Yanagimoto straightens fully at last, drawing himself tall as he looks down at Shimamura on the canvas. The uncertainty that haunted him earlier is gone now, replaced by something solid and familiar, a confidence rebuilt piece by piece.
When he turns and walks back toward his corner, his gaze lingers on Shimamura, not in contempt, but in calm assurance.
In the booth, one of the commentators exhales into the microphone. "That round changed everything. You can feel the momentum swing back to the champion."
His partner follows, voice steadier but edged with disbelief. "And look at Shimamura. He's up, he's walking back on his own… but he's empty. Whatever he had left, he left it in that round."
Several rows back in the spectator stand, Nakahara watches with a quiet ache settling in his chest.
He was the one who drove Shimamura from the gym, yet there was never hatred in that decision, only fear of what the boy was becoming.
