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

A punching bag swung violently in the cramped garage gym. The sound of leather meeting sand echoed, each hit sounds like a strucking thunder, the walls trembling from the force.

BANG.BANG.BANG.

Kazuki Ren moved like a blade—sharp, precise, and made for damage. His frame was wiry but built from survival, not gym routines. Sweat soaked his black tank top, his breath steady and unfazed. He didn't fight like someone chasing a dream—he fought like someone proving he should've never been left alive in the first place.

The man leaning against the garage door, arms crossed, his eyes are tired but keep tracing every movements. "You're still wild as ever."

Kazuki didn't stop. "That's why I win."

The man was older—his name was Shiro, an ex-brawler who ran a gym out of his cousin's garage in the back alleys of Osaka street. He wasn't a real coach. More like a survivor.

"You win because you break people," Shiro said. "But don't let it get to your head, it's not your usual street fight there's rule, refs, judges. This next kid? He's not like the usual rats they sent to get destroyed."

Kazuki finally stopped punching the bag. He took of the gloves and grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat off his neck, and sat down on a crate.

"They said he's called Sakamoto. Came outta nowhere."

Shiro lit a cigarette. "You'd like him. Word is he used to fight in the same pits you did. A stray dog just like you"

"Sounds familiar, another stray trying to climb up?"

He remembered those nights—the thick smell of blood and motor oil, the feeling of broken knuckles and shouting crowds that didn't care who you were, only how hard you hit.

"Let me guess," Kazuki said. "Tragic backstory, fire in his eyes, blah blah. Wants to be champ and all that noble crap."

Shiro exhaled smoke. "You laughing, but those guys can be dangerous. Especially if they find a real coach."

"Name's Genji. Some washed-up pro. Ran a place called Glory Gym."

"Glory, huh? Sounds desperate already."

He stood again, grabbing his gloves and sliding them back on. "Let them believe they've got a shot. That's the best part. Watching it all break when the bell rings."

Shiro watched him walk back to the bag. "He's watching your tape, you know."

"So they're watching me, huh?" he said, half to himself.

Kazuki laughed. "Good. Hope he studies my footwork all night."

BANG.BANG

Each strike was faster, uglier. The bag began to rip at the seams.

"I want him to know what's coming."

"That this world doesn't care about dreams."

The final punch tore the bag open, sand spilling like blood to the floor.

Kazuki looked down at his dusty gloves, smirking.

"I'll welcome him proper. From one stray to another."

From One Stray to Another