Isekai in Hajime no Ippo with Gaolang’s Template

The air in the backroom was thick with anticipation as Alex prepared for his fight. The faint hum of the arena's crowd filtered through the walls, a constant reminder of the night's significance. Alex stood in the center of the room, his fists encased in wraps, punching lightly at the pads Ippo held.

"Stay loose," Ippo said, his tone steady but encouraging. "No need to overdo it."

Alex nodded, his movements fluid and controlled, the sharp thud of his punches filling the space. He wore a calm, focused expression, his breathing even as he went through the motions.

Seated nearby, Kimura and Takamura watched the TV screen mounted on the wall. The broadcast had just switched to Aoki's fight.

On the screen, Aoki stood in the center of the ring, bouncing lightly on his feet. His opponent mirrored him, both fighters appearing evenly matched as the referee called them to the center. They touched gloves briefly, and the fight began.

The match was close, with Aoki relying on his unpredictable movements and crafty feints to outmaneuver his opponent. The rounds were back and forth, but in the end, Aoki landed a sharp overhand right, followed by a clean combination that sealed the decision in his favor.

The referee raised Aoki's hand, and he immediately climbed onto the ropes, pumping his fists in the air and screaming triumphantly. A pocket of the crowd erupted in cheers, feeding off his infectious energy.

Watching from the backroom, Kimura sighed and ran a hand down his face, visibly embarrassed. "What a clown," he muttered, shaking his head.

Takamura leaned back against the wall, exhaling loudly. "Typical Aoki."

Alex chuckled lightly but remained focused on his preparations. Ippo handed him a bottle of water, which he took with a nod of thanks.

About ten minutes later, the screen shifted to the next fight. The announcer's voice boomed over the arena speakers as the camera panned to the tunnel.

"And now, entering the ring, fighting out of the red corner, from Kawahara Gym, weighing in at 125 pounds—Ichirou Miyata!"

The crowd erupted as Miyata stepped into view, his sharp features framed by his stoic expression. Dressed in his signature red and white trunks, he raised one gloved hand in acknowledgment before making his way to the ring. His movements were calculated and precise, every step exuding confidence.

As Miyata entered the ring, the camera cut to the opposing tunnel.

"And his opponent, fighting out of the blue corner, from Touhou Gym, also weighing in at 125 pounds—Ryou Mashiba!"

Mashiba's entrance was met with a mix of cheers and murmurs, his imposing presence undeniable. Clad in dark trunks, his tall frame cast a shadow over the arena lights as he strode to the ring with a menacing aura. His sharp, piercing eyes scanned the crowd briefly before locking onto Miyata.

In the ring, the tension was palpable as Miyata and Mashiba faced off. Miyata raised his hand again, his expression unchanging, while Mashiba stood still, his gaze fixed on his opponent.

As the announcer concluded the introductions, the referee called both fighters to the center for final instructions. They stood inches apart, their eyes locked in an intense stare-down. The difference in their styles was evident—Miyata's composed calmness versus Mashiba's cold, predatory demeanor.

After a brief pause, the referee instructed them to touch gloves. The contact was brief and perfunctory, neither fighter breaking eye contact until they returned to their corners.

Back in the preparation room, Alex paused his warm-up, towel in hand, as he watched the scene unfold on the screen. He leaned slightly forward, his interest piqued.

"This one's going to be intense," Kimura said, crossing his arms.

"Yeah," Takamura agreed, a rare seriousness in his tone. "Mashiba's always got that killer vibe, but Miyata... he's as sharp as ever. This could go either way."

Ippo, holding the pads at his side, glanced at Alex. "You ready for this?"

Alex's lips curled into a small smile. "Always."

With the Miyata-Mashiba fight about to begin, the atmosphere in the room grew heavier. Each passing moment brought Alex closer to his own match, and the night's stakes loomed larger than ever.

The tension in the arena was electric as the bell rang, signaling the start of the bout. Miyata and Mashiba stepped forward from their corners, both adopting orthodox stances, their gloves high and eyes locked in an intense stare.

They met in the center of the ring, and without hesitation, Mashiba flicked out a jab, his long reach immediately apparent. Simultaneously, Miyata launched a precise cross. Both punches landed cleanly—Mashiba's jab snapping Miyata's head back while Miyata's cross struck Mashiba squarely on the cheek.

The crowd erupted as the fighters reset, circling each other cautiously.

