The shimmering lights of Iwatodai gleamed on the horizon, illuminating the dusk like a thousand jewels. The maze of skyscrapers and old temples intertwined in an intricate dance, blurring the line between modernity and tradition. A thin mist hung low, enveloping the streets, lending an air of mystique and enigma to the city.
In a car advancing towards the heart of the settlement sat a young teenager, his hazel brown eyes reflecting the mesmerizing cityscape. The slim frame of his body was deceptive, hiding a well-toned musculature developed from years of rigorous boxing training. Short and silver hair, unusual for his age, cascaded neatly to the sides, giving him an air of mature intensity. He wore a loose-fitting white shirt that did little to hide the anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins.
Beside him, a robust man in his early fifties maneuvered the vehicle with practiced ease. His once-black hair now streaked with grey, the lines on his face a testament to the years spent in the boxing world, first as a fighter and then as a mentor. Despite the evident signs of aging, the man’s eyes sparkled with an unyielding spirit. His strong hands gripped the steering wheel, contrasting with the gentle hum that escaped his lips as he sang along to a tune on the radio.
Miki...
“You okay there, champ?” the man glanced towards the boy, noting his introspective demeanor.
The boy nodded, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the leather upholstery. “Just thinking about the match tomorrow.”
"You've been training hard, and your skills are unmatched in all of Kansai. Don't let nerves get the best of you.”
Navigating the web of old alleys and contemporary streets, the car passed under the shadow of an ancient shrine, its torii gate seeming to guard the city from unseen forces. Street lamps cast an amber glow, painting everything in a warm, yet slightly ominous light, reminiscent of times when tales of spirits and folklore were whispered in hushed tones.
“Honestly, it’s not just the match,” the silver haired teenager admitted, looking down at a pair of boxing gloves attached to the backpack lying on his feet: a gift from the coach after his first competitive win. “It’s… being back here.”
The car's atmosphere grew heavier. The coach’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know, kiddo. It’s where everything changed for you.”
The “everything” he referred to was more than just the towering skyscrapers or the city's mysterious vibe. It was about the boy’s past, a monumental tragedy that had left an indelible mark on his soul. The weight of that memory clung to the aspiring boxer like a shadow, inseparable and omnipresent.176Please respect copyright.PENANA4IBfN4SFl1
As they approached their destination, the ambiance of Iwatodai seemed to grow denser, the intertwining of its ancient spirit and modern heartbeat palpable in the air. Street vendors selling trinkets and food added to the symphony of scents and sounds, a mosaic of the old and new.
Finally, they arrived to their accommodation. It was a relic from a bygone era, wooden sliding doors and tatami mats juxtaposed with modern amenities. Behind the counter stood a middle-aged woman, the innkeeper, who was sorting through some forms.
"Ah, Kentaro-san! It's been a while," she greeted the man, looking up with a broad smile. "I trust you're here for a tournament?”
Kentaro nodded, returning the smile. He proudly placed a hand on the shoulder of his protégé, "Indeed, Suzuki-san. My boy here is a featherweight. He has his first Junior title fight tomorrow."
“Sanada Akihiko”. The teenager introduced himself with a bow, "Nice to meet you, Suzuki-san."
Mrs. Suzuki eyed him appreciatively. "Such a serious young man! And quite the boxer, I can see.” She looked back at Kentaro, “I've reserved your usual room, Kentaro-san."
As they wrapped up the check-in formalities, Mrs. Suzuki inquired, "Do you need a wake-up call or any morning arrangements for the big day?"
Kentaro pondered for a moment. "A wake-up call at 7 a.m. would be great. We have some training drills before the match."
"Understood. I'll set it up," she confirmed, scribbling down the note, “I’ll also prepare breakfast for you. Gotta fuel up for the big occasion.”
The pair ascended the stairs to their room. Just as they were about to disappear from view, Mrs. Suzuki called out, "Best of luck for your match, Akihiko-kun! We'll all be cheering for you!"
“Thank you, ma’am,” Akihiko replied, appreciating the warmth of the sentiment, “I’ll do my best.”
The boxer and his coach moved through the passageway and found their room. It was cozy, with twin beds separated by a nightstand. Akihiko placed his backpack on one of them, unpacking his gear. He paused, holding his boxing gloves close. He thought of someone especial to him. He wished she could see him now, see how far he’d come. He whispered to himself, “This one will be for you, sis.”
As he finished unpacking his belongings and changing his clothes, Kentaro looked at Akihiko. “Get some rest, champ. Tomorrow, it's just you and the ring.”
Akihiko sighed, “And the memories…”
Kentaro chuckled softly, “And the memories. But remember, they made you who you are today. A fighter.”
Lying down, Akihiko mumbled more to himself than to Kentaro, “That I am. Always will be.”
After a while, Kentaro turned off the lights in the room, and the two of them prepared to try to fall asleep. The silence seemed conducive to it happening very soon.
However, as the clock ticked closer to midnight, Akihiko's thoughts raced, stirring up a forgotten terror. It was an unsettling event he used to experience in that city: his hometown. The athlete couldn’t shake off the nagging premonition that he would live the “nightmare” again.
Outside, the lights of Iwatodai blinked, casting long, dancing shadows on the streets. Akihiko closed his eyes, focusing on the match and pushing away the rising dread. Tomorrow was a new day, and he was ready to achieve the first major feat of his boxing career.
But deep down, he couldn't escape the feeling that this trip to Iwatodai was going to change his life in other ways he could still not foresee.
Would his “midnight paralysis” return? Would he find himself trapped with the unspeakable horrors of that macabre, timeless void once more?
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