Takeda didn't ease up after their first session. If anything, he became more relentless, treating each meeting like it might be the last chance to push Shahaan past his current limit.
The next evening, the gym lights cast a pale yellow over the canvas as Takeda walked in before Kaito, holding a battered notebook. He didn't greet anyone. He just opened it, scanned a page, and said, "Ropes. Ten minutes. No breaks."
Shahaan had skipped rope before, but this was different. Takeda's gaze never left him, and every time Shahaan's rhythm slipped, Takeda clapped his hands once, sharp and loud, forcing him to pick the pace back up. By the fifth minute, his calves burned and his breath came in short bursts. By the eighth, his forearms ached just from holding the rope handles.
When the timer finally beeped, Takeda didn't let him rest. "Pads," he said flatly.
Kaito stepped forward with the mitts, his stance already set. "Combinations. Keep your guard tight."
The sound of leather hitting leather filled the gym, each strike carrying a satisfying snap, but the satisfaction faded quickly as Takeda's voice cut in over and over. "Faster. Breathe through it. Reset your stance. You drop that guard again and you'll regret it."
It was a grind, but there was a strange rhythm forming — the drill, the correction, the adjustment, the repetition. Shahaan could feel his own movements smoothing out, his feet finding better balance, his punches landing with more weight.
By the time Kaito called the last combination, Shahaan's shirt was drenched, his arms heavy as lead. He bent over, hands on his knees, sweat dripping to the mat.
"Stand up," Takeda said.
Shahaan straightened, his chest still heaving.
Takeda nodded slightly, the first hint of approval Shahaan had seen. "You recover faster than most."
Kaito smirked. "That's not natural. That's hunger."
Shahaan didn't respond, but inside, the words stuck. Hunger. It wasn't just about winning anymore. There was something sharper in him now — the knowledge that every rep, every punch, every gasp for air was building a wall between who he used to be and who he was becoming.
After the session, the gym thinned out, the few regulars still lingering keeping their distance. Kaito leaned against the ropes, tossing a towel over his shoulder. "You've got a local match coming up. It's not official, not in the books, but it's the kind of fight where people start remembering your name."
Shahaan's pulse quickened. "When?"
"Two weeks," Kaito said. "That's why Takeda's here. You're going to be sharper than you've ever been. Faster. More durable. And you're going to keep your head when the other guy's trying to take it off."
Takeda closed his notebook and slid it under his arm. "I'll have your schedule ready tomorrow. If you skip a single drill, don't bother showing up for the fight."
It wasn't a threat so much as a statement of fact.
Shahaan didn't flinch. "I won't skip."
Kaito's smirk widened, but Takeda just gave a short nod before turning away.
On his way out, Shahaan caught his reflection in the glass door. The hoodie hung looser now, the lines of his shoulders and arms more defined than they'd been weeks ago. He barely recognized himself, and that was the point.
Outside, the night air hit him cool and sharp. His legs were tired, but he didn't slow his walk. Two weeks wasn't a lot of time, but it was enough to make sure that when he stepped into that ring, the people watching would see more than just another fighter.
They'd see someone worth remembering.