"Now imagine I say, 'Break it using only one hand… without bending your elbow… or using just your pinky.'"
He paused, letting the image hang in the air like a test they all instinctively tried in their heads.
"That's what this is."
His voice dropped into a calm certainty.
"It's not about making it easy it's about making it meaningful."
He folded his arms.
"Some fighters set those kinds of limits on themselves," Kenta continued.
"Not because they have to… but because it keeps the fight interesting. Sometimes it's pride. But more often?"
He looked out toward the dimming arena.
"It's about growth. Development. Pushing your skills into places that actually matter."
Iwaizumi, still trying to grasp the concept, leaned forward thoughtfully.
"So… it's kinda like when you've got a bottle or a can, and you're tossing it in the trash."
He made a vague shooting motion with his hand.
"At first, it's just something you do no thought, just getting rid of it. But over time, you start turning it into a mini challenge. Like aiming for the bin from across the room, off a bounce, or behind your back."
He smirked a little.
"You make the chore fun. You push yourself. And maybe… you get better at it without even realizing it."
Kenta chuckled, nodding at the analogy.
"Exactly. You've turned trash into a training tool. That's how you find your zone where real progress lives. Not in comfort. But in deliberate challenge."
Gin nodded slowly, eyes distant, something stirring behind them.
This wasn't just a theory to him, this was muscle memory.
Something he used to live by in another life.
Now, for the first time, he was seeing it from the outside… as a student.
A pause settled over the group.
Then Jiro stretched with a yawn, casually breaking the reflective mood.
"Well… main event's over."
He slung his bag over his shoulder.
"Guess it's time we get moving kenta."
Seats creaked and bags rustled as the group began to gather their things.
At the far end, Samira was already speaking softly with one of her guards, slipping her cloak back on with practiced elegance.
She turned toward them with a faint smile.
"It was nice meeting you all. I must go now."
She gave a small wave.
"Wish me luck, Tabaki. Iwaizumi."
Both boys froze.
Their faces turned crimson as she smiled from beneath the hood of her cloak, her green eyes breathtaking in the low light.
Iwaizumi, snapping back to reality, blurted out,
"Ah wait! About the guild you mentioned! I'd like to join… please."
Samira smirked, adjusting the edge of her cloak.
"Well, as of now, the guild isn't ready yet. I'd still need to bring Gabriel on board. And from what I've heard…"
She tilted her head playfully.
"…convincing him won't be easy."
"I can do anything," Iwaizumi declared, then quickly added, "but… I don't even have a pulse yet."
His tone dropped ever so slightly a change Tabaki and Samira picked up on.
Tabaki, unnoticed by Iwaizumi, was already clasping his hands together in a silent plea toward Samira, eyes wide like a kid begging for a favor.
Samira stifled a laugh and nodded.
"Alright then not having a pulse won't be a problem… if you join as part of the camera crew."
She gave him a teasing look.
"But you'll still need a license for that. No exceptions."
Iwazumi lit up.
"Great! I'll get it done don't worry!"
He grinned, clearly relieved. To him, it wasn't a rejection it was a chance.
One of her guards stepped forward and handed Iwaizumi a card sleek, embossed, with gold lettering.
He turned it over.
"Princess… Samira?"
Tabaki's jaw dropped.
"No way. Princess??"
He snatched the card to double-check.
Samira just giggled.
One of the guards leaned in close, whispering discreetly in her ear though the boys could still catch a few words:
"My lady… they know too much. What if they're spies? From your uncle?"
Samira's eyes narrowed slightly, then she smiled.
"Relax. I'm an excellent judge of character. These boys are harmless."
From the other end of the seats, Kenta's voice called out.
He stood, adjusting his coat with a casual smile.
"Well, nice meeting you boys. And especially you, young lady. What was your name again?"
She turned back gracefully, the light catching the edge of her cloak.
"Samira," she replied politely.
Then her gaze shifted to Old Man Jiro, a playful sparkle in her eye.
"Nice seeing you again, Grandpas. I've clearly learned a lot."
Samira smiled warmly, her tone playful but sincere.
She paused for a moment, her voice softening.
"I never really got to meet my own grandparents… but you two seem like the kind who knew how to enjoy themselves."
Jiro let out a loud laugh, patting his knee.
"Hah! Now that's a compliment."
But before he could follow up
Gin wasn't laughing. Not even close.
He stood silently, eyes still locked on the now-empty arena.
"What? That's it?" he muttered, clearly disappointed.
"Just one match? That was the whole main event?"
He clenched the railing tighter, knuckles white.
He wanted more.
More fights. More strategy. More evolution.
But MPAs weren't like long tournaments.
They were short. Brutal. Focused.
Over before you could catch your breath.
Behind him, Iwaizumi tugged at his sleeve.
"Let's go, sir Gin! Match is over!"
Tabaki joined in, grabbing Gin's other arm.
"C'mon, man. Iwa's right his Mom probably back by now sir."
Gin didn't budge, still staring at the arena.
His mind wasn't ready to leave just yet.
***
Meanwhile…
Up in the broadcast booth, the commentator stood with his mic in hand, cheerfully addressing families watching from home.
"Thanks for joining us tonight, folks. Hope to see you all again next week"
Down in the arena, Gabriel sat on the edge of the platform, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.
The heat still clung to his skin, but the battle haze had begun to lift.
The medical team surrounded him, their movements efficient and calm.
One of the medics knelt beside him, speaking in low clinical tones.
"Relax your muscles you've got micro-tears and deep impact bruising. If you tense up, the healing will slow."