The sun hadn't even cracked the horizon when Taiga arrived at Glory Gym.
6:00 a.m. sharp, like Genji said.
The streets were still asleep, the morning air sharp against his face. He unlocked the gate—it screeched just like the day before—and stepped inside. The gym was quiet, but not empty.
Rikuya was already there.
He was moving like a blur in front of the mirror, drilling jabs and footwork. His rhythm was clean, fast—way faster than Taiga expected. Taiga set his bag down and watched for a moment, wondering if this kid ever even got tired.
"Morning," Rikuya called, not breaking rhythm. "Didn't think you'd show."
Taiga cracked his neck. "You kidding? I don't plan on scrubbing toilets for fun."
Rikuya laughed. "Better hope Genji's in a good mood."
Speak of the devil—Genji walked in with a black duffel slung over his shoulder and a coffee in hand. "You're on time," he said, almost surprised. "That's a start."
He tossed Taiga a jump rope. "Warm-up. Then drills with Rikuya."
Taiga blinked. "With him?"
Genji didn't answer. Just walked toward the office and closed the door.
Taiga turned to Rikuya. "So what—he's throwing me into sparring already?"
Rikuya shrugged. "Not full sparring. Drills. Controlled. You'll be fine… unless you suck."
Taiga scowled. "I don't."
"Then prove it."
Thirty minutes later, they were in the ring.
Both wore headgear and light gloves. Genji stood outside the ropes, arms crossed, eyes unblinking.
"Rikuya, pace him. One-two combos only. Taiga, slip and jab. Work on timing, not power. Got it?"
Taiga nodded. Rikuya smirked. "Don't blink."
The bell rang.
Rikuya moved first—quick and sharp. His jab snapped out like a whip, and Taiga barely dodged. The second punch grazed his cheek. He retaliated with a jab of his own, but it missed. Rikuya danced away like smoke.
"Don't reach," Genji barked. "Use your legs, not your arms!"
Taiga grit his teeth and circled. Another one-two came—this time he slipped left and landed a solid jab to Rikuya's chest. It wasn't much, but it connected.
"Better," Genji said.
They moved again. This time, Rikuya switched angles, catching Taiga off-balance. A right hook clipped him on the temple.
Taiga staggered.
The world tilted for a second, and his pride screamed louder than the pain. He charged with a wild swing—
"STOP!"
Genji's voice cracked across the ring.
Taiga froze. Rikuya had already sidestepped, gloves down.
"You want to fight like some alley punk, go back to the streets," Genji said coldly. "In here, you use your head first."
Taiga looked down. He was breathing hard, fists still clenched.
"Reset," Genji ordered.
They went again.
This time, Taiga focused. He didn't chase. He watched Rikuya's footwork, waited for the rhythm. Then—slip, jab. Glove touched chin.
Point.
Then again.
He was learning.
By the end of the third round, both were sweating. Rikuya lowered his guard and smiled. "Not bad, rookie. Not fast—but sharp when you calm down."
Taiga smirked back. "Just warming up."
Afterward, as they unwrapped their gloves, Genji handed Taiga a towel. "You lost the round. But you didn't lose your head after that first punch. That matters."
Taiga wiped his face. "So what's next?"
Genji nodded toward the whiteboard on the gym wall. It listed upcoming amateur events, with names scribbled under each date.
"You want to box? Prove it in the ring. Real fight. Three weeks from now."
Taiga stared at the board. His name wasn't there yet.
But it would be.
And this time, it wouldn't be for cash or survival.
It would be for something real.
For glory.