"Box!”78Please respect copyright.PENANAZKkbfSgOgF
The bell thundered in the hall.78Please respect copyright.PENANAvHhddMfANG
A sharp staccato of rubber soles against the polished floor punctuated the charged ambiance as Akihiko moved around the ring. The thrum of excitement from the crowd filled the air, a living thing that seemed to pulse with the beat of a heart. Across from Akihiko, Ryou "Spider" Sugimoto bounced from foot to foot, his blue gloves like an expanse of ocean in stark contrast to Akihiko's red gear. Their stares locked in a moment of mutual assessment, each warrior gauging the other.
I’ll keep it together for now. The silver haired fighter coached himself internally, controlling his natural urge to go on the offensive. This is the round to ‘study’ him.
As the bell's echo faded, leaving a tension that the audience could almost reach out and grab, neither fighter rushed to engage. They orbited each other, a wary waltz of feints and half-starts, the spectators' voices a distant murmur compared to the rush of blood in Akihiko's ears.
Patience was a thin veil over Ryou's impetuous nature, and it wasn't long before he lunged forward, breaking the stalemate. His punches were a blur, a spider's limbs striking with venomous intent. But Akihiko was wind itself, each evasion a whisper of movement, each block an unspoken taunt. He slipped aside from Ryou's jabs, parried his hooks with forearms that seemed to be made of something harder than flesh and bone.
He’s fast, but he leaves some ‘holes’ open. With each exchange, Akihiko's mind worked, eyes catching the minute tells, the slight drop of a shoulder before a hook, the tensing of a cheek that preceded a jab. He was learning, cataloging Ryou's rhythm, preparing to unravel it. There's a pattern. There's always a pattern.78Please respect copyright.PENANARPvyQOZdKW
Ryou’s frustration was a palpable thing, his strikes a barrage meant to overpower. But Akihiko was far from being overwhelmed. He clearly was the one in control even without throwing yet a single punch.
Patience, patience, and then I’ll strike. He’s getting tired. His left drops after every third jab. That’s when I’ll hit him.
As the seconds ticked down, the round nearing its conclusion, Akihiko's gaze inadvertently swept the stands.
Huh?!
That’s when his eyes caught her.
Mitsuru Kirijo’s presence was a stark anomaly amidst the cheering crowd, a still point in a turning world. Her gaze was intense, unfathomable, fixed on him with an intent that seemed to stretch beyond the confines of the arena. For a split second, Akihiko was ensnared, caught in that penetrating stare that both captivated and unnerved him.
What is a girl like her doing here? the thought was a blizzard in his mental fortress, a crack in his concentration. And what’s up with that psycho stare?
He’s good. Very good. Unseen by Akihiko, Mitsuru sat with her own tumult of thoughts, her eyes never wavering from his figure in the ring..
But…
Seizing the distraction, Ryou jumped to action.
“Ugh!”
His fist connected with Akihiko's nose, a solid punch that sent a shockwave of pain and a spray of crimson. The world tilted, and gravity, that eternal jester, pulled Akihiko to the canvas.
The crowd gasped as one.
He needs to be more aware, more in control. Apparently unmoved by his plight, Mitsuru shook her head with cold disapproval, a detachment that came from years of discipline. If he’s going to face what’s out there, he can’t afford this kind of blunders… Hm?
Akihiko's spirit did not join his body on the floor; it was already rising, fueled by the burn of the hit and the sting of his pride.
Focus on the fight! You idiot! He was on his feet almost before the referee could start the count, his resolve hardening like diamond. Trickles of blood were running down his nose, a red badge of honor, as he met Ryou's confident gaze with a silent promise. You can’t afford to get distracted by some random pretty face. Not here, not ever.
Just when he was about to fulfill his revenge, the bell rang, shrill and commanding, announcing the end of the round.
Akihiko returned to his corner, his body aching, his spirit undeterred. Kentaro worked with the efficiency of a seasoned veteran, dabbing at the cut on Akihiko's nose with a calmness that was almost in contrast to the frenzy of the crowd. The cut was superficial, but the sting was a sharp reminder of the lapse in focus. Kentaro fixed a band-aid over the wound, his eyes meeting Akihiko's. "What got you so distracted out there, kiddo?" he asked while he gave him some water, his voice a blend of concern and curiosity.
