Ryoma turns back to Kaede and offers a quiet smile, saying nothing. Kotake Shiba stays silent too, watching them with the ease of someone far too comfortable around someone else’s girlfriend.
Kaede senses the subtle shift in the mood, though she can’t quite place its cause.
"Sorry, Ryoma, I can’t stay," she says after a pause. "We’re heading out for dinner. But I just wanted to say, I’m really proud of you. You must be exhausted. Get some rest, okay? You’ve earned a peaceful night."
"Are you free this weekend?" Ryoma asks, too quickly.
She blinks, caught off guard. "Maybe. I’ll let you know?"
She smiles, the polite kind of smile, the kind that keeps you warm just long enough for you not to notice the chill that follows.
Then she turns, and the group follows. Kotake gives Ryoma a small nod, nothing smug, nothing cruel. But to Ryoma, it feels like the way someone nods at a man who’s already lost.
"You sly bastard! I’m not letting you steal her this time... not in this life."
***
The walk home is long. Rain hasn’t started yet, but Ryoma can already smell it in the wind, damp concrete, the sting of ozone, the faint, sour trace of city gutters before a downpour.
He passes the same old vending machines with their flickering lights, the bus stop with the broken bench, the corner store that never seems to change its faded posters.
His footsteps echo against familiar sidewalks, but none of it feels like it belongs to him anymore. It’s like walking through a memory someone else wore down before him.
When he finally stops, it’s in front of an apartment he knows, except something’s off. The nameplate on the door isn’t his. He stares for a long moment, waiting for recognition to kick in.
Then it hits him.
"Of course."
"I don’t live here yet. Not for a while."
The realization settles over him like fog, slow and heavy. Because Ryoma is only nineteen now, just a year after graduating high school.
This was supposed to be the start of everything. He hadn’t signed with a sponsor yet, hadn’t saved enough to move out, hadn’t been dumped, hadn’t broken... and hadn’t lost his mom yet.
He turns away from the door and begins walking again. Faster now, pulled by something older than instinct.
***
The streets grow narrower as he goes, quieter, tucked in the folds of a neighborhood untouched by time. A cat darts across the sidewalk, tail low and twitching. The streetlamps buzz like tired thoughts.
And then he sees it, Takeda Barber. The metal shutter is rolled halfway down. The fluorescent lights inside still glow. The window is fogged slightly from the warmth, and behind the glass, he sees her.
"Mom..."
It’s Keiko Takeda, the one person he lost without ever really saying goodbye. There’d been no last words, no final hug, only flashing lights and a zipped-up body bag. It’s his first ever regret, the greatest one.
And now here she is, wiping down the same counter, sleeves rolled up, hair is in its usual loose clip. There’s a cigarette in the tray beside her, unlit. A familiar old radio plays low behind the curtain.
She moves like she always did, tired, precise, unaware that her son’s world had totally broken without her.
Ryoma doesn’t move yet, not even a step. His breath sticks in his throat. He stares, unsure if his eyes are lying. Unsure if this is some cruel mirage crafted by a twisted sense of mercy.
She turns for a moment to grab something off the back shelf. And even that, just the way she turns, unlocks something in him. A memory, a thousand fragments from a life already lived, things he thought were gone forever.
He almost calls her out, almost. But he just stands there at the corner, watching, remembering. And for the first time since waking in this strange miracle of a second life, Ryoma doesn’t think about boxing. Or Kaede. Or even the truck that took his left leg.
As the longing builds and presses against his chest, his legs begin to move without him knowing. The closer he gets, the more the shop looms above him, each step narrowing his field of vision.
His perspective collapses, shrinking down to the light in the window and the figure moving inside it.
Then he stops, right in front of the door. His lips tremble. A hot sting rises behind his eyes.
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, only a raw choked sound.
"M... mom."
Before he can say more, she notices him. Her head tilts slightly as she steps into view.
"Ryoma? What are you doing just standing there?"
Her voice is casual, just like always. But to him, it lands like thunder. It shakes something loose inside him, confirming this isn’t a dream, not an echo or a hallucination.
She doesn’t realize yet. She doesn’t know what her face means to him in this moment. She simply wipes her hands, gives the rag a final shake, and pulls the shutter down with a clatter.
She glances over her shoulder.
"Let’s go," he says quickly, already walking. "You must be hungry. Hmm... what should we eat tonight? Well, I doubt I’ll be able to cook this late."
She smiles faintly and glances over her shoulder.
"Say, Ryoma... want to eat outside for once?"
He tries to answer but still finds it hard to speak. The words catch in his throat.
That’s when she turns fully, stepping closer, her expression shifting as she studies his face under the streetlight.
"Son... are you...?" Her voice trails off. "Are you crying?"
She moves toward him, alarm blooming in her eyes.
"What happened... Oh, that’s right! Tonight was your first professional debut."
Her hands touch his cheeks gently, like she’s checking for bruises.
"How was it? Did you win? Don’t tell me your opponent beat you so bad you came home to your mom crying!"
She says it with a chuckle, teasing, but the concern in her voice is unmistakable.
Ryoma doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts his hand slowly and reaches for hers, gently taking it away from his cheek.
His fingers wrap around hers, not tightly, just enough to feel the warmth, to confirm she’s real. And then, without a word, he steps in and pulls her into a hug.
It isn’t casual, isn’t polite. It’s the kind of embrace that wraps around her shoulders and locks in, firm and silent and shaking just a little.
"Eeh, Ryoma...?"
Ryoma still says nothing. Only sobs come, restrained, but the emotion is too strong to hold back. His arms close over her back like he’s afraid the world might steal her away if he lets go too soon.
Keiko blinks, startled at first. Her hand still clutched in his. But she doesn’t ask questions anymore. She just stays there, quiet for once, patting his back lightly.
It’s a mother’s touch, tired but steady.
No words are needed.
Not tonight.