The gym echoed with punches and kicks. Beneath the fluorescent lights, some sparred, some talked and some trained on their own, throwing punches on the air, or on sandbags. The place was bustling as it would in small town of Nagasaki.
Somewhere around the center, the coach Keichi Katsuya, the owner of gym "Keichi's Boxing" was training someone. And like always, he pushed that man very hard, like he'd do with the rest of his students. Often he'd yell 'More! More! More!' like he was preparing his students for oncoming battle. And this time wasn't much exception.
With each loud puff from those pads coming in contact with those blue gloves, came out a sort of silent cry from beneath.
"That's it! Keep pushin'! Keep pushing! Come on!" Keichi had urged. The student torn between both gladliness and frustrations obliged. Each one two combination, each right straight, liver to overhand soring his arms even further.
Then, came the finisher. His signature liver blow. It made a decent sound, and as the sound faded away, so did this student back up, eventually falling onto the matted floor.
"What's wrong? Can't stand up?"
"No, chief..."
"Why?"
"Need a break..I really do."
Keichi hummed. One that came out from disappointment, one that was like he was telling the man, 'you still got more left in you. Hurry back up'. But then he took his pads off. And then he told him, "Go and get some rest. Drink plenty of water first."
"Thanks..." said Kashiwada Imura. One of Keichi's model students. Joined the boxing gym five months ago, and he was already making a name for himself in it.
Imura was a simple and ordinary man. Yet the way some people treat him, makes him seem like a celebrity almost. He's a quiet and aloof person on the exterior, more frequently voiceful in his mind. He had a good face. A face that many admired to be child-like, and androgynous. But there was a quiet intensity around him. An intensity that stopped certain people once they know his abilities as a boxer.
But recently, he's become a target. A target for something he still doesn't know yet.
"Alright, break time's over! Time to spar!" Imura had been lost in his thoughts until that announced. He was thinking about his life. Moreso, he was thinking about what happened last time.
In the ring, he faced off against his closest opponents within this space. Himuro Katsuragi. He's a southpaw like him. But unlike Imura, his boxing was a little different. Standing around 5'11. Right where Imura stands.
"Let's go," Himuro extended his right fist. Imura touched it with his right, "Yeah."
They distanced themselves, and so the fight began. Onlookers weren't all around, watching the fight. Only a certain few. But the coach obviously was watching. Himuro took a standard boxing stance, whereas Imura was somewhere between the hitman and a casual fighting stance. His right arm hung low, but his slightly straight. Almost like he was too relaxed for the fight. Like the kind you'd see in kyoukushin karate.
Himuro made the first move. He was bobbing his head at high speed until he threw three consecutive strikes aimed at Imura's torso. Imura blocked the first and second, but took the third oh around his ribs. Fortunately, it barely hurt him.
Himuro feinted right, then he feinted left. He threw a sharp jab at Imura's abdomen, dashing along the way. But Imura was on pursuit. He chased after him and threw consecutive punches at him. Himuro tried to brawl, but it was too short. Imura launched a quick hook to his temple- the fist stopped.
Then came the strike to the liver.
Himuro took it clean. And yet it didn't seem as though he was doing bad. That was until he started to feel pain. He started to feel it right afterwards.
He clenched his side and hung onto the ropes. Imura's stance went light then. He looked at the man with concern etched over his face. "You alright, Himuro?"
"I'm fine...don't worry." Himuro tried to grin through the pain. "Wasn't expecting round one to end this fast."
"...You concede?"
"Yeah, you know the drill. Go back to your corner,"
Imura went to his right hand corner, where he was met by a two years younger trainee, Nakamura. Eyes shining with a sense of adrenaline, he said to him, "You're as good as always, Mr.Imura!"
"Come on, it wasn't much..." Imura whipped a hand out of acknowledgement. He took a sip of water befre sitting down on the stool. A few seconds later, the fight continued.
Round two and three were an adaptation phase. Both fighters were checking their opponent. Round 2, Imura lost. Round 3, he lost again. But he was nigh-close to getting a finishing in had it not been for a faster counter coming from Himuro. Then round 4 came, and both of them were giving it their all. And the result was? Imura had won by knockout.
"Man, you're way too strong for how you look." Himuro marked. He stood up slowly, straightening his shirt. Imura simply replied, "It was a good game though..."
Coach Keichi had observed it all. And the fight ended right on time before he thought he had seen enough. He clapped his hands, signaling for the two to come out. He said with a stoic demeanour- "Alright, it's break time. Recover yourselves then come back for criticism."
By the time they were done, most people have already gone out of the gym. Aside from the seventeen year old Nakamura, who trained always with a burning passion in his heart. He was sitting alongside the two boxers in the middle of the wrestling mat. Keichi sat with folded legs, breaking down each important moment he saw during that session. He had told Imura that he was being out of touch with his usual hit and run style, thoughtfully so. He said he focused too much on power, and that's why Himuro kept getting the upperhand in intense scenarios. Imura grasped all of that, thoughtfully.
"And remember, don't let pride get in your way. No matter what you do. You got that?"
"I do, coach..." he shook his head thoughtfully.
Keichi was a profound speaking man. Whenever he gets the opportunity, he begins to speak sentences that make people reflect after simple words. And today, it was about pride that Imura got to learn. "Pride is what makes people lose. It's what destroys people from the inside. You let that encourage you, one day you will lose it all. You got that, Nakamura- Imura, and Himuro?"
"Yes we do." Said all in unison.
"Good. Now come back tomorrow."
Before Imura could go after the two went out, Keichi stopped him just near the door step, "Imura," he called. He turned back to listen.
"Be careful when you're out on the streets."
When they dispersed, Imura was the last to go. He told Himuro that he'd be walking home alone today in a reassuring tone. And so the man went by one of the newly released small motor-cars, right here in Japan. Imura watched that small car trail off into the distance of the yellow glowing roads of Nagasaki, before he began to walk his way home in the middle of the lonely pavement.
He made it seem so he didn't bother much. But really, he did.
If the coach was warning him to be careful about something. He must've really seen something. Something that he didn't want seen.
And by theory, it could possibly be the brawl he had about yesterday...And with the people he ended up defending himself against weren't upto good reputation. But they were his targets. They were he was looking for,
and he got a lead for 'somebody' he is looking for.
Since the police are taking things so slowly, Imura's going to use them as a distraction and make his move. But for now, he must stay low.
He stopped by a vending machine on his way home- by the street corner. He put a coin in, pressed a button. The machine spilled a bottle of water, and so he took it from its hatch.
But as he was standing up, he heard someone say 'That's him, right?'. Something that he felt as though it was directing to him, and not anyone else. And until the voice got even louder, and the more he was being referred to on his back, it was only getting more evident.
Oi. Oi! The man was calling for him like that. He could hear a few laughs, then he turned to his left back side and looked.
Three people. And they were the three delinquents connected to those 'people'. You could tell, because they wore the traditional all black clothing of 'Shirogane High'. It'd always have a white inkling of the first letter of 'Shirogane' on the right breast pocket. Their uniforms were properly buttoned, but the smiles they gave were one of bad news.
The one at front, short haired, moved his chin lazily and said, "Your day goin' fine, friend?"
Imura was stiff on guard. But he replied, "...It's been fine."
"Getting' yourself some water there?" he pointed at the bottle. "Yeah."
"The name's Hirose, by the way. Hirose Taka."
"Kashiwada Imura..."
Hirose looked at his gang behind him, telling them something through body language. Then he gazed over to the streets ahead from where Imura came from. "Hey, so, I've heard you do boxing there?" he said that. But his gaze didn't falter from the distance he looked.
Imura felt something drop inside him.
He kept a composed demeanour outside, but inside, he was getting worried by what the man just said. How did he know about that...?
"Keichi...Boxing, that was the name. Right?" he was glancing at each of his friends behind him. One on his right said, "Yeah.". The other shook his head. They've been told. They were told by somebody.
The need for quenching his thirst disappeared right after, Imura's stance was getting stiffer, more battle orientated. He was ready for something to happen. His free hand was clenching on the side, the one with the bottle was raised half-way. His eyes moved rushingly to the men's fists, their pockets, and then back at the leader's face.
"Hey, listen-" Hirose raised his hands up. "We ain't tryin' to pick a fight." He said, but it felt as though the news didn't just stop there. "You and I, we're both probably tired...I mean, you just went outta the gym yourself. Me and my gang here? We've spent too much time outside. But I promise you, we ain't trying to start anything today." He adjusted his shoulders.
Imura knew the kind of tactics some people use on the streets. Sometimes they'd lie about that, and then they'd attack you while you're not looking. He didn't trust the man, he was on guard of him and his friends. Hirose could see it from his silence alone.
"Yeah, he's not believing it," the one behind on his right chuckled. Then the one on the left said, "We ain't gonna do anything man. Trust me!"
Imura didn't reply.
Hirose began, chuckling, "We'll walk away first," his arms spilled down. "But first," he began to approach him. "There's something you gotta know,"
"Tomorrow's gonna be big," he whispered.
What?
That's all he said. That was enough. He gave a short salute to the man before he began to walk away with his friends. "Let's go,"
Imura saw them leave...
All three of them left. All three of them.
Tomorrow's gonna be big, he said that in a direful way. A way that hinted at what the gang was probably planning. Imura looked around for a moment, before half-way striding his way home.
Tomorrow might not go as he wanted that day to. And that worried him.
It worried him severely.