Morning spilled into Yuma's room in warm bands of gold.
He had forgotten to close the curtains the night before, but he didn't mind. The sunlight settled against his skin gently, easing him awake instead of dragging him out of sleep.
For once, he actually felt refreshed.
Yuma sat up, stretched his arms over his head, and let out a loud yawn.
Then shouting echoed from somewhere down the hall.
His eyes snapped open.
The peace lasted less than ten seconds.
Yuma threw the blanket aside, got out of bed, and followed the noise through Akira's house. The closer he got, the clearer the voices became.
Akira and Aymar.
Of course.
When Yuma reached the kitchen, the two were already facing each other like they were one wrong word away from swinging. Akira's voice wasn't as loud, but the tension coming off him was just as sharp. Aymar, on the other hand, looked like he had been waiting for an excuse to explode.
"What's going on?" Yuma asked, stepping between them.
Aymar glared over Yuma's shoulder.
Akira returned the look from behind him with the same cold hostility.
"I'm sick of him constantly looking over my shoulder," Aymar hissed. "You said you wanted trust, but I'm not even being left alone, forget being trusted by him."
The last part was aimed directly at Akira.
Akira didn't answer.
He only stared.
Yuma could tell from the look on his face that Akira had never truly planned to let his suspicions go. Something about Aymar's existence didn't sit right with him, and until Akira understood what it was, he wasn't going to give Aymar a single chance to slip away unnoticed.
Aymar's glare narrowed.
Then it shifted into a smirk.
Yuma immediately hated that.
He knew that look.
Aymar had an idea.
And it was definitely stupid.
"Fine, you silver-haired prick," Aymar said, tilting his chin up. "I know you've been itching to fight me. Maybe getting blue-balled by Daya finally got to you."
Akira's eyes sharpened.
Aymar's smirk widened.
"So run the fade, shiny boy."
Yuma's head snapped toward Akira so fast it almost hurt.
Please don't.
Akira's mouth, once held in its usual flat line, slowly curved into a smirk.
Yuma stared at him.
'This kid.'
For all Akira's intelligence, discipline, and serious speeches about trust, he was still sixteen. Yuma was only a year and some months older, but at that moment, the gap felt generational.
He wanted Akira to be mature.
He wanted Akira to swallow his pride.
He wanted Akira to walk away.
Unfortunately, Akira looked like he had just been handed exactly what he wanted.
Yuma turned back to Aymar and saw the same thing there—rage mixing with satisfaction, like Aymar had been waiting for the chance to punch Akira in the face.
There was no talking them out of this.
Yuma sighed heavily and looked over the kitchen island like it might offer him divine guidance.
Instead, Keisuke and Kae walked in.
Keisuke yawned, scratching the back of his head. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, confusion written across his face.
"What's going on?" he asked through another yawn.
"We heard yelling," Kae added quietly from beside him.
Yuma didn't even try to soften it.
"Akira and Aymar got into a fight, and now they really want to fight."
Keisuke blinked.
Kae looked immediately worried.
Then Daya appeared from the hall behind them, towering over both of them with her usual tired, uninterested expression. She looked at Akira. Then Aymar.
"Let them fight," she said.
Yuma turned to her, stunned.
Out of everyone, she was the last person he expected to encourage this. She kept Aymar on a leash tighter than anyone, and now she was casually letting him throw hands before breakfast?
Yuma shook his head.
Fine.
If they were determined to be idiots, he would at least make sure they were idiots somewhere controlled.
"Akira," Yuma said, turning toward him. "You said there was a place downstairs where we could train and spar, right?"
Akira gave a simple nod.
Yuma smiled.
Perfect.
"Okay. Instead of hurting each other in the kitchen—or flat-out killing each other with how much you two are boiling right now—you're going to use the sparring rooms. Pick what kind of match you want."
Akira looked at him plainly.
Aymar's face lit up.
"Boxing!" Aymar shouted.
"Swordfighting," Akira said at the exact same time.
The two stared at each other.
The air tightened again.
Before either of them could start another argument, Yuma stepped between their lines of sight.
"Three matches of each," he said. "If we need a tie-breaker, we'll settle it with something else."
Neither of them objected.
Somehow, that satisfied them.
Akira turned away first, heading deeper into the kitchen to make breakfast. Aymar followed in a different direction, still wearing that eager, violent grin.
Yuma exhaled through his nose.
At least they weren't biting each other's heads off anymore.
He glanced back to where Daya, Keisuke, and Kae had been standing.
They were already gone.
Apparently, once Yuma gave the two idiots a place to punch each other, everyone else decided breakfast mattered more.
Yuma accepted that as a sign and went to eat too.
After all, he was apparently going to be the referee soon.
***
Two hours later, everyone who had witnessed the kitchen argument gathered in Akira's basement.
Calling it a basement felt wrong.
It was more like an underground training facility disguised as part of a mansion. The home gym alone was larger than most rooms Yuma had ever been in, and in the center of it sat a full boxing ring.
Inside the ring, Akira and Aymar stood in opposite corners.
Aymar tightened the laces on his gloves with impatient, messy pulls. Akira stretched his shoulders and rolled his neck, calm in a way that only made him look more dangerous.
Yuma lifted the ropes and stepped into the ring.
Standing between them, he looked from one side to the other.
It disturbed him a little that a petty argument had escalated into an official sparring match.
But deep down, he knew this was probably for the best.
If they were going to fight together, they needed to understand each other's strengths. If they were going to distrust each other, they might as well get some of that aggression out now instead of during an actual battle.
Akira took a drink from his water bottle, then put in his mouthguard and secured his helmet.
Keisuke offered Aymar water.
Aymar refused it, shoved his mouthguard in sloppily, and strapped on the red helmet.
Yuma raised both hands, calling them toward the center.
The two stepped forward, eyes locked on each other.
"Clean fight," Yuma said, projecting his voice. "No cheap shots. Nothing below the belt. And to refresh you both—if Aymar wins both sparring sessions, Akira backs off and starts trusting him. If Akira wins both, Aymar answers every question until Akira is satisfied."
Aymar's eyes narrowed.
Akira didn't blink.
"Is that clear?" Yuma asked.
Both of them nodded once.
Neither looked away.
Yuma glanced between them one more time.
"Alright. Touch gloves. Best of three."
He stepped back until his shoulders met the ropes.
Akira and Aymar tapped gloves quickly, then separated.
The match began.
They circled each other slowly at first, feet light against the mat.
Yuma kept his attention on them—until whispering from outside the ring pulled at his focus.
"Wanna start a bet?" Daya asked.
Yuma's eyes shifted.
Keisuke perked up immediately.
"Hell yeah. Six hundred yen on Aymar."
Kae hesitated, then raised her hand slightly.
"Five hundred on Akira."
Daya smirked, clearly a little amused by how quickly they agreed. She held out her palm, collecting their money before adding her own.
"Four hundred on Akira."
Keisuke's expression faltered.
"You're betting against Aymar?"
Daya shrugged.
"He gets stupid when he's excited."
That did not inspire confidence.
Yuma looked back at the ring, then raised his voice.
"One thousand yen on Aymar."
Daya's smirk returned.
She didn't say anything.
She only nodded.
Yuma couldn't exactly climb out and hand her the money, so his word would have to count for now.
Then movement flashed in the corner of his eye.
Akira struck first.
His left jab snapped forward with terrifying speed.
Aymar barely slipped it, tilting his head just enough for the glove to cut past his cheek. He stepped back once, then lunged in with a hook aimed at Akira's side.
Akira blocked it with his arm.
Then he drove a counter straight into Aymar's stomach.
The impact folded Aymar forward.
He dropped to one knee with a sharp groan.
Yuma stepped between them and raised his hand.
"One point to Akira!"
Akira backed away without a word.
Aymar sucked in a breath, one glove pressed to his stomach, then pushed himself back up and returned to his corner.
Outside the ring, Daya's grin looked annoyingly pleased.
After a short break, both fighters returned to the center.
Yuma backed toward the ropes again, and as he did, Daya leaned her arms over the bottom rope, looking up at him.
"Regretting your bet yet?"
Yuma kept his eyes on the fighters.
"There are two more rounds. It's not over."
"You sound real confident for someone down a thousand yen."
Yuma ignored her.
Daya chuckled and returned to her seat, looking like she already knew he would be eating those words soon.
The second round started.
This time, Aymar moved differently.
Yuma noticed it almost immediately.
Aymar wasn't charging in with the same reckless excitement. His shoulders had loosened. His steps were lighter. His eyes tracked Akira's hands instead of his face.
He was adapting.
Akira threw a jab.
Aymar slipped it.
Akira followed with another.
Aymar shifted away again, then snapped forward with a short punch that Akira blocked.
Their rhythm changed fast.
Akira attacked with sharp, clean movements. Aymar answered with instinct and awkward angles, slipping under punches instead of taking them directly. He didn't seem to like blocking. Every time Akira forced him to guard, Aymar looked irritated, like stopping an attack with his arms offended him.
Yuma wanted to ask about it.
But not now.
Akira pressed forward, trying to trap Aymar with another jab.
Aymar ducked beneath it.
His feet shifted.
His body turned.
Then his glove drove into Akira's left side.
Akira's breath left him in a rough wheeze.
He staggered and dropped to one knee.
"Crap…" Akira muttered under his breath.
Aymar stood over him with a proud grin.
Yuma's eyebrows lifted.
Then he quickly stepped between them, fighting back his own smile.
"Akira's down! One point to Aymar!"
A little too much confidence slipped into his voice.
Akira glared at him from beneath his helmet.
Yuma looked away like he hadn't noticed.
Aymar shot Yuma an arrogant smirk, as if promising his bet was safe, then returned to his corner.
The score was tied.
Outside the ring, everyone moved closer.
Even Kae, who looked nervous about the whole thing, leaned in to watch.
Yuma raised his hands once both fighters were ready.
"Round three! Tie-breaker!"
Akira and Aymar stepped forward.
Yuma's heart beat a little faster despite himself.
"Start!"
The final round began.
Everyone expected another long exchange.
Another test.
Another back-and-forth clash of pride and technique.
That wasn't what happened.
Akira moved first.
No hesitation.
No feeling out.
No warning.
He launched forward with a single jab, faster and harder than anything he had thrown before. Sweat flew from his chin. His silver hair clung to his forehead. His entire body drove behind the punch.
Aymar's eyes widened.
For a split second, he didn't move.
He froze.
Not like he misread the punch.
Not like he was too slow.
He froze like his body had forgotten it was allowed to react.
BAM.
Akira's glove slammed into his face.
Aymar flew backward into the ropes, the force of the hit and his own startled recoil sending him crashing against them.
The ropes caught him and bent under his weight.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Aymar hung there, groaning softly.
Blood trickled from his nose, sliding over his upper lip before dripping onto the mat.
Akira's glare remained for half a second longer.
Then his expression shifted.
He realized what he had done.
Akira ripped off his gloves and rushed forward.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice still plain but tight with remorse. "I didn't mean to overdo it."
Aymar waved him off and wiped the blood from his nose with his arm.
Yuma came over quickly, checking the damage as the others gathered near the ropes.
Aymar didn't look angry.
That surprised Yuma more than the blood.
He looked embarrassed.
Frustrated.
Like the punch itself wasn't what bothered him.
"It's fine," Aymar grumbled. "I'm just annoyed I froze like that."
Akira ignored the dismissal and kept checking his face anyway.
Yuma took a small step back, watching them.
For all their hostility, Akira's concern was real.
And for all Aymar's attitude, he wasn't pushing him away as hard as he could have.
Yuma's gaze shifted to Daya.
She stood just outside the ropes near Aymar, looking up at him with a grin.
Yuma had expected panic. Anger. Maybe even for her to threaten Akira.
Instead, she looked perfectly calm.
Then her eyes slid toward Yuma.
Her grin widened.
"We won the bet," she said smugly. "You and Keisuke have to pay up."
Yuma stared at her.
That was what she cared about?
Aymar was bleeding, Akira looked guilty, and Daya was collecting money.
Keisuke slowly looked away, already regretting his choices.
Yuma sighed.
A bet was a bet.
He nodded reluctantly.
Then he looked from Akira's bruised knuckles to Aymar's bloody grin.
The boxing match was over.
Now came Akira's choice.
Swordfighting.