The red corner locker room is filled with noise, celebrate down the hall, laughing and shouting, the hollow thud of gloves slapped together.
Leonardo Serrano, who is going to fight for Super Featherweight final, is already shadowboxing, loose and confident, as if the night has only just begun.
But inside the blue corner locker room, the air is heavy.
Okabe sits first, collapsing onto the bench with his shoulders sagging forward, hands dangling uselessly on his sides. Blood still crusts at the edge of his mouth.
No one rushes him. No one knows what to say yet.
Ryohei stands near the lockers with Kenta and Aramaki, still wrapped in warmups. Both Kenta and Aramaki have no fight tonight. But they look like they just did.
"That was yours," Kenta mutters finally, breaking the silence. "Everyone saw it."
Aramaki nods once. "You dragged him into hell. You lost. But you have to be proud of yourself. No one believed you'd go that far."
