A Gap In Power

But just as Enji's fist descended, Haruto shifted his weight just in time, narrowly dodging Enji's incoming punch. 

The force of the blow missed him by a hair, but the air it displaced was enough to feel like a warning. 

Haruto knew that if he took another hit like that, it could be the end. His body was screaming with pain, bruises throbbing with every movement, but he couldn't afford to back down. 

Not now.

'This… he is different when he is in the ring' 

Enji recovered from the missed punch with surprising speed, his grin never faltering. 

"You're slippery, I'll give you that," he sneered, circling Haruto like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike again. 

"But let's see how long you can keep that up."

Haruto's breath was ragged, his body heavy with fatigue, but his mind was focused. He could feel every bruise Enji had targeted—the ribs, the thigh, his knuckles—all burning like open wounds.

It wasn't a dirty move in the underground fight, but a strategy to win. 

But with each hit, he was learning. Enji had a rhythm, a method to his madness. Haruto could see it now, the slight dip in Enji's shoulder just before he threw a punch, the tightening of his muscles before a kick. 

He was powerful, yes, but predictable.

When Enji moved again, aiming a hook at Haruto's already battered ribs, Haruto was ready. 

He sidestepped and countered with a sharp jab to Enji's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Enji grunted, surprised by the quick retaliation. 

Haruto followed up with a series of punches to Enji's midsection, his fists flying with newfound energy. He knew he couldn't match Enji's raw power, but he could outthink him—outlast him.

'I can't lose, not when sparring with Daiki is near.'

For a brief moment, it looked like the tide was turning. Haruto danced around Enji, avoiding the heavy blows and landing quick hits. 

The sound of knuckles meeting flesh echoed in the empty warehouse, and Haruto felt a flicker of hope. 

He'd seen it—Enji's weakness. His overconfidence, his reliance on brute strength rather than technique. If Haruto could keep exploiting that, he might just stand a chance.

But Enji wasn't a fool.

With a roar Enji lashed out, abandoning his calculated attacks for sheer brutality. 

Haruto tried to dodge, but his massive fist collided with his already bruised thigh, sending a wave of agony up his leg. 

Haruto stumbled, his balance faltering for just a second, and that was all Enji needed. 

His elbow smashed into Haruto's temple, and stars exploded behind his eyes. Haruto staggered back, barely able to keep his footing. 

His vision blurred as Enji grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into the cage once more, the metal rattling as his body hit it with a sickening thud.

"Enough playing around," Enji growled, his voice low and menacing. 

He pulled Haruto forward only to drive his knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Haruto gasped, doubling over in pain as Enji's grip tightened around his neck.

'No, I won't lose until I use all my power.' 

But Haruto refused to go down. Summoning the last of his strength, he swung his fist into Enji's side, right at the spot he'd been targeting earlier. 

Enji grunted, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second. Haruto pushed forward, aiming another hit at Enji's ribs, hoping to exploit that brief opening.

For a moment, it worked. Enji staggered back, his hand clutching his side as he glared at Haruto with a mixture of anger and respect.

Haruto saw it—the slightest hitch in Enji's breathing, the slight flinch when he moved his ribs. That was it. That was his weak spot.

But it was too late.

Enji roared, charging forward with renewed fury. Haruto tried to dodge, but his body was too slow, too worn down from the relentless beating. 

Enji's fist collided with his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. Haruto's vision swam, and he struggled to get back on his feet, but his body wouldn't cooperate. 

His muscles refused to respond, the pain too overwhelming.

Enji stood over him, panting heavily, his fists still raised. For a moment, it seemed like he might deliver another blow, but then he lowered his arms, a grin spreading across his face.

"You put up a good fight," Enji said, but this time, a subtle smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You're ready for Daiki."

Haruto's body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, every muscle screaming in protest as he lay on the cold floor, gasping for breath.

His vision was blurred, his head throbbing from the blows, but even through the pain, he managed to smirk.

He'd given everything he had, and though he had lost, he had proven something—not just to Enji, but to himself. He was ready for Daiki.

"Get up," Enji said, offering a hand. 

Haruto hesitated for a moment, his pride stinging, but eventually, he took it. 

His legs wobbled like a newborn deer as he tried to stand, his entire body trembling with exhaustion. Enji held him up, steadying him with a firm grip.

Meanwhile, Kikuchi, Nakamura, and Arataki stood by the gate of the black box, watching the scene unfold. 

Kikuchi had a grin plastered on his face, like a man who had just hit the jackpot, as he reached for a thick stack of money from Nakamura's hand.

"I told you he would lose," Kikuchi said smugly, his fingers flipping through the cash with satisfaction.

Nakamura sighed, his eyes lingering on Haruto as he struggled to stand on his own. "I had high hopes for that kid," he said, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. 

"But it looks like he's not quite there yet. Daiki's going to eat him alive."

Arataki, leaning against the gate, shook his head slightly. "Don't count him out just yet. He's good. He's only been sparring with Enji for three weeks, and look at how far he's come."

"Good isn't enough," Kikuchi replied, pocketing his winnings. 

"He needs to be smarter, and craftier if he wants any chance against Daiki."

Their conversation quieted as they watched Enji guide Haruto toward the infirmary room, the weight of defeat hanging heavy on the young fighter's shoulders. 

But there was something in Haruto's eyes—something determined, unbroken.

"Well," Nakamura muttered, watching the two men disappear into the shadows. 

"Let's hope his fledgling wings are strong enough when the time comes. The Red Claws don't give second chances."