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 morning haze still clung to the corners of the gym windows when Taiga arrived, sweat already clinging to his skin from the jog over. His fists were taped up, his body warm, and his mind was brimming with fire. Today was supposed to be another step forward — drills with Rikuya, the loud-mouthed senior who treated boxing like a mix of a game and a fight.

But as he stepped inside, something was… off.

No Rikuya. No laughter. Just the rhythmic thump of a speed bag from the back corner.

Coach Genji stood by the ring ropes, arms crossed, he looks up to the lone boxer working in silence.

"He's not coming," Genji said without looking to Taiga. "He texted me a few minutes ago that he couldn't come due to personals reasons. You'll be drilling with Masaki instead."

Genji gave a sharp nod toward toward the back.

There he was — Masaki Himura. Eighteen. Slightly shorter than Taiga. Leaner, calmer, and moving like water wrapped in muscle. His footwork was too smooth to hear, his hands too fast to see clearly. Taiga had seen him around for weeks now but never spoken a word to him. The guy trained hard, come early, left early, and didn't talk to anyone.

Even Rikuya or Kenzaki barely talks to him.

Taiga approached the ring tense as Masaki tightened the last wrap around his gloves. His eyes lifted just once to acknowledge him, then looked back down as he stepped through the ropes.

Genji called from the outside. "Start with rhythm drills. Slips and footwork, then jab trades. Go."

The moment they touched gloves, Taiga could feel it — this wasn't going to be easy. Masaki didn't hit hard at first, but his punches landed with clean, surgical timing. His feet never crossed, never paused. Every time Taiga threw a jab, Masaki wasn't there. Every counter, Masaki's glove flicked against his jaw or temple like a whisper reminding him he was open.

"You're fast," Taiga muttered between breaths. "But I've fought faster—"

He lunged with a jab-cross, trying to pressure.

Masaki rolled under it, pivoted behind, and tapped him lightly on the back of the head.

Taiga turned, frustrated. "Damn it… Fight me for real."

For the first time, Masaki paused. His gaze lifted. Calm, unreadable.

"You're moving too fast for your own eyes," he said quietly."And swinging too hard for someone trying to learn."

Then he reset his stance. No anger. No insult. Just honesty.

Taiga's breath caught in his throat.

They resumed. This time, Taiga focused. Watched. Studied. And still — Masaki's rhythm remained untouchable. He wasn't flashy. He didn't showboat. But every move was correct. Precise. No wasted movement.

After ten more minutes, Genji called it. "Enough."

Taiga sat on the edge of the ring, dripping with sweat. Masaki unlaced his gloves in silence, towel over his neck, then made for the locker room.

Before disappearing, he paused near Taiga — just for a second — and said:

"You have fire. But fire that spreads without shape only burns itself out."

Taiga looked down at his gloves. His knuckles still buzzed. His pride still ached.

Silence Boxer