The gym felt different when Kai walked in with Yuki beside him. What had always been his sanctuary—a place of familiar routines and comfortable conversations with Uncle Hiroshi—now hummed with the kind of focused energy that preceded serious competition. The casual atmosphere of recreational training had been replaced by something sharper, more purposeful.
Uncle Hiroshi was waiting for them near the heavy bags, already changed into his training gear and holding a clipboard thick with handwritten notes. When he saw them enter, his expression was unreadable—part concern, part determination, and something else that Kai couldn't quite identify.
"You're early," Hiroshi said, checking his watch. "That's good. We have a lot to cover."
"How much have you learned about Elite Boxing Academy?" Kai asked, setting his school bag down near the wall.
"Enough to know we're not dealing with amateurs." Hiroshi gestured toward his office. "I made some calls this morning, talked to a few people who've worked with their fighters. Matsumoto runs a solid program—technical, disciplined, focused on fundamentals."
"That's good for Daichi, bad for me."
"Not necessarily. Technical fighters often struggle when their opponents don't follow expected patterns. If we can make you unpredictable enough, his advantages might become liabilities."
Yuki settled into a chair near the ring, pulling out a notebook. "What can I do to help?"
"Take notes," Hiroshi said. "I want detailed records of everything we work on—techniques, combinations, timing drills. If something works well, we need to remember it. If something doesn't work, we need to know why."
Kai began changing into his training clothes, trying to process the implications of what his uncle was saying. Making him unpredictable sounded good in theory, but it also suggested that conventional techniques wouldn't be enough. They were going to have to get creative.
"Before we start," Hiroshi said, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "I need to ask you something. And I want a completely honest answer."
"Okay."
"Yesterday, when you fought Daichi behind the school, you moved like someone with real experience. Not formal training, but something deeper than what we've been doing here casually." Hiroshi's dark eyes were sharp with curiosity. "Where did that come from?"
It was the same question Yuki had asked, and Kai felt the same uncomfortable twist in his stomach. How could he explain that he'd been drawing on muscle memory from training that technically hadn't happened yet? That his instincts came from watching dozens of fights through the lens of hard-earned experience?
"I'm not sure," he said, which was at least partially true. "It felt like everything you'd taught me just... clicked into place when I needed it."
"Everything I taught you was basic defensive positioning and some light pad work. That's not the same as knowing how to fight in close quarters or how to disrupt someone's rhythm."
"Maybe I've been paying more attention than you realized."
Hiroshi studied him for a long moment, and Kai had the uncomfortable feeling that his uncle was seeing right through his carefully constructed explanations.
"You know," Hiroshi said finally, "there's something different about you lately. Something I can't quite put my finger on. Yesterday morning you were asking about serious training for the first time. Yesterday afternoon you were holding your own against an experienced fighter. Today you're talking about strategy and tactics like you've been thinking about them for years instead of hours."
"People change," Kai said, echoing what he'd told Ryo earlier.
"Not this fast. Not this completely." Hiroshi crossed his arms, his expression growing more suspicious. "It's like you woke up yesterday morning with a completely different understanding of what fighting means."
The observation was so close to the truth that Kai felt his breath catch. Had he been that obvious about the change in his perspective? Were there other people starting to notice inconsistencies in his behavior?
"Maybe I just needed the right motivation," he said carefully.
"And what exactly is motivating you?"
"The idea that if I don't learn to fight back, the people I care about might pay the price for my weakness."
"That's a very specific fear for someone who's never been in a serious confrontation before."
Yuki looked up from her notebook, clearly sensing the tension in the conversation. "Uncle Hiroshi, does it really matter where Kai's motivation comes from? Isn't the important thing that he's finally ready to train seriously?"
"It matters," Hiroshi said, "because the kind of training we do depends on what we're really preparing for. If this is just about winning a single fight with a school bully, that's one approach. But if this is about something bigger—something longer-term—then we need a completely different strategy."
"What do you mean?" Kai asked.
"I mean that yesterday you fought like someone who understood that losing might have consequences beyond just personal embarrassment. You fought like someone who'd seen what happens when good people don't stand up to bad ones." Hiroshi paused. "That's not the mindset of a teenager settling a school dispute. That's the mindset of someone who's been to war."
The words hit Kai like a physical blow. Had he really been that transparent about his true motivations? Was his uncle actually suggesting that he somehow knew about the regression, or was this just the observation of someone who'd spent decades reading fighters and understanding what drove them?
"I've been watching a lot of documentaries about boxing history," Kai said, grasping for an explanation that might account for his apparent maturity. "Stories about fighters who stood up to corruption, who used their skills to protect their communities. Maybe that influenced how I think about what we're doing here."
"Maybe." Hiroshi didn't sound entirely convinced. "Or maybe there's something you're not telling me about why this fight matters so much to you."
"Like what?"
"Like whether you know something about Daichi Sasaki that the rest of us don't. Something about what he's capable of, or what he might do if nobody stops him."
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications that made Kai's pulse quicken. How could he possibly explain that he knew exactly what Daichi would become—that he'd watched the bully evolve into someone capable of systematic cruelty and violence? That he understood the progression from school harassment to professional intimidation to the kind of brutality that destroyed lives?
"I know he's dangerous," Kai said finally. "And I know that people like him don't stop escalating their behavior unless someone forces them to."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've been watching him for three years. I've seen how he tests boundaries, how he pushes a little further each time nobody pushes back. Yesterday wasn't just about me—it was about showing him that his behavior has limits."
"And you decided you were the person to set those limits."
"I decided I was tired of waiting for someone else to do it."
Hiroshi was quiet for a long moment, clearly processing Kai's explanations and weighing them against his own observations. Finally, he nodded slowly.
"Alright," he said. "I'm not sure I believe everything you're telling me, but I believe that you believe it. And that's enough to work with." He picked up his clipboard and pen. "Let's start with an assessment of what you can actually do."
The next two hours were the most intense physical training Kai had ever experienced. Hiroshi put him through a series of drills designed to test his reflexes, balance, power, and endurance. Pad work that gradually increased in speed and complexity. Footwork patterns that demanded precision and timing. Defensive exercises that required him to react to attacks he couldn't see coming.
Through it all, Yuki took careful notes, documenting which techniques came naturally to Kai and which required repeated practice. She also tracked his energy levels, noting when fatigue began to affect his performance and how quickly he recovered during rest periods.
"Your cardio is better than I expected," Hiroshi observed as they took a break between rounds of heavy bag work. "And your hand-eye coordination is excellent. But your power generation is inconsistent."
"What does that mean?" Kai asked, toweling sweat from his face.
"It means sometimes you throw punches like you know what you're doing, and sometimes you throw them like you're guessing. The technique is there, but the conviction isn't consistent."
"How do I fix that?"
"Practice. Repetition. And understanding that in the ring, hesitation gets you hurt." Hiroshi demonstrated a proper cross, his fist moving with the kind of fluid power that came from decades of training. "Every punch you throw needs to be committed, even if it's not perfect."
They worked on power generation for another thirty minutes, with Hiroshi adjusting Kai's stance and timing until his punches began landing with more authority. It was exhausting work, but Kai could feel the improvement with each repetition.
"Better," Hiroshi said as they finished the session. "You're starting to move like someone who belongs in a boxing ring."
"Is that enough?" Yuki asked from her observation post.
"For day one? It's a good start. But we've got three more days, and each one needs to build on what we accomplished today." Hiroshi made some final notes on his clipboard. "Tomorrow we work on defense and ring awareness. Thursday we focus on combinations and timing. Friday we put it all together and practice fighting someone with Daichi's style."
"You know his style?" Kai asked.
"I called in a favor and watched some video of Elite Boxing Academy sparring sessions. Matsumoto trains his fighters to be aggressive but controlled—they press forward constantly, throw combinations in predictable patterns, and rely on superior conditioning to wear down their opponents." Hiroshi smiled grimly. "It's effective against most amateur fighters, but it has weaknesses."
"What kind of weaknesses?"
"Predictability. If you know what's coming, you can counter it. And if you can make them fight at your pace instead of theirs, their conditioning advantage becomes less important."
As they cleaned up the training area and prepared to leave, Kai found himself cautiously optimistic about his chances. The session had been challenging, but he'd felt moments of genuine competence—times when his body had moved with the kind of fluid precision that suggested real potential.
"How do you feel?" Yuki asked as they walked toward the exit together.
"Tired. Sore. But better than I expected." Kai paused. "Like maybe this isn't completely hopeless."
"Uncle Hiroshi seems to think you have real potential."
"Uncle Hiroshi's being optimistic. But I'll take optimism over pessimism at this point."
They stepped out into the evening air, which felt cool and refreshing after the intensity of the gym. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that reminded Kai of better times—moments when his biggest concern had been passing his next exam rather than surviving his next fight.
"Can I ask you something?" Yuki said as they began walking toward the train station.
"Sure."
"Earlier, when Uncle Hiroshi was asking about where your fighting ability came from, you looked... I don't know, uncomfortable. Like you were hiding something."
Kai felt his stomach clench. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you gave him perfectly reasonable explanations, but they didn't feel complete. Like there was more to the story that you weren't sharing."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because I know you, Kai. I've known you for three years, and I can tell when you're holding back information." She stopped walking and turned to face him directly. "Is there something about this situation that you're not telling us? Something about why this fight is so important to you?"
The question was fair, and Kai found himself torn between his desire to be honest with her and his need to protect the secret of his regression. How could he explain that he was fighting not just for current victims, but for future ones? That he'd already lived through the consequences of letting bullies like Daichi operate without opposition?
"The important thing is that I'm finally ready to train seriously," he said, repeating Yuki's own words from earlier. "Does the specific motivation really matter?"
"It does if it means you're putting yourself in danger for reasons I don't understand."
"Would you feel better if I told you I was doing this purely for selfish reasons? That I'm tired of being pushed around and want to prove I can fight back?"
"I'd feel better if you told me the truth."
They stared at each other for a moment, and Kai could see the concern and frustration in her eyes. She knew he was hiding something, but she also knew him well enough to understand that pushing too hard might cause him to shut down completely.
"The truth is that I care about you," he said finally. "I care about Emi, and Uncle Hiroshi, and Takeshi, and all the other people who've had to live in fear of what Daichi might do if they step out of line. And I'm tired of being someone who can't protect the people I care about."
"You've never needed to protect us before."
"Maybe that's been the problem."
Yuki was quiet for a moment, processing his words. "You really think this fight is going to change something?"
"I think doing nothing definitely won't change anything."
"And if you're wrong? If this just makes things worse?"
"Then at least I'll know I tried."
She nodded slowly, seeming to accept his explanation even if she wasn't entirely satisfied with it. "Alright. But promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise me that if this gets too dangerous—if you realize you're in over your head—you'll ask for help. From Uncle Hiroshi, from the teachers, from anyone who can actually do something to stop Daichi without you getting seriously hurt."
"I promise," Kai said, meaning it. If Saturday's fight went badly enough, he might not have any choice but to involve adults with more authority and resources.
They resumed walking, but Kai could feel that the conversation had shifted something between them. Yuki was still supportive, but she was also more watchful now—alert for signs that he might be taking risks beyond what she considered reasonable.
Which meant he'd have to be even more careful about revealing just how much he really knew about what was at stake.
The train ride home was quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Kai found himself reviewing the evening's training session, mentally cataloging the techniques that had felt natural and the ones that would require more work. Three more days to develop the skills that might keep him from getting seriously hurt.
It still didn't feel like nearly enough time.
When they reached his stop, Yuki caught his arm as he stood to leave.
"Kai," she said softly. "Whatever you're not telling me about why this matters so much... I hope you know you can trust me with it. When you're ready."
"I know," he said. "And I hope someday I'll be able to explain everything. But for now, just... trust me when I say this is something I have to do."
"I do trust you. That's what scares me."
He squeezed her hand gently, then stepped off the train and watched it pull away into the night. Tomorrow would bring another day of training, another step closer to Saturday's confrontation. And with each passing hour, the weight of what he'd committed himself to seemed to grow heavier.
But alongside the fear was something else—a growing confidence that maybe, just maybe, he was finally moving in the right direction.
Even if he couldn't explain to anyone else why it mattered so much.