They step out from the red corner tunnel into a hall that feels half-asleep. It feels nothing like Ryoma's last outing.
It's not empty, but far from full. The seats are a quarter occupied at best; most of the noise comes from shifting shoes, the rattle of camera shutters, and the murmurs of boring conversation.
No commentary, no music, no loud introductions. There are only the officials, a few judges, and the quiet tension of fighters waiting for their turn.
It's a different kind of stage.
Unlike the chaos of Ryoma's match with Ayano, when the JBC made it into a full-blown spectacle, selling tickets, running live commentary, packing Ota Gym to the rafters, this one feels stripped bare.
Ryoma leans closer to Nakahara, lowering his voice. "…This is way different from mine. Back then, it felt like a real event."