The boxer offered no words, just a silent nod towards the stands, where Mitsuru sat.
The questioning in Kentaro's eyes softened into teasing, a light chuckle escaping him. "So, when were you planning to tell me about your girlfriend, huh? I always had the hunch that you were going to be a pro with the ladies."
The humor failed to land with Akihiko, his focus still entangled with the enigmatic figure of Mitsuru, and the embarrassing folly her presence induced. "She's not…! I don't even know who she is," he replied, a hint of frustration in his voice. This wasn't the time for light-hearted jokes; his head was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to reconcile the presence of the mysterious girl with the task at hand.
Kentaro clapped a hand on his shoulder, a firm anchor pulling Akihiko back to the moment. "Well, whoever this mystery 'fan' is, make sure you give her a good show next round. Playtime is over."
As the seconds ticked away, Kentaro's words settled over Akihiko, a reminder of what was at stake.
“I will,” he vowed with resolve. “But not for her. I will win this for you, and Miki”.
As he rose to his feet, his southpaw stance was unwavering, his eyes clear. The sight of Mitsuru still puzzled him, but now it was a riddle for another time. For now, there was the fight, and he would not make the same mistake again.
The bell clanged, the sound a clarion call to war. Akihiko stepped forward as a phoenix rising from ashes.
Spider Ryou was quick to meet him, his own confidence buoyed by the knockdown he'd scored in the previous round. But Akihiko was a tempest now, his movements a blend of grace and fury. He parried a swift jab from Ryou, and countered with a rapid combination, his fists punctuating his commitment to not yield again.
Ryou backpedaled, his eyes narrow, as he guarded against the onslaught. His blocks were precise, his counters sharp. Yet, for every two punches he parried, one of Akihiko's found its mark, a relentless drumbeat that slowly began to break down his solid guard.
It was clear for everyone that the cautious approach of the first round had been shed like old skin. Akihiko was no longer the pensive boxer studying his prey; he became the predator, swift and decisive.
The silver haired fighter slipped past Ryou's defenses with a fluidity that spoke of hours in the gym, each movement a honed reflex. He threw a left cross, followed by a swift uppercut. Ryou staggered, but he was the defending champion for a reason. He rallied, throwing a combination that forced Akihiko to step back, his guard up.
The crowd was on its feet now, a cacophony of cheers and gasps as the two fighters entered into an exchange of fiery blows. Akihiko's strategy was clear: for every attack Ryou mounted, he answered with two more. He was a storm, his fists the lightning, his footwork the rolling thunder. He could feel the momentum shifting, the balance of the fight tilting in his favor.
As the round wore on, Ryou's resistance began to wane, his movements betraying a weariness that his opponent was quick to exploit. A sharp one-two combination from Akihiko forced Ryou to raise his guard, and in that moment, Akihiko saw the opening he was looking for. His muscles coiled in preparation for the decisive strike, his mind raced with a clarity that bordered on preternatural.
This is it. All the training, all the pain—it leads to this moment. The memory of the night before flickered at the edge of his consciousness, a shadowy whisper, but he pushed it aside. Just a punch. That's all I need to end this.
His right hook sailed through the air, time compressing to a pinpoint around the moment of impact. When his glove landed on Ryou's jaw, Akihiko's senses flared, and he felt it—the strange, ethereal energy coursing through his fist. The force of the hit sent Ryou sprawling to the canvas.
What the...?! No, not now! Akihiko realized that it was the same power he had unwittingly summoned during the Dark Hour, a fragment of that otherworldly strength. The realization jolted him internally, a shock that ran deeper than the physicality of the fight.
Did… In the stands, Mitsuru’s reaction was instantaneous. She stood abruptly, her eyes widening both with concern for the fallen boxer and with the acute awareness of what she had just witnessed. Did he…?!
Akihiko watched Ryou, motionless on the mat.
No… Don’t tell me that he’s…!
Suddenly, Ryou’s chest rose and fell with breath while still on the floor. A wave of relief washed over the victor and the crowd.
Impressive. He manifested it even outside the Dark Hour. He doesn't realize the full extent of his power. Mitsuru’s analytical mind worked furiously, piecing together the implications. He's stronger than we thought. More dangerous. Or perhaps... more promising.
“One… Two… Three…”
Akihiko, standing in the ring, his chest heaving with exertion and epiphany, watched as the referee began the count over the still knocked-down Ryou. Yet, his mind was only partially present, the echoes of that strange energy resonating within him, a siren call to a destiny much larger than the arena he stood in.
Ryou tried to stand up, still stunned and shocked by the hit he received, but his legs refused to find their balance.
“Nine… Ten!”
The bell signaled the end of the match.
Akihiko's hands finally lowered as the referee raised them in victory. The roar of the crowd was a distant sound, drowned out by his internal admonishment.
That power... it's part of me now. But it's dangerous. I could have… I need to control it. Next time, it might not end with just a knockout.
Mitsuru's gaze lingered on Akihiko, working through the possibilities. He needs guidance, training... and the sooner, the better. She knew the dangers of an unbridled Persona, the havoc it could wreak if left unchecked. We'll have to approach him carefully. He can be a valuable asset, but more importantly, he needs to be protected from his own power until he's ready to wield it. Her resolve firmed as she proceeded to leave the hall, her expression schooled into one of calm despite the gears turning in her head.
Akihiko underwent the ceremonial granting of the champion belt, the leather and metal a weighty testament to his skill. Yet, the accolade felt distant, secondary to the enigma that was the girl on the stands that almost jeopardized his victory.
Who are you? He watched her weave through the crowd. As the applause thundered around him, Akihiko's hands automatically gripped the belt. Why do I have the feeling that we've met before?
Outside the sports center, the air of the afternoon was a cool caress compared to the heated atmosphere inside. Mitsuru Kirijo walked briskly, her steps measured, her mind still replaying the scenes from the boxing match. A few paces behind, a discreet detail of undercover bodyguards in casual clothes maintained a respectful distance, shadows moving in sync with her.
As she rounded the corner of the building, she found Shuji Ikutsuki waiting for her, his expression one of mild amusement mixed with intrigue. He had also been an spectator of the match.
"Quite the spectacle, wasn't it?" he began, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken implications.
"Indeed. Sanada's performance was... enlightening." There was a pause, a moment where her usual composure seemed to waver under the gravity of her thoughts.
Ikutsuki nodded, adjusting his glasses with a scholarly gesture. "It's clearer now why you were so adamant about recruiting him. The boy is excellent Persona user material, perhaps even more than we initially anticipated."
"How do you suggest we approach him, Ikutsuki-san?" Mitsuru inquired, her voice steady yet seeking guidance in his adult experience. "He's unaware of the larger battle we're engaged in, and I fear the truth might be too much for him to bear."
Ikutsuki paused, his gaze drifting to the sky. "Persuasion is an art, especially when the canvas is as unique as Akihiko Sanada. But I suspect this will be 'easier' than you anticipate. He's already touched by the Dark Hour. He may feel isolated by his experiences, and that can be... persuasive on its own."
Mitsuru considered this.
"And if he resists? If he refuses?"
"Then we adapt. But remember, people like Akihiko — they seek challenges, they crave understanding of their own limits. We simply need to present this as the next frontier for him to conquer." Ikutsuki chuckled lightly, his eyes glinting behind his glasses. "And let's not forget, every boxer knows that sometimes the right hook can lead to a knockout opportunity. Let's hope Akihiko sees the 'punch' line in what we're offering."
They shared a brief look of understanding before delving into the heart of the matter.
"Recruitment will be a delicate matter," Mitsuru mused. "We have to arrange this carefully. Present our case with conviction."
Ikutsuki's expression turned more serious, though the twinkle in his eye remained. "Speaking of which, Mitsuru, will you be available tomorrow after your classes? It might be the perfect time to pay our precious ‘candidate’ a visit. A Monday is as good a day as any to start a new chapter, after all."
"I'll make the time," Mitsuru confirmed, the gears of planning already turning. "We mustn't delay. Sanada is at a crossroads, and it's imperative we guide him down the right path."
As they walked away from the sports center, the conversation between Mitsuru and Ikutsuki drifted into plans and possibilities.
The future was uncertain, a tapestry of shadows and light.78Please respect copyright.PENANAFypAXmHmFy