The gym was already buzzing with activity when Kai arrived for his second training session. He could hear the rhythmic thud of heavy bags and the sharp crack of speed bags even before he pushed through the front door. But what struck him immediately was the number of people present—far more than usual for a Wednesday evening.
Uncle Hiroshi was near the ring talking with two men Kai didn't recognize. One was tall and lean with the kind of weathered face that spoke of decades in boxing gyms. The other was younger, maybe in his thirties, with the compact build and alert posture of someone who still competed actively.
"Kai," Hiroshi called when he spotted him. "Come meet some people."
As Kai approached, he could see that both men were studying him with the kind of professional interest that made him uncomfortably aware of his every movement. These weren't casual observers—they were evaluating him.
"This is Sensei Watanabe," Hiroshi said, gesturing to the older man. "He used to train at the same gym I did, back in the day. And this is Kenji Suzuki—he's currently ranked third in the regional amateur middleweight division."
"Pleased to meet you," Kai said, bowing slightly.
"So you're the kid who's got everyone talking," Watanabe said, his voice carrying the gravelly tone of someone who'd spent years shouting instructions over gym noise. "Hiroshi tells me you've been training for less than a week."
"That's right, sir."
"And you're planning to fight Matsumoto's golden boy in front of half the district." Watanabe's expression was unreadable. "Either you're extremely confident or extremely stupid."
"Probably both," Kai admitted.
That drew a laugh from Suzuki. "At least you're honest about it. Most fighters would try to convince us they had some secret strategy that guaranteed victory."
"Do you have a secret strategy?" Watanabe asked.
"I have Uncle Hiroshi," Kai said. "That's about as secret as my strategy gets."
"Good answer," Watanabe said approvingly. "Hiroshi was one of the smartest fighters I ever worked with. If anyone can turn an amateur into someone who can survive three rounds with Elite Academy training, it's him."
"Survive being the operative word," Suzuki added. "Nobody's expecting you to win this thing, kid. The smart money says you last maybe a round and a half before the referee stops it."
"What does the dumb money say?"
"The dumb money says you knock him out in the second round and become the most famous high school student in the district." Suzuki grinned. "I might have put a small bet on the dumb money, just for fun."
Hiroshi clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright, enough socializing. We've got work to do. Kenji's here to help with sparring practice, and Watanabe's going to assist with technical refinement."
"You brought in professional help?" Kai asked.
"I brought in people who know what they're doing," Hiroshi corrected. "This stopped being a casual training situation the moment those flyers appeared. If we're going to do this right, we need all the expertise we can get."
Yuki arrived as they were setting up the training area, her notebook already in hand and her expression more determined than worried. She'd clearly made her peace with the situation and was ready to contribute however she could.
"What's our focus today?" she asked Hiroshi.
"Defense and ring awareness. Kai showed good instincts on Monday, but instincts aren't enough when you're facing someone with formal training. We need to teach him how to think three moves ahead."
The next two hours were the most technically demanding training Kai had ever experienced. Watanabe put him through defensive drills that required split-second reactions to attacks coming from multiple angles. Suzuki worked with him on footwork and positioning, teaching him how to use movement to neutralize an opponent's advantages.
"Your reflexes are excellent," Watanabe observed as they took a break between rounds of mitt work. "And your spatial awareness is better than most amateurs I've worked with. But you telegraph your punches like you're sending postcards."
"What does that mean?"
"It means Daichi's going to see every shot coming from next week. Your shoulders tense up before you throw, your feet shift in predictable patterns, and you drop your guard every time you get excited about landing a combination."
"How do I fix that?"
"Practice. Repetition. And learning to trust your technique instead of trying to muscle through everything." Watanabe demonstrated a quick jab that seemed to appear from nowhere. "Power comes from precision, not effort."
They worked on reducing telegraphing for the next thirty minutes, with Suzuki calling out combinations while Watanabe watched for technical flaws. It was frustrating work—every time Kai thought he'd mastered a technique, one of his instructors would point out a subtle error that made the whole movement less effective.
"Better," Suzuki said as they wrapped up the combination drills. "You're starting to move like someone who belongs in a ring. Not someone who's going to win, necessarily, but someone who's not going to embarrass himself either."
"High praise," Kai said dryly.
"Higher than you think. Most amateurs look lost the moment they face real opposition. You look... determined. That counts for something."
As they moved into sparring practice, Kai began to understand why Uncle Hiroshi had brought in outside help. Suzuki moved with the kind of fluid precision that came from years of competitive experience, and he had an uncanny ability to exploit every technical flaw in Kai's defensive positioning.
"Keep your hands up," Hiroshi called from ringside. "He's finding holes in your guard that Daichi will definitely exploit."
"I am keeping my hands up," Kai protested between rounds.
