The stool felt harder than before.
Jin sat down and exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Sweat rolled down his temples, tracing familiar paths across his skin. His ribs ached—dull, persistent—but the pain stayed where it belonged. Contained. Managed.
Coach Kagawa crouched in front of him, cane resting lightly against the canvas.
"You've shown it," Kagawa said calmly. "That's enough."
Jin looked up, eyes focused. "He's adjusting."
"Yes," Kagawa replied. "Which means he's thinking about you."
Across the ring, Narumi slammed back onto his stool with far less control. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, breathing heavy. His corner worked quickly—ice on the neck, water at his mouth—but their voices carried tension now.
"Don't chase him," someone said. "Break his rhythm."
Narumi nodded, jaw tight.
Easier said than done.
The bell rang for the fourth round.
Narumi came out fast.
Not measured. Not patient.
Fast.
He charged behind a stiff jab, throwing his weight into it, then followed with a wide hook meant to trap Jin near the ropes. The crowd reacted instantly, volume rising as Narumi tried to force the issue.
Jin blocked the jab.
Slipped the hook.
And stepped through the space Narumi overextended.
The Phantom Step.
Clean.
Narumi turned too late.
Jin tapped his body with a short right, then snapped a jab to the head before sliding away again. No wasted motion. No flourish.
Just consequence.
The crowd surged.
Narumi growled and pressed again, throwing a heavier right this time. Jin rolled with it, the glove grazing his shoulder, then answered with a compact left that popped Narumi's cheek.
Narumi took it—but his feet hesitated.
Just a fraction.
Momentum whispered.
Narumi tried to reclaim control by tightening his punches, keeping them short and ugly. He aimed low, digging toward the body again, hoping to slow Jin's movement.
One shot landed.
Jin felt it sink deep.
His breath hitched—but he stayed upright.
He clinched briefly, forcing separation, then moved laterally before Narumi could reset. Not running.
Repositioning.
Narumi followed, frustration bleeding into his steps. His punches came faster now, less precise. He threw a hook that cut air, then another that Jin slipped by inches.
Jin answered with a sharp one-two, the right hand cracking against Narumi's guard with a sound that echoed.
Narumi stepped back.
The crowd noticed.
Coach Kagawa's eyes never left Jin's feet.
"Good," he thought. "He's not chasing momentum."
Narumi surged again, trying to overwhelm with volume. Jin let him come—then stepped diagonally inside, shoulders brushing, guard tight. A short left to the body. A right upstairs.
Narumi's breath burst from his lungs.
He answered with a desperate hook that clipped Jin's jaw.
The impact snapped Jin's head slightly to the side.
The arena gasped.
Jin stumbled a half-step—then caught himself.
Eyes steady.
He reset his stance immediately.
Narumi saw it.
No panic.
No fear.
Only focus.
Momentum didn't shatter.
It leaned.
Narumi attacked again, sensing this was his chance. He threw a straight that Jin barely slipped, followed by a body shot that landed flush. Jin grunted softly, absorbing it, then slid sideways as Narumi tried to follow up.
The Phantom Step appeared again.
Subtle.
Efficient.
Narumi swung—and Jin was already at his flank, firing a short combination that snapped Narumi's head back once more.
The crowd exploded.
Narumi staggered two steps this time.
Not hurt enough to fall.
But hurt enough to feel it.
He steadied himself, breathing hard, eyes locked onto Jin as if trying to memorize every movement.
Why can't I catch him?
The final minute of the round burned hot.
Narumi dug deep, throwing everything into pressure—jabs, hooks, body shots—trying to force Jin to stay in front of him. Jin blocked, slipped, stepped through angles so narrow they seemed impossible.
He punished overcommitment with precision.
Not power.
Precision.
Narumi landed one final heavy right near the bell, snapping Jin's head back just enough to draw another roar from the crowd.
Jin absorbed it.
Recentered.
The bell rang.
Round four ended with both men standing—but only one looked composed.
Narumi returned to his corner breathing hard, chest heaving, frustration etched across his face.
Jin walked calmly back to his stool.
Coach Kagawa nodded once.
"Momentum," he said. "Don't waste it."
Jin closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
"I won't."
Across the ring, Narumi stared at the canvas beneath his feet.
Momentum wasn't mercy.
And it was slipping.
END OF CHAPTER
Author's Note:
Huge thanks to Anthony_Cole_3234 for the Power Stones support! 🙏
This chapter is powered by you. If you're enjoying Hajime no Ippo: The Phantom Step, please comment, vote, and add it to your library — every bit of support keeps the story moving forward!
Next chapter: Breaking Point 🥊🔥