10. New Neighbour

As the guards walked away, their footsteps echoing in the silence, Ryota's attention was completely drawn to the new prisoner. The dim lighting and heavy mist of Impel Down did little to hide the bloodied and beaten form lying motionless on the cold, hard floor of the next cell. The prisoner's breathing was shallow and uneven, every exhale accompanied by a faint wheeze that seemed to echo the pain running through his body. After looking at his condition Ryota thought that this guy would die any minute..

The middle aged man's appearance was terrifying. Blood matted his hair, and bruises covered his skin in shades of purple and blue. His clothes, torn and dirty, barely clung to his frame, revealing deep cuts and gashes that marked his flesh. Each wound seemed to tell a story of a brutal fight, and Ryota couldn't help but wonder what had led to such harsh punishment. Despite the prisoner's terrible state, there was something in his expression—an unclear mix of defiance and despair—that struck a chord with Ryota.

Ryota moved closer to the bars separating their cells, trying to get a better look. His sharp senses allowed him to pick up on the smallest details: the rise and fall of the man's chest, the trembling of his hands, the slight twitch of his fingers. The man's eyes were partially open, clouded with a distant, haunted look.

As Ryota peered through the gloom of Impel Down, the notorious underwater prison, he felt an inexplicable urge to reach out to the man in the adjacent cell. The raw brutality etched into every inch of the prisoner's body hinted at a story of immense suffering, yet there was a stubborn spark in the man's half-open eyes that refused to be extinguished.

"Can you hear me?" Ryota's voice was low but urgent, slicing through the oppressive silence that enveloped them. His words echoed briefly, swallowed by the cold, damp air of the prison. The prisoner's eyes flickered slightly, a small indication that he might have heard. Encouraged, Ryota pressed on. "How the hell did you become like this?"

The man remained silent, his chest heaving with labored breaths. For a moment, Ryota thought his words had fallen on deaf ears, but then the prisoner's fingers twitched again, and his eyes shifted ever so slightly in Ryota's direction.

The sound of occasional distant howls of the wolves were the only companions in this forsaken place. It had been quite some time since Ryota had a proper conversation with anyone.This made him even more determined to draw a response from his new neighbor.

"Hey," he called out again, softer this time, as if coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding. "What's your name?"

Even after Ryota's repeated attempts to engage him in conversation, the man remained silent. Ryota waited for a response, but the prisoner simply stared at him, his eyes betraying no emotion. His breathing was still labored, and for a moment, Ryota feared the man might not have the strength to answer. But then, with great effort, the prisoner pushed himself up, using the wall for support. He stood shakily, his body swaying slightly as if he might collapse at any moment.

Instead of responding, the man moved slowly to sit against the wall of his cell, as far from Ryota as possible. The movement was deliberate, almost defiant, as if to say that he had no intention of speaking. Ryota watched him, a mixture of frustration and curiosity flickering in his eyes. It was clear that this man had been through an unimaginable ordeal, and yet he still refused to communicate.

Ryota shrugged, deciding that he wouldn't get anything out of his new neighbor just yet. He turned away from the bars and moved back to the center of his cell, resuming his boxing practice. In his previous life, Ryota had watched a few videos on boxing, fascinated by the art of the sport. Now, he was determined to master it, even in the confines of this prison.

He began with the basics, throwing jabs and hooks into the air, his movements swift but imprecise. His form was far from perfect—his stance was off, and he struggled to put proper weight behind his punches. He tried to remember the techniques he had seen in the videos, but without proper guidance, his efforts were clumsy at best.

As Ryota continued to practice, he could feel the eyes of the man in the adjacent cell on him. At first, he tried to ignore it, focusing solely on his movements. But it was hard to shake the feeling of being watched, and it made him self-conscious. He threw another punch, but it lacked the power and precision he was aiming for.

The man remained silent, his expression unreadable as he observed Ryota's attempts at boxing. Despite his own battered condition, there was a sharpness in his gaze that suggested he was carefully analyzing every move Ryota made. His silence stretched on, becoming almost oppressive in the cold, damp air of the prison.

Then, suddenly, the man's demeanor changed. A frown appeared on his face, deepening as he watched Ryota's clumsy attempts at boxing. It was clear that the man's frustration was growing, and Ryota could feel the tension building in the air.

Finally, the man could take it no longer. "You're doing it all wrong," he blurted out, his voice hoarse but carrying an unmistakable authority. "Your stance is off. You're not putting any weight behind your punches. And your counter-attacks are nonexistent."

Ryota stopped mid-punch, turning to look at the man in surprise. It was the first time the prisoner had spoken, and his words were sharp and critical. Ryota raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. "What? Are you ready to talk now?" he asked, his tone teasing but curious.

The man scowled, but there was a hint of reluctant respect in his eyes. "It's just awful to see someone doing so bad and not correct them," he replied. "If you're going to practice, at least do it right."

Ryota nodded, appreciating the directness of the man's words. "Alright, then. Show me what I'm doing wrong."

The prisoner sighed, as if resigning himself to the task. "Fine. First, fix your stance. Spread your feet shoulder-width apart, and keep your knees slightly bent. Your weight should be balanced, not leaning too far forward or backward."

Ryota adjusted his stance, following the man's instructions. He could feel a difference immediately—the new position felt more stable, more powerful. The man watched him closely, nodding in approval. "Good. Now, when you throw a punch, twist your body and put your weight behind it. It's not just about your arm; it's about your whole body working together."

Ryota tried again, this time focusing on using his entire body. The punch felt more solid, more controlled. He glanced at the man, who gave a curt nod. "Better. But you still need to work on your counter-attacks. When you dodge, don't just move your head—move your entire body. And always be ready to strike back."

As Ryota practiced, the man continued to offer advice, his voice growing stronger with each correction. Despite his initial reluctance to speak, he seemed to take a certain pride in helping Ryota improve. And Ryota, for his part, was grateful for the guidance. The man's expertise was evident, and Ryota knew he was learning from someone who truly understood the art of boxing.

Hours passed, and the two prisoners fell into a rhythm. Ryota practiced, and the man corrected, their partnership forming an unlikely bond in the harsh environment of Impel Down. The initial silence between them was replaced by a mutual respect, and while the man still refused to share his story, Ryota sensed that a door had been opened—a small crack in the wall of silence that might, one day, lead to understanding.

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