"No, you're keeping them where you think they should be. That's not the same thing." Suzuki demonstrated proper guard positioning. "Your hands need to be here, not here. The difference is about two inches, but those two inches determine whether you wake up on the canvas or keep fighting."
They worked on defensive positioning until Kai's arms ached from maintaining proper guard position. Then they moved to combination defense—learning to recognize patterns in an opponent's attack sequence and respond appropriately.
"Daichi's going to throw a lot of jab-cross combinations," Watanabe explained. "It's basic, but it's effective against opponents who don't know how to counter properly. The key is recognizing the setup and moving before he can complete the sequence."
"How do I know when he's setting up?"
"Experience, mostly. But there are tells—weight shifts, shoulder positioning, eye movement. We'll teach you to recognize the most common ones."
By the end of the session, Kai felt like his brain was overloaded with technical information. Proper stance, guard positioning, footwork patterns, defensive combinations, timing cues—it was like trying to learn a new language in a matter of hours.
"How much of this am I actually going to remember on Saturday?" he asked as they cleaned up the training area.
"More than you think," Hiroshi said. "Your body learns faster than your mind does. Most of this will become instinctive if we drill it enough over the next two days."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then you rely on determination and hope for the best."
As they prepared to leave, Watanabe pulled Kai aside for a private conversation.
"Can I give you some advice that has nothing to do with technique?" the older man asked.
"Sure."
"Don't try to be someone you're not in that ring. I've seen fighters try to change their entire style three days before a big fight, and it never works. Be smart, be careful, but be yourself."
"What if myself isn't good enough?"
"Then you lose fighting as yourself instead of losing while pretending to be someone else. Trust me, the first option hurts less in the long run."
The walk home with Yuki was quieter than usual, both of them processing the intensity of the evening's training. Kai's body ached in ways that reminded him he was pushing himself far beyond his normal limits, but there was also a growing sense of competence that hadn't been there two days ago.
"You looked better tonight," Yuki observed as they approached the train station. "More... controlled, I guess."
"I felt better. Like the techniques are starting to make sense instead of just being things I'm trying to remember."
"Sensei Watanabe seemed impressed with your progress."
"Sensei Watanabe seemed impressed that I haven't run away screaming yet." Kai paused. "Though I have to admit, the temptation is there."
"What's stopping you?"
It was a fair question, and one that Kai had been asking himself repeatedly over the past few days. What was stopping him from backing out gracefully and returning to his normal life? Pride? Stubbornness? Or something deeper?
"The knowledge that if I don't do this, nobody else will," he said finally. "And that means things stay exactly the way they are."
"And you think this fight is going to change things?"
"I think it's going to show people that bullies like Daichi aren't invincible. That someone will fight back if they push too far." Kai looked at her. "Maybe that's enough to make a difference."
"And if you're wrong?"
"Then at least I'll have tried."
Yuki was quiet for a moment, watching the evening commuters stream past them toward the train platforms. When she spoke again, her voice was softer.
"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday. About wanting to be someone who can protect the people you care about."
"Yeah?"
"I think I understand what you mean now. Not the fighting part necessarily, but the idea that sometimes you have to take risks to make things better." She paused. "I still think you're crazy for going through with this, but I respect what you're trying to accomplish."
"Does that mean you'll stop trying to talk me out of it?"
"It means I'll focus on making sure you're prepared instead of trying to convince you to quit."
They boarded the train together and found seats near the window. As the familiar neighborhoods passed by outside, Kai found himself thinking about the progression from Monday's impulsive challenge to Wednesday's professional training session. Three days ago, the idea of stepping into a boxing ring had been purely theoretical. Now it was an inevitable reality that would arrive whether he felt ready or not.
"Can I ask you something?" Yuki said as they approached Kai's stop.
"Sure."
"When this is all over—regardless of how it turns out—are you going to keep training seriously? Or is this just about settling things with Daichi?"
It was a question Kai hadn't fully considered. In his original timeline, he'd never pursued boxing beyond casual observation. But now, after just two days of intensive training, he was beginning to understand what Uncle Hiroshi had been trying to tell him for years about the sport's deeper rewards.
"I think I might keep training," he said. "There's something about it that feels... right. Like it's something I should have been doing all along."
"Even if you lose on Saturday?"
"Especially if I lose on Saturday. Because that would mean I have a lot more to learn."
As Kai stepped off the train and watched it disappear into the night, he reflected on how much his perspective had changed in just a few days. What had started as a desperate attempt to prevent future tragedy had evolved into something more personal—a genuine desire to become someone capable of protecting the people and principles that mattered to him.
Whether Saturday's fight ended in victory or defeat, that transformation felt like something worth pursuing.
Two more days to find out if it would be enough to keep him conscious long enough to matter.