The money alone could completely change his life. Not just for him, but for his parents too. His father wouldn’t question about his future anymore. And beyond the money, there is something pulling at Kenta even harder than financial security.

It’s the recognition, the chance to stop being an invisible undercard fighter, the chance to become somebody people actually know. Because working under a giant company like NSN would change everything around him overnight.

Maybe Nakahara is right. Maybe the entire thing really is a trap. But if he walks away from this, then what? Going back to his father without ever proving he could truly succeed in boxing?

Kenta lowers another apple onto the rack carefully, his jaw tightening slightly. He reaches for another one, but pauses halfway, the fruit still resting in his palm.

Meanwhile, Moriyama is already standing behind him. He’s been there for over a minute now. Not long, but long enough to notice the strange stillness in his son.

"What are you doing, Kenta?"

Kenta blinks once, as if returning from somewhere far away, then places the apple onto the rack.

"It’s nothing."

"Look, son," Moriyama says as he walks over, "if Nakahara sees you working here again, he’ll end up scolding me instead."

"No, he won’t," Kenta says quietly. "And it’s not like he’s going to come here anyway. There’s no reason for him to."

Moriyama’s expression sharpens slightly at that answer. Something about the tone feels wrong immediately.

"Why? Did he scold you too?" he scoffs lightly, trying to brush it aside with a joke while stepping beside him to help arrange the fruits. "You two having a fight or something?"

Then the humor slowly fades from his face. "Or maybe..." He glances sideways toward Kenta. "You’re actually thinking about retiring after that loss?"

Kenta pauses for a brief moment, but says nothing. He simply finishes emptying the crate before turning toward the storage area in the back.

He crouches slightly and reaches for another crate of fruits, preparing to lift it. But before he can, Moriyama is already there. The father pats his arm once, then takes the crate himself.

"I told you already," he mutters while lifting it. "That old Nakahara will blame me again." He starts walking back toward the front of the store. "Focus on you recovery. I don’t want to become the scapegoat when you lose another fight."

The sarcasm in his voice is obvious. It’s the kind of dry humor he always uses to close distance without sounding sentimental. But Kenta doesn’t take it that way. He’s taking it as if the father still hates him for being a boxer.

Kenta bends down silently, grabs another crate himself, and follows behind his father toward the storefront.

"You don’t need to worry about that anymore, Dad. I’m thinking about quitting boxing and focusing on the store from now on."

Moriyama stops immediately. He turns around slowly, his expression twisting with confusion first, then something much colder.

The crate in his hands lowers onto the ground. He takes the one from Kenta too and stacks it on top before staring directly at him.

"...What did you just say?"

Kenta scratches the side of his cheek awkwardly, still thinking part of this should have made his father relieved.

"I’ve been thinking about it for a while," he says carefully. "I know you’ve always worried about my future. And honestly, I get it. Being a professional boxer doesn’t guarantee a good life. If you can’t even become champion, then what’s the point? I don’t want to wait until my body’s broken before coming back here regretting everything."

But Moriyama doesn’t look relieved, not even slightly. His face turns sour instead, disappointment slowly settling over it as he exhales through his nose.

"For once," he says slowly, "you actually made me dare to dream big."

Kenta blinks, caught completely off guard.

"The moment you walked out of my house to pursue boxing seriously..." Moriyama continues, "...that actually changed something in me."

His eyes narrow slightly. "I was angry that night. Of course I was angry. My own son suddenly deciding to leave home without saying anything."

Then he scoffs quietly at the memory. "But at the same time... Part of me felt proud. You finally had the guts to challenge yourself. To leave your comfort zone. To risk something."

His gaze sharpens. "And ever since then, I kept waiting for you to prove that I was the one who was wrong all along."

The words hit harder than Kenta expects, sharp enough to leave him standing there without an answer for a moment. He has spent so long believing his father only disapproved of boxing that hearing pride instead almost feels unreal.

"But now?" Moriyama continues. "You lose one fight because of an unfair stoppage, and suddenly you want to quit?"

Kenta’s face tightens slightly. Even now, part of him still thinks retiring should be exactly what his father wants.

"You even dared to disobey me back then," Moriyama says. "And honestly? I respected that. Because for the first time in your life, you actually looked like a real man. Like someone willing to fight for something."

He shakes his head slowly. "But you’re still soft."

Kenta’s expression twists immediately at that. The frustration that has been building inside him since Manila suddenly stirs again.

"Kenta, listen carefully," Moriyama says firmly. "It’s not that I hate boxing. And it’s not that I desperately want you to inherit this store."

He gestures around them. "What I hated was watching you drift through life without direction. Training every day without progress, without urgency, without any real ambition, while acting comfortable with it."

His voice lowers slightly. "That’s why I thought helping here would at least give your life stability."

Then he points toward Kenta’s chest. "But you finally changed. You challenged yourself. You showed courage. Then you lost one fight, and now you’re trying to run away from all of it. So tell me, where did that courage disappear to?"

The words settle heavily inside Kenta, not because they feel unfair, but because for the first time, he understands what his father has actually been trying to say all this time.

That realization lands almost like a slap across the face. His father never hated the sport itself. He hated the softness in him.

And somehow, the expression his father shows him now begins overlapping with another memory. Ryoma standing across from him during sparring, provoking him over and over again, calling him soft, telling him to stop hesitating, to stop moving like he’s afraid of someone getting hurt.

"Come on, Kenta. Be a man for once."

Back then, Kenta thought Ryoma was simply being harsh in his own way. But now the words return with a different weight. Hearing almost the same thing from his own father hurts far more.

Because it forces him to look at himself honestly; twenty-seven years old, the oldest son in the family, a professional boxer who has already gone through brutal training camps, hard fights, and years of sacrifice.

And yet, after one devastating loss, his first instinct is still to retreat somewhere safe, back home, back to a life where failure no longer risks anything.

Kenta swallows hard, finally looking like he’s about to say something in return. But before the words can leave his mouth, his phone suddenly rings, cutting through the tension between them.

He takes it from his pocket and glances at the screen.

"...It’s Coach Nakahara."

Kenta brings the phone to his ear. Moriyama watches quietly as his son turns silent, listening for several seconds without saying much. Then finally...

"Yes... I’ll be there."

The call ends. Kenta lowers the phone and immediately starts walking toward the front of the store in a hurry, his steps quick and distracted, like his mind has already moved somewhere else entirely.

For a brief moment, it almost feels like he has forgotten his father is still standing there. But just before stepping outside, Kenta suddenly stops, and turns back slightly.

"Sorry, Dad," he says. "I need to go. That old man wants to see me."

Moriyama simply gives him a small nod. Kenta turns again and starts walking away, only making it a couple of steps before stopping once more.

This time, when he looks back, the hesitation is gone from his face. He bows deeply toward his father, holding the position for several quiet seconds before finally straightening up and leaving.