The celebration started because Jin ordered extra rice.
That was it.
That was the trigger.
They'd barely sat down in the cramped yakiniku place—one of those spots where the tables were sticky no matter how much they wiped them and the smoke clung to your clothes like a souvenir—when Jin looked at the menu, nodded once, and said, "I'll get two sets. And rice. Extra."
The table went silent.
Then Shimada Haru slammed both hands down so hard the chopsticks jumped.
"HE'S EATING."
"I always eat," Jin said calmly.
"NO," Shimada corrected, eyes shining. "You're EATING."
Mori leaned back, arms crossed, satisfied. "Told you he was holding back."
Sato adjusted his glasses. "Statistically, post-fight caloric intake increases by—"
"No MATH," Shimada shouted.
Across the table, Aoki Masaru was already ordering wildly. "Add sausages! And kimchi! And—wait, is that a dessert menu?"
Kimura sighed. "You're not the one who fought."
"That's why I'm celebrating extra," Aoki replied.
Ippo smiled, quiet but glowing, watching Jin like he was trying to memorize the night. "You really looked calm out there."
Jin considered that. "It was loud."
Takamura snorted. "That's the dumbest way to describe a fight I've ever heard."
Mari sat beside Jin, elbow resting on the table, chin propped on her hand. "You were fine."
"You say that like you expected it," Jin said.
She smirked. "I did."
The food arrived in waves.
Meat sizzling. Plates clattering. Steam rising like a signal flare.
Shimada immediately stood up. "SPEECH."
"No," Jin said.
"TOAST?"
"No."
"RE-ENACTMENT?"
"Absolutely not."
Too late.
Shimada was already shadowboxing between tables, wildly overexaggerating footwork, nearly knocking into a waitress.
"AND THEN—WHOOSH—BAM—"
"I did not jump like that," Jin said.
"You FELT like you did," Shimada insisted.
Mori leaned over to Jin. "Honestly, your pivot in the third round—"
Sato interrupted. "—was more about timing than angle."
They argued.
Jin ate.
Halfway through his second bowl of rice, Jin realized something else had changed.
No one was talking over him anymore.
They still yelled. Still joked. Still argued. But when Jin spoke, people paused. Looked. Listened.
It was subtle.
But it was there.
He didn't know how he felt about it yet.
"HEY UNDEFEATED," Aoki suddenly shouted.
Everyone froze.
Jin looked up slowly. "Don't call me that."
Takamura grinned. "Too late. It's written."
"Written where?"
"Your soul."
Kagawa's voice cut in from the end of the table, calm and firm. "Erase it."
Everyone snapped their mouths shut.
The coach sipped his tea. "One win doesn't make you special."
Jin nodded. "Yes, sir."
Kagawa glanced at the empty plates stacking near Jin. "…You can eat more."
That was the closest thing to praise.
Mari noticed.
She always did.
After the restaurant, the group spilled out onto the street in disorganized clusters.
Shimada declared the night historic.
Aoki tried to arm wrestle Kimura and lost.
Ippo apologized to a lamppost after bumping into it.
Jin walked a little behind with Mari.
The city was quieter now. Neon signs buzzing. Pavement still warm underfoot.
"You okay?" Mari asked.
"Yes."
"Not sore?"
"A little."
She nodded. "It'll be worse tomorrow."
"I figured."
They walked in silence for a bit.
Then Mari said, "People are going to start watching you now."
Jin didn't answer immediately.
"That's fine," he said eventually. "As long as they don't expect me to change."
She smiled. "They will."
"And?"
"You won't."
She reached into a vending machine slot and handed him a bottle without asking.
He took it. "Thank you."
Their fingers brushed.
Neither commented.
Later that night, Jin stopped by the gym.
He didn't plan to.
His feet just took him there.
The lights flicked on one by one, revealing the familiar mess—gloves on benches, the whiteboard smeared with half-erased notes, the broken fan still sitting uselessly in the corner.
Someone had written on the board.
AKIYAMA JIN — 1–0
Underlined twice.
Jin stared at it for a long moment.
Then he picked up the eraser.
He wiped away the underline.
Left the rest.
He stepped into the ring and stood there, hands on his hips, breathing in the quiet.
The canvas still felt the same.
That mattered.
The next morning, Jin woke up sore.
Very sore.
He lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, then sat up slowly.
"Ah," he said. "There it is."
At the gym, everyone noticed.
"YOU'RE WALKING LIKE AN OLD MAN," Shimada shouted.
"I am in my twenties," Jin replied. "This is normal."
Mori tossed him a towel. "Good win."
"Thank you."
Sato nodded. "Your fundamentals held."
Ippo smiled. "I learned a lot watching you."
That one made Jin pause.
"…I'm glad."
Mari arrived last, coffee in hand, eyes scanning Jin automatically.
"You're stiff," she said.
"Yes."
"Good," she replied. "Means it was real."
Jin wrapped his hands slowly, methodically.
Outside, the city moved on like nothing had happened.
Inside, the gym buzzed the same way it always had—loud, messy, alive.
Jin finished taping and looked up at the ring.
He smiled.
Not wide.
Not proud.
Just warm.
END OF CHAPTER
Author's Note:
Thanks for reading! 🙏
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