Jin found out he was preparing for his first fight because someone wrote it on the whiteboard.
He was taping his hands when Shimada Haru froze mid-stretch, stared at the board, and screamed.
"WHY IS YOUR NAME CIRCLED?!"
The entire gym turned.
Jin looked up slowly.
On the whiteboard, under a mess of schedules and half-erased notes, was written:
Akiyama Jin — Debut Match (4 Rounds)
Circled. Twice.
With an arrow.
"…Oh," Jin said.
Mori Kensuke squinted. "That wasn't there yesterday."
Sato Ryo crossed his arms. "Yes it was."
"I would've remembered," Mori snapped.
"You forget your own locker number," Sato replied.
Jin stared at the board a second longer. "Coach didn't say anything."
Right on cue, Kagawa Genji emerged from the office.
"You saw it," the coach said. "Good."
"That's it?" Jin asked.
Kagawa shrugged. "You don't prepare by talking."
Shimada panicked. "WHEN IS IT?"
"Three weeks."
"THREE WEEKS?!"
Mori cracked his knuckles. "Plenty of time."
Shimada grabbed Jin by the shoulders. "ARE YOU READY?"
Jin considered this carefully. "No."
"…WHY ARE YOU SO CALM?"
"Because that doesn't change."
Preparation began immediately.
And by immediately, it meant everyone suddenly had an opinion.
"You need power," Mori declared, dragging Jin toward the heavy bag.
"You need stamina," Shimada argued, trying to add extra roadwork.
"You need experience," Sato said calmly. "Which you can't rush."
Jin stood in the middle of it, absorbing noise like he absorbed punches—quietly.
Kagawa watched for a moment, then barked, "Enough."
Silence snapped into place.
"Akiyama," the coach said. "You don't change your style."
Jin nodded. "I won't."
"You sharpen it."
"Yes, sir."
Kagawa turned to the others. "And you stop projecting your nonsense."
Shimada looked offended. "But—"
"Run."
Shimada ran.
The Kamogawa Gym arrived later that afternoon, as if summoned by chaos.
"I heard someone's debuting!" Aoki Masaru announced loudly.
Kimura blinked. "Already?"
Ippo leaned forward, eyes bright. "That's amazing!"
Takamura laughed. "Debut, huh? Don't embarrass the sport."
Jin bowed. "I'll do my best."
"That's a terrible promise," Takamura said. "Make a better one."
Jin thought. "I won't panic."
Takamura paused. "…I hate that answer."
During sparring, everyone watched Jin more closely than before.
Every step.
Every breath.
Every choice.
He felt it—but didn't react to it.
Afterward, Ippo approached him quietly. "Your footwork… it's very controlled."
"Thank you."
Ippo hesitated. "I'd like to spar you sometime."
Jin smiled. "I'd like that too."
Takamura gagged. "DISGUSTING. TOO WHOLESOME."
The real problem appeared that evening.
Weight.
Jin sat on the scale. Numbers blinked back at him, unimpressed.
"…Hm."
Mari Iimura, sitting on the bench with her notebook closed, raised an eyebrow. "That 'hm' didn't sound confident."
"I'm on the line," Jin admitted.
"Of course you are."
"I'll adjust."
She studied him. "Don't disappear."
He looked up. "I won't."
"Good," she said. "Debuts are where people start doing stupid things."
Inside, Shimada shouted, "HE ATE MY BANANA!"
"I bought those!" Mori yelled.
Mari sighed. "Case in point."
Training intensified—but the gym didn't lose its rhythm.
They still argued over towels.
Still fought over music.
Still complained about roadwork.
The difference was subtle.
They waited for Jin now.
When he arrived, things started.
When he finished, things ended.
He noticed it one night while staying late, rewrapping his hands for the next day.
His name was written again on the board.
Sparring times.
Pad rounds.
Roadwork pace.
None of it in his handwriting.
Jin stared at it for a long moment.
Not fear.
Responsibility.
Mari stood beside him. "Nervous?"
"Yes."
She smiled faintly. "Good."
He exhaled. "I don't want to let them down."
"You won't," she said. "You don't fight like someone who runs away."
He nodded slowly.
As the lights went out, Kagawa's voice echoed one last time.
"Akiyama."
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't think about winning."
Jin waited.
"Think about finishing."
Jin bowed deeply. "I will."
Outside, the night air was cool.
Three weeks.
Four rounds.
Jin walked home with sore legs, steady breath, and a schedule already waiting for him tomorrow.
For the first time, the ring wasn't just routine.
It was approaching.
END OF CHAPTER
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