Novel Full Chapter 673: The Man Who Didn’t Break
Chapter 673: The Man Who Didn’t Break
Nakahara watches him for a moment, then gives a small nod. From the way Kenta speaks, it’s clear enough that he didn’t lose himself in that round.
He’s no longer losing himself because of the pressure. He was still observing, still putting things together even while getting pressed like that.
And indeed, that’s how Kenta has always been at his core. Reserved, patient, not easily shaken, not easily dragged into panic or emotion. And in the second round, even with everything coming at him, that part of him is still there.
“Good,” Nakahara says, crouching a little closer. “Now we can talk about strategy.”
Kenta nods once. “Alright… what should I do next?”
“Before that,” Nakahara waves him off lightly. “I need you to understand how he approaches most of his fights.”
Kenta leans forward, both elbows resting on his thighs, listening.
“He’s similar to Paul Ramos in that he overwhelms with volume and pressure,” Nakahara continues. “But the structure is different. Ramos throws long, continuous combinations in one stream of straight punches. But this one… He works in sets. Three sequences, separated by short resets.”
Kenta nods. “Yeah… he resets without really stepping back. It feels like one long combination, but it’s not. It’s broken into three parts before he finally pulls away.”
Nakahara raises two fingers. “And he has two types. Longer combinations if he can afford it, shorter ones when he doesn’t get enough break.”
Before he can continue, Kurogane cuts in. “Hold on, Kaicho. Isn’t that only for the early rounds? After that, he usually closes in and turns it into in-fighting. That’s what we’ve seen. Ryoma said the same thing.”
Nakahara glances at him. “He shifts once he’s done enough damage. Once his opponent is worn down, physically and mentally.” His eyes return to Kenta. “In this case, he’ll need more time.”
Kurogane frowns. “You sure? Didn’t you see how he raised his hand just now?”
“I saw it,” Nakahara replies. “He rarely does it, and never this early. That wasn’t confidence. That was a bluff. He knows Kenta isn’t reacting the same way anymore.”
Then he focuses fully on Kenta again. “Next round, keep the pendulum. Slow the pace. If he still forces you to the ropes, then your job is to limit him to those shorter combinations.”
Kenta exhales quietly. “How?”
“Interrupt his breaks,” Nakahara says. “You don’t need to win the exchange. Just show him you see the gap. He’ll rush to cover it, forces him to step in back, and relay on those shorter sequences.”
Kenta nods slowly. “So I’m still defending… and giving up another round.”
“Just this one,” Nakahara says. “Stay patient. Let him think he’s in control. But we decide how he gets that control.”
Meanwhile, the red corner has also finished their assessment on Kenta. And just as Nakahara predicted, the champion’s camp decides to stick with the current approach.
“Alright, take another round,” Hermosa says, his tone calm, almost routine. “Keep the pressure the same. Stay measured, straight, consistent. Don’t get too deep with it. Break him down first without giving him anything back. We finish him after this.”
Dela Cruz nods once. “I’ll give him this,” he says, a faint smirk forming. “He’s more resilient than I expected. Probably the most durable out of everyone I’ve faced. I bet he used to get bullied back in school. And then became a boxer to change his life.”
He rolls his neck slightly, eyes already drifting back toward the center of the ring.
“But he’s slow,” he adds, the confidence never dipping. “And that’s not going to change overnight.”
The official calls for seconds out, his voice cutting clean through the corner. Hermosa gives a firm pat on his champion’s shoulder, a faint smile still lingering from the remark.
“Just don’t bully him unnecessarily,” he says. “Finish it clean, show some respect. Image still matters in this business.”
Dela Cruz rises from the stool, a quiet chuckle still in his chest. “Don’t worry,” he replies. “I’ll give them a show. No way a slow old man like him is going to spoil my legacy.”
Even as the last of his team steps away from the apron, the easy grin still doesn’t leave Dela Cruz’s face. The confidence lingers, looking casual, almost careless.
But the moment his eyes settle across the ring and lock onto Kenta, something in that expression begins to shift. The smile fades gradually, replaced by something else.
He isn’t wrong about what he said; Kenta is slower, that much is clear. But that second round leaves behind a different impression, something that doesn’t quite sit comfortably beneath that simple assessment.
There’s a restraint in Kenta now, a composure that wasn’t there before, and underneath it, something harder to read, something that hasn’t fully surfaced yet. Something he saw in Kenta during his fight against Liam Kuroda.
It doesn’t unsettle him though. If anything, it pulls at his interest. There’s a tension in Kenta’s calm, like something waiting to break loose, and Dela Cruz finds himself leaning into that possibility rather than backing away from it.
“If there’s really something buried under that reserved exterior, then I want it out in the open.”
“I wants the moment it surfaces, so I can shut it down and make it clear just how high I stand.”
“You better not disappoint me, Moriyama…”
“It’s the sole reason I accepted this fight in the first place.”
The bell for the third round rings out, sharp and immediate.
Ding!
“And here we go… third round!” the lead commentator says, his voice rising with anticipation. “You have to wonder what kind of adjustments we’re about to see here.”
“Moriyama showed some composure at the end of the last round,” the second adds, more measured. “But the champion still has full control of this fight so far. Let’s see if anything changes.”
Dela Cruz moves first, stepping straight into the center with urgency in his footwork, his presence pressing forward before a punch is even thrown.
But when his hands go, the aggression tightens into discipline, a clean one-two snapping out from a comfortable range.
Kenta raises his guard and takes it head-on.
Dug. Dug.
He gives ground right after, a single step back, then another, letting the distance stretch just enough as his body settles once more into that slow, swaying pendulum rhythm.
He doesn’t rush, doesn’t force anything, letting the motion come back to him as naturally as his breathing.
“There it is again,” the lead commentator cuts in. “Moriyama going straight back to that pendulum rhythm.”
“He’s not rushing into anything,” the second adds. “Just trying to slow it down, rebuild himself after that pressure in the first two rounds.”
“It worked in small moments before,” the lead continues. “The question is… can he hold onto it longer this time?”