs, breath measured, eyes sharp.
He doesn't speak, doesn't glance at anyone. It's as if the fight has already begun somewhere inside his head.
Nakahara leans against the wall, arms folded, watching closely. His jaw is tight, but he doesn't say a word. Hiroshi paces the floor, glancing at his watch every other step, restless as if time itself is dragging.
"They said Korakuen's packed," Hiroshi mutters finally, almost to himself. "Every seat filled… and most of them here for Ryoma. It's insane. This is just a block final, but the pressure feels like a world title."
Nakahara exhales through his nose. "The more hope they pile on him, the heavier it gets."
Across the room, Kobayashi Ayano, the lightweight headliner of tonight's main event, sits with his gloves resting on his knees. His eyes keep drifting toward Ryoma.
