The days following his victory over Miyata felt strangely empty to Ippo. As he walked through the gym, looking for his former opponent, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.
"Have you seen Miyata today?" Ippo asked Kimura, who was wrapping his hands near the heavy bags.
"Yeah, I saw him doing roadwork this morning," Kimura replied. "But he didn't come into the gym afterward."
Aoki looked up from his stretching. "Maybe he's taking a break after that beating you gave him. That uppercut was something else!"
But Ippo wasn't satisfied with that explanation. The victory felt hollow without being able to face his rival again, to continue pushing each other to new heights.
During mitt practice with Kamogawa, his distraction was obvious.
"Your punches are off today," the coach observed, lowering the mitts. "Your mind is somewhere else."
"I'm sorry, Coach. I just—"
"You're thinking about Miyata," Kamogawa said bluntly. "Let me guess—you're wondering why he hasn't been around."
Ippo nodded sheepishly.
Kamogawa shook his head with a mixture of exasperation and understanding. "Kid, you need to focus. Boxing isn't about making friends or having sparring partners around for your convenience."
"I know, but—"
"But nothing. If you're going to mope around like this, you might as well not train at all."
The harsh words stung, but Ippo recognized the truth in them. Still, he couldn't help feeling lonely without his rival's presence pushing him to improve.
That afternoon, Takamura noticed Ippo's sullen mood and decided to intervene in his typical fashion.
"Alright, that's enough," Takamura announced. "You're coming with me."
"Where are we going?" Ippo asked as Takamura grabbed his gym bag.
"Training camp. Well, sort of. You're going to see what real professional boxing looks like, and maybe that'll snap you out of this funk."
"Professional boxing?"
"I've got a match at Kōrakuen Hall next week against Kazuhiko Hirano. You're going to help me train, and more importantly, you're going to learn what it means to be a serious boxer."
The prospect of training with Takamura was both exciting and terrifying. Ippo had seen glimpses of his skills, but training with him one-on-one would be something else entirely.
"Are you sure I won't get in your way?" Ippo asked.
"Oh, you definitely will," Takamura grinned. "But that's part of the learning process."
The training began immediately. Takamura's pace was relentless—roadwork that left Ippo gasping for air, mitt work that pushed his technique to its limits, and conditioning exercises that made his previous training seem easy.
"Keep up!" Takamura called out during their evening run. "Professional boxers don't get to take breaks when they're tired!"
But it was the personal moments between training that really opened Ippo's eyes. That evening, Takamura invited him to his apartment—a chaotic mess that looked like a hurricane had blown through
"Welcome to my palace," Takamura said sarcastically, kicking aside empty takeout containers.
While Takamura went to the bathroom, Ippo couldn't help but start cleaning up. The place was a disaster, but underneath the mess, he could see signs of a dedicated athlete—nutrition charts on the wall, training schedules, boxing magazines stacked everywhere.
When Takamura emerged from the bathroom, he found Ippo organizing his magazines.
"What are you doing?"
"Sorry, I just thought—"
"And what's this?" Takamura's grin turned mischievous as he spotted something in Ippo's hands.
Ippo's face turned bright red as he realized he'd accidentally picked up an adult magazine that had been mixed in with the boxing publications.
"I wasn't looking at—" Ippo stammered.
"AOKI!" Takamura immediately called his gym mate. "You won't believe what I just caught our innocent little Ippo doing!"
Despite the embarrassment, Ippo found himself learning more about Takamura during their time together. That evening, over a simple meal of cup ramen and tomatoes, he got a glimpse of the man behind the bravado.
"How did you first start boxing?" Ippo asked.
Takamura's expression grew more serious. "Kamogawa found me in the middle of a street fight. I was just some punk causing trouble, but he saw something in me."
"What was your debut match like?"
"incredible yet terrifying," Takamura replied. "But when I won, when I heard that crowd cheering... it was like rain falling from the sky. Pure magic."
Ippo could hear the genuine passion in Takamura's voice, the love for boxing that went beyond just being good at fighting.
That night, they shared Takamura's small apartment. Ippo was amazed to witness the discipline required for professional boxing—Takamura's struggle with weight cutting, his rigid diet, the way he fought his own hunger to make weight.
In the middle of the night, Ippo heard Takamura get up and walk toward the refrigerator. He watched as the professional stood there for several minutes, clearly fighting the urge to eat, before forcing himself to return to bed.
"The dieting isn't as easy as he makes it look," Ippo realized.
The training continued for the rest of the week, with Ippo gaining a new appreciation for the dedication required at the professional level. Every aspect of a boxer's life was controlled, disciplined, focused on one goal.
"I've never been to Kōrakuen Hall before," Ippo admitted as they prepared for Takamura's fight.
"Then you're in for a treat," Takamura replied. "I'll show you what a professional fight is all about."
The atmosphere at Kōrakuen Hall was electric. Ippo had seen boxing matches on television, but being there in person—feeling the energy of the crowd, hearing the announcements echo through the arena—was overwhelming.
When Takamura's fight began, Ippo watched in awe. This was boxing at a completely different level from anything he'd experienced. The speed, the power, the tactical awareness—everything was amplified.
Takamura's opponent, Kazuhiko Hirano, came out aggressively, trying to pressure the taller fighter. For a moment, it looked like Hirano might have success with his bull-rushing style.
But then Takamura showed why he was a professional. A perfectly timed counter caught Hirano clean, and the fight was over in devastating fashion.
The crowd erupted, and Ippo felt his heart racing with excitement. This was what he wanted to aspire to—this level of skill, this kind of impact.
After the fight, as Ippo waited outside the arena, still buzzing with adrenaline from witnessing Takamura's victory, he spotted a familiar figure in the shadows.
"Miyata?"
His former gym mate stepped into the light, looking different somehow. There was a new resolve in his eyes, a decision made.
"I saw your fight with Takamura," Miyata said quietly. "You've gotten much stronger."
"Where have you been? Everyone at the gym has been wondering—"
"I've quit the gym," Miyata said simply.
The words hit Ippo like a physical blow. "What? Why?"
"Because I need to find my own path. Training at the same gym, sparring against each other regularly... it was holding both of us back."
Ippo felt a mix of sadness and confusion. "But our rivalry, our training together—"
"Will continue," Miyata interrupted. "But on a bigger stage. I'm going to train elsewhere, develop my skills independently. And when we're both ready—really ready—we'll meet again."
"Meet again where?"
Miyata's eyes held a fire that Ippo had never seen before. "The All Japan Rookie King Tournament. We'll both enter, and we'll fight our way to the top. When we meet in that ring, it won't be as gym mates sparring—it'll be as real boxers, fighting for something that matters."
The magnitude of what Miyata was proposing hit Ippo immediately. The Rookie King Tournament was the biggest amateur competition in Japan, a stepping stone to professional careers.
"You're serious about this," Ippo said.
"Dead serious. The question is—are you?"
Through the memories of Yuto's career, Ippo could feel the significance of this moment. This was how champions were made—not through friendly sparring, but through real competition, real stakes, real consequences.
"Yes," Ippo said firmly. "I'll be there."
Miyata nodded and extended his hand. "Then it's a promise. We'll meet again at the Rookie King Tournament, and we'll settle this properly."
As they shook hands, both young boxers understood that this wasn't goodbye—it was the beginning of something much bigger. Their rivalry would continue, but now it would be forged in the fires of real competition.
Watching Miyata disappear into the night, Ippo felt a new sense of purpose settling over him. The empty feeling from the past week was gone, replaced by determination and anticipation.
He had a tournament to prepare for, and a promise to keep.
The real journey was just beginning.