Miyata, ever the tactician, suddenly darted forward with a sharp cross aimed at Mashiba's guard. Mashiba reacted instantly, raising his right hand to block the blow. Not missing a beat, Mashiba countered with a swift cross of his own, but Miyata tilted his head just enough to the right to evade the punch.

Mashiba followed up with a probing jab, looking to reestablish his range. Miyata, sensing an opportunity, countered the jab with a lightning-fast cross that clipped Mashiba's chin. The impact was clean but not enough to stagger the tall boxer. Both fighters reset once more, their expressions unchanged but their focus sharper than ever.

The arena roared with approval.

"What an exchange in just ten seconds!" the commentator exclaimed, his voice nearly drowned out by the noise of the crowd. "Both fighters are on fire! Miyata's precision versus Mashiba's overwhelming reach—this is shaping up to be a battle of wills!"

Mashiba's demeanor shifted slightly. He lowered his lead hand, slipping into his signature Hitman stance, his long frame now even more menacing. From this position, he launched a quick jab.

Miyata saw it coming and tilted his head to the side, but the jab still grazed him. Mashiba's reach was proving to be a challenge. He began to pump his jab relentlessly, using his superior length to keep Miyata at bay. Some punches Miyata dodged gracefully, but others landed, visibly frustrating him.

Suddenly, Miyata did the unexpected. He mirrored Mashiba's approach, lowering his own lead hand and adopting a Hitman-style stance of his own. The crowd gasped at the bold move.

In the backroom, Takamura leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen. "He's doing it... he's going for the Hitman style too."

Ippo nodded, his expression serious. "Miyata's adapting on the fly. This could work."

Kimura grinned, crossing his arms. "It's a gutsy move, but if anyone can pull it off, it's him."

Alex, sitting quietly nearby, watched intently, his face unreadable as the fight unfolded on the screen.

Back in the ring, Mashiba continued his assault, snapping out another jab. This time, Miyata deflected it with his shoulder, subtly angling his body to avoid damage. Seeing Mashiba's arm overextend, Miyata stepped in with perfect timing.

A devastating cross fired from Miyata's position, slipping through Mashiba's guard and crashing into his face. The impact echoed through the arena, and Mashiba staggered, his legs giving way. He fell backward onto the canvas, his tall frame hitting the mat with a heavy thud.

The referee quickly stepped in, raising his arm to begin the count.

"Yes!" Ippo exclaimed, punching the air. "What a counter!"

"Perfect timing," Takamura added, a smirk spreading across his face. "That's Miyata for you."

Kimura whistled. "Man, Mashiba didn't see that coming at all."

Alex remained seated, leaning slightly forward. His eyes were focused, not on the screen but on something deeper. He tapped his fingers lightly on his thigh, his thoughts unreadable.

Back in the ring, Mashiba grabbed the ropes and slowly pulled himself up, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. The referee looked him over, asking loudly, "Can you continue?"

Mashiba nodded, his expression cold and determined, though there was a glint of caution in his eyes.

As the referee finished his checks, Miyata moved in, ready to press his advantage. He feinted with his lead hand before lunging forward with a sharp cross aimed at Mashiba's head.

But just as the punch was about to connect, the bell rang, signaling the end of the round. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, recognizing the incredible start to the fight.

Miyata stepped back, his breathing steady, a faint smirk on his lips. He glanced briefly at Mashiba, who met his gaze with an icy glare before turning and walking to his corner.

The arena buzzed with energy, fans already debating who had the upper hand in the opening round.

In the backroom, Takamura crossed his arms, grinning. "This fight's gonna be a classic."

Ippo nodded in agreement. "If the first round's any indication, this one's going to the wire."

Kimura leaned back against the wall, letting out a low whistle. "Miyata's sharp tonight, no doubt about it."

Alex stood up, rolling his shoulders to stay loose. "Let's see if he can keep it up."

The fight was far from over, and everyone knew it.

Round 2The bell rang, and Mashiba charged out of his corner like a bull, catching Miyata off guard. Mashiba's aggressive start forced Miyata to quickly raise his guard as Mashiba launched a flurry of punches. The sudden onslaught caused the crowd to erupt in cheers, their excitement filling the arena.

Miyata managed to block most of the initial strikes, but Mashiba's presence and intensity were overwhelming. For a moment, the fighters paused, assessing each other in the midst of the chaos.

Mashiba wasted no time and threw a sharp cross, aiming to overwhelm Miyata's defense. Anticipating the move, Miyata stepped inside the attack, looking to counter with his own cross. However, Mashiba read the maneuver perfectly. He tilted his head just enough to avoid the counter and immediately retaliated with a stiff jab.

Miyata ducked slightly to avoid the jab, but Mashiba was already a step ahead. With a calculated precision, Mashiba threw a punishing uppercut, catching Miyata clean and pushing him back into the corner.

Mashiba, sensing an opportunity, pressed forward with a jab, aiming to pin Miyata in place. But Miyata, ever the tactician, slipped inside Mashiba's guard and unleashed a vicious body uppercut. The punch landed with a loud thud, visibly hurting Mashiba and forcing him to momentarily falter.

In that split second of weakness, Miyata capitalized. He shifted his back foot forward, seamlessly switching stances for an instant, and fired a sharp cross that forced Mashiba to step back. Not willing to give Mashiba any room to recover, Miyata followed up with a relentless barrage of punches—a powerful cross, a thudding body hook, and another quick jab.

Mashiba, despite the assault, kept his composure, using his long arms and high guard to block most of the blows. Miyata, recognizing the stalemate, feinted a body shot. When Mashiba dropped his guard slightly to protect his ribs, Miyata delivered a precise cross to Mashiba's head, snapping it back.

The clean hit seemed to ignite something primal in Mashiba. His expression darkened, and he charged at Miyata in a fury, throwing a wild hook. Miyata narrowly dodged it, but as Mashiba launched a straight cross, his foot stepped on Miyata's. The brief entanglement caused Miyata to stumble, and Mashiba capitalized on the moment, driving Miyata into the ropes.

With Miyata trapped, Mashiba unleashed a relentless onslaught of punches—a jab, a cross, another jab—all fired in quick succession. Miyata, caught off balance and pressed against the ropes, struggled to defend himself. His guard faltered under the pressure, and a solid hook from Mashiba finally sent him crashing to the canvas.

The crowd gasped as the referee quickly stepped in, pushing Mashiba back to his corner. The arena erupted in a mix of cheers and gasps, the tension palpable.

In the backroom, Ippo was on the edge of his seat, fists clenched as he watched the screen intently. "Come on, Miyata! Get up!" he shouted, his voice trembling with both anxiety and hope.

Kimura leaned forward, concern etched on his face. "This isn't looking good," he muttered.

Back in the ring, the referee began the count.

"Four! Five!"

Miyata stirred, shaking his head as if to clear the fog.

"Six! Seven!"

He pushed himself onto one knee, his breathing heavy but determined.

"Eight! Nine!"

Before the referee could finish the count, Miyata was fully on his feet, his gloves raised to show he was ready to continue. His expression was stoic, his focus unshaken despite the knockdown.

The referee gave him a final look and signaled for the fight to resume.

Mashiba, not wasting a second, charged forward again, unleashing a series of jabs to keep the pressure on. But Miyata, having regained his composure, adjusted his defense. Using a shoulder roll, he slipped and deflected the punches with ease, his movements sharp and calculated.

Suddenly, as Mashiba launched another jab, Miyata countered with a perfectly timed cross that landed flush on Mashiba's face. The impact stopped Mashiba in his tracks, forcing him to reset.

The commentator's voice boomed over the crowd. "This fight is relentless! Both fighters are bloodied, but neither is backing down! What a war!"

Mashiba's nose dripped with blood, and Miyata's right cheek sported a growing welt. The grueling exchange left both fighters visibly battered, but their determination was unwavering.

Just as Mashiba began to step forward to reengage, the bell rang, signaling the end of the second round.

The referee stepped between the fighters, guiding them back to their respective corners. The crowd's applause was deafening, a mixture of admiration for the fighters' skill and sheer willpower.

Round 3The bell rang for the third round, and Mashiba wasted no time. He charged out of his corner with renewed intensity, his long arms snapping out flicker jabs in rapid succession. The crowd erupted in cheers, sensing the climax of this brutal contest. Miyata, already battered and bloodied, raised his guard to block the incoming storm of punches.

Mashiba mixed in an explosive body uppercut, but Miyata read it just in time and blocked it with his elbows. The impact still pushed him back, and his feet slid along the canvas until his back pressed against the ropes. Seeing Miyata trapped, Mashiba unleashed a relentless barrage—flicker jabs fired like pistons, punctuated by the occasional straight cross to break through Miyata's turtle-shell guard.

The crowd's energy was deafening, their cheers mingling with the sharp cracks of gloves meeting flesh. