Chapter 98 I am Better

People's POVAfter the live interview, people watched it on TV. In a sports bar, a fat, beady-eyed white man was talking to his best friend, a medium-built Black man.

"Who is this bum?" the white man scoffed, taking a sip of his beer. "He talkin' big like this is some Japanese drama."

His friend chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, he's delusional. Just wait till Sharmba Mitchell knocks his bum ass out on November 23rd."

"Yeah, let's support Sharmba," the white man said, raising his glass. "Can't wait to see him knock that Japanese dude out."

Similar conversations were happening all over the U.S. People who watched the interview saw Alex as nothing more than a clown, a cocky upstart who was in way over his head. Many rallied behind Sharmba Mitchell, cheering him on as the clear favorite.

However, not everyone felt that way. A group of Japanese fans had flown all the way from Japan, booking their tickets just to support Alex at the MGM Grand Garden Arena on November 23rd. They proudly wore T-shirts with Alex's face on the back, along with traditional Japanese headbands. Some Americans looked at them curiously, but they didn't care. They had seen Alex fight in person before and knew exactly what he was capable of. Their excitement was at an all-time high, especially for the upcoming press conference on November 22nd.

Meanwhile, in bars and restaurants across the U.S., the interview kept playing on TV screens. American fans largely favored Sharmba Mitchell, while Alex remained an unknown figure outside of Japan. His fights had only been broadcasted in Japan, making him a mystery to the international audience.

Back in Japan, however, the atmosphere was completely different. Alex's interview was being replayed on multiple channels, and excitement filled the air. Even though the fight would take place at 2 AM local time, many fans were determined to stay up and watch it live. Some were already counting down the days, eager to see Alex step into the ring and take Sharmba Mitchell down.

At the Makunouchi house, Mari Imura was sitting on the living room sofa, watching the interview on TV. Alex had specifically asked her to stay over and keep his aunt Hiroko company so she wouldn't be lonely. While Hiroko was already asleep, Mari remained wide awake, her eyes glued to the screen.

She was wearing their matching silver cross necklace, absentmindedly holding it between her fingers. When she saw that Alex was also wearing his, she smiled softly. Closing her eyes, she whispered a silent prayer for his victory.

After the interview, Alex was sitting at the dining table, eating a steak and yogurt as part of his strict diet. Coach Kamogawa stood beside him, arms crossed.

"Kid, how about you relax for a bit?" the old coach suggested. "After you eat, go to the beach or something. Your body needs to recover."

Alex put down his chopsticks and looked at his coach. "That's a good idea, Coach… but instead of the beach, I'd rather get a full-body massage."

Coach Kamogawa nodded. "Then consider it done. I'll call a professional masseuse. After that, you'll go in the sauna for 20 minutes."

Before Alex could respond, Kamogawa quickly changed his mind. "Actually, no. You'll go in the sauna first, then get the massage."

Alex just nodded and continued eating.

A few minutes later, Kamogawa walked into another room and called out to Yagi. "Yagi, get a professional masseuse on the line."

Yagi looked up from his paperwork. "Your back acting up again?"

Kamogawa sighed. "Not for me. It's for Alex."

Yagi chuckled. "Got it. I'll handle it now."

After finishing his meal, Alex was about to leave when Kamogawa called out to him again. "Oh, one more thing. After your massage, do an ice bath. It'll help with muscle recovery."

Alex nodded. "Sure, Coach. After that, we're heading back to the penthouse, right?"

"Yeah," Kamogawa confirmed. "Hopefully, Ippo's already awake by then."

Time passed, and it was now November 22nd, 1991. Alex and the entire Kamogawa Gym team were on their way to the MGM Grand Garden Arena for the highly anticipated press conference.

Alex was dressed casually yet stylishly, wearing a baggy black Nike T-shirt, loose-fitting pants, and crisp white Nike sneakers.

His coaches—Kamogawa, Shinada, and assistant coach Yagi—were all sporting Kamogawa Gym tracksuits, with the gym's name displayed on the back.

Kimura opted for casual clothes, while Takamura embraced his usual bad boy look, exuding confidence. Aoki sported a white jacket with black pants, and Ippo was wearing a black jacket paired with white pants.

The team boarded a sleek black Ford SUV, and as they approached the venue, Aoki's eyes widened in awe.

"Wow... this arena is massive," he said in disbelief.

Kimura nodded in agreement. "Yeah, this is a whole new experience for me."

Takamura scoffed, shaking his head. "Relax. You guys aren't the ones fighting here."

With that, the team made their way inside, following Coach Kamogawa backstage.

The MGM Grand Garden Arena was packed. Thousands of spectators had taken their seats, eagerly awaiting the event. At the center of the stage stood a long table lined with multiple microphones, where the fighters would be seated.

A middle-aged man in a sleek suit, the announcer Eddie, stepped forward, holding a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice booming through the speakers, "we are here for one of the most highly anticipated fights of the year!"

The crowd erupted into applause.

Eddie smiled before continuing. "Now, introducing a fighter from Japan! He holds the Japanese Lightweight Championship—Alex Makunouchi!"

The moment Alex stepped onto the stage, a wave of loud boos filled the arena. However, a small but passionate group of Japanese fans in attendance clapped and cheered, though their support was almost drowned out by the overwhelmingly American crowd.

Alex remained unfazed as he walked over to the left side of the table, taking his seat. His expression was calm,

composed. Coach Kamogawa took a seat beside him.

Then, Eddie's voice echoed once more.

"And now, let's welcome the current number one prospect in the lightweight division—Sharmba Mitchell!"

The audience exploded with cheers, completely shifting the energy of the room.

Sharmba emerged from backstage, wearing a white loose-fitting jacket with a hip-hop flair. He had a 5'7" frame, slicked-back braids, and a confident smirk. His light brown skin glowed under the arena lights, and his presence was met with roaring approval.

Walking beside him was his trainer, Jamal, a 5'6" black man who radiated authority. They both took their seats on the right side of the table.

With the two lightweight fighters now seated, the event continued as Evander Holyfield and Bert Cooper were introduced next. The media instantly flocked to Holyfield, bombarding him with questions about his upcoming fight.

Alex leaned over slightly as Coach Kamogawa whispered to him.

"Isn't it strange?" Kamogawa murmured. "Back home, reporters fight to get a word from you… but here, no one's even bothering to ask a single question."

Alex smirked slightly, glancing at his coach. "Yeah, it's a new feeling. But it is what it is."

Then, a reporter named Mike suddenly turned to Sharmba, breaking the silence between the two lightweight fighters.

"Sharmba, what do you think about your opponent's remarks on ESPN almost two weeks ago?"

Sharmba rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. He grabbed his mic, his tone filled with arrogance.

"I don't pay attention to a guy beneath my level," he said casually, causing the audience to chuckle. "I didn't even wanna take this fight because—let's be real—this does nothing for my legacy. People are gonna say, 'Oh, you fought a bum.'"

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Sharmba leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "And honestly? I've watched him. He moves just like any of my past opponents."

A translator in the corner relayed Sharmba's words in Japanese, ensuring the global audience understood.

Then, Mike turned his attention to Alex.

"Alex, what's your response to that?"

Alex listened as the translator repeated the question in Japanese. He picked up the mic, speaking in his native language so his people back home could understand.

"Nobody can tell me I move the same as any of these guys."

As he spoke, he pointed directly at Sharmba Mitchell and Evander Holyfield, his gaze unwavering.

The translator quickly translated his words into English.

Alex continued, his voice filled with conviction.

"Because I don't. I move differently. I move uniquely. And I know I move uniquely."

The crowd quieted slightly as they listened, some intrigued, others skeptical.

Alex's expression remained firm. "Not only that—I speak uniquely. I act uniquely. I'm just different from these people."

He pointed at Sharmba Mitchell and Holyfield again for emphasis.

"That's what I know. And I have no doubt in my mind that I will be the greatest of all time. In my head, I am already better than everybody else."

As soon as the translator finished translating, boos erupted from the American crowd. The Japanese fans in attendance, however, cheered wildly, unfazed by the reaction.

On the ESPN broadcast, commentator John let out a whistle.

"What a statement from the Japanese Lightweight Champion," he remarked.

His co-commentator, Calvin, a hefty white man, scoffed.

"You mean cocky statement," he muttered under his breath—before suddenly remembering they were broadcasting live. "Uh—sorry for the language."

He cleared his throat. "But honestly? I think this guy is all talk."

John chuckled. "Well, one way or another, this is one hell of a way to introduce yourself to the world. Declaring that you already know you're better than everyone?"

The screen cut back to Alex, whose expression remained completely unfazed.