Kavsef

Seventeen-years old Taiga Sakamoto barely survive on the street of Osaka, doing underground fights for a run of money. Son of a once-feared underground fighter and an immigrant mother who disappeared without a trace and left him alone, Taiga grows up with nothing but his fists and fire.

One day, he's saved by a retired unknown boxer from getting beaten by the local gang. Seeing fire and determination in his eyes, Taiga was offered to join Glory Gym, an old rundown boxing gym barely holding onto its last generation of fighters. There he going to start on his journey becoming champion and achieving glory.

Taiga enters a world where boxing isn’t just sport—it’s blood, pain, history, and heart. With every jab and hook, he uncovers not only the sport’s discipline but the ghosts of his past. Can he rise through the brutal amateur ranks and chase the fading dream of becoming a champion? Or will he burn out like the broken warriors before him?

"No corner to retreat to. No towel to throw in. Just glory—or silence."

(It's heavily inspired by Hajime No Ippo)

Gloves & Glory

The gym lights flickered as rain pattered against the old windows. Thunder can be seen in the distance, but inside Glory Gym, the only storm was in Taiga's chest.

His name was on the whiteboard now.

Sakamoto – Novice Amateur Debut – 3 Weeks

The sight of it gave him a strange rush—part pride, part panic. He wasn't just scrapping in basements anymore. This was real. Licensed. Regulated. Official. There would be referees. Judges. A crowd.

Taiga pulled his gloves on and stepped into the ring. Across from him wasn't Rikuya this time—it was someone else.

A man in his late twenties, lean but powerful, with short brown hair and a face that looked like it had taken too many punches and not enough breaks.

"Taiga, meet Kenzaki. Former regional contender," Genji said. "Now he mostly helps break in rookies."

"Break in?" Taiga raised an eyebrow.

Kenzaki grinned. "Figure of speech."

They touched gloves. No headgear this time. Just light sparring—but Genji's light wasn't exactly gentle.

Kenzaki moved like water. Smooth, relaxed, almost lazy. But every jab was precise. Taiga couldn't find an opening. He'd try to counter, and the older man was already gone.

"Don't chase," Genji barked. "Let the fight come to you."

Taiga exhaled sharply. He adjusted, bounced on his toes, watched the movement. A pattern began to emerge. Kenzaki always slipped left after the jab—

This time, Taiga slipped inside and launched a heavy right hook.

Kenzaki stepped back, surprised. "Nice."

But then the older boxer smiled and turned it up a notch.

The next few seconds were a blur. Kenzaki worked angles, jabs, and low hooks with surgical precision. Taiga caught one in the ribs, and it felt like a hammer.

Taiga nodded, breath shallow. "Yeah."

He came back with a flurry—not clean, but aggressive. He wanted to prove something, even if it meant taking a few more shots.

The bell rang. Taiga leaned on the ropes, panting.

"Stubborn kid," Kenzaki chuckled, taking his mouthguard out. "You've got bite. But don't forget—boxing's not just about how much you can take. It's how much you don't have to."

As he climbed out of the ring, Genji stepped in. "You want to fight in three weeks, you'll need more than fists. You'll need to control your patience and balance.

Taiga nodded, swallowing the pain.

Then Genji added something surprising: "Kenzaki used to be pro. Had a title shot lined up, once."

Taiga looked toward the door where Kenzaki had just exited.

"He didn't listen," Genji said flatly. "Burned out. Could've been great."

Later that night, Taiga stayed behind alone. Rain still falling. Lights dim. He stood in front of the ring, eyes locked on his name.

The echo of Kenzaki's punches still vibrated in his bones.

But in his mind, he wasn't backing down.

He was already imagining it—under the lights, inside the ropes. The crowd. The bell. The fight.

The Broken Contender