Round three began with noise.
Kurosawa charged out of his corner like he could still end it with one punch. His feet slapped the canvas harder now, balance a fraction off, breath loud enough to hear even from the stands.
Jin noticed everything.
He didn't circle wide this time.
He stayed closer.
The crowd reacted immediately—surprise rippling through them as Jin's back brushed the ropes.
"WHAT IS HE DOING?" Shimada shouted.
Mori leaned forward. "Reading him."
Kurosawa's eyes lit up. "There you are!"
He threw a combination—hook, straight, hook—fast, angry, heavy. Jin blocked the first, slipped the second, rolled under the third. The ropes trembled behind him.
Then Jin answered.
A short jab snapped Kurosawa's head back. A straight followed, clean and centered. Jin stepped out at an angle as Kurosawa swung again, the punch tearing through empty air.
Kurosawa stumbled.
Just a step.
But it was enough.
Jin went back to movement, not fleeing—guiding. Kurosawa chased, slower now, frustration leaking into every step. Each miss cost him more than it should have.
Jin tapped him again. Jab. Jab. Cross.
No power. No flourish.
Kurosawa's breathing turned ragged.
By the end of the round, Kurosawa's gloves hung lower. Jin's ribs still ached, sweat stung his eyes—but his legs felt light.
The bell rang.
Kurosawa didn't smile this time.
Between rounds, Kagawa looked at Jin.
"End it."
Jin nodded once.
Mari watched him stand. No rush. No tension. Just intent.
Round four.
Jin moved forward first.
The crowd didn't realize it immediately—only that Kurosawa was the one circling now, steps uneven, guard slow to rise.
Jin's jab changed.
It wasn't a probe anymore.
It snapped.
Kurosawa tried to answer with a right. Jin stepped inside and drove a punch into the body—right where it had hurt him earlier. Kurosawa grunted, guard dropping on instinct.
Jin didn't hesitate.
Jab. Cross.
Kurosawa's legs buckled.
He swung wildly, desperation written into every motion. Jin slipped one, two, then stepped to the side and planted another straight down the middle.
Kurosawa fell.
Not dramatic.
Just sudden.
The canvas caught him on his knees, then his hands.
The referee counted.
Kurosawa pushed up at eight—eyes unfocused, body heavy.
The referee waved it off.
For a heartbeat, there was no sound.
Then the venue exploded.
Jin stood where he was.
Chest rising. Breath steady.
He bowed.
To Kurosawa.
To the referee.
To the corner.
Across the ring, Shimada collapsed to the floor, sobbing openly. "HE DID IT."
Mori let out a breath he'd been holding for four rounds.
Kagawa adjusted his cap.
"That'll do."
Mari smiled—small, satisfied, eyes bright.
Later, in the locker room, the noise returned.
"You didn't even look tired!" Aoki yelled.
"That was terrifying," Ippo said earnestly.
Takamura crossed his arms. "Hmph. Took you long enough."
Jin sat on the bench, unwrapping his hands carefully.
"It was loud," he said.
Mari raised an eyebrow. "The crowd?"
"The bell," Jin replied.
She laughed softly.
When the venue emptied and the lights dimmed, Jin stepped back into the quiet hallway.
The fight was over.
But the silence felt different now.
The bell had rung.
And this time, it stayed with him.
END OF CHAPTER
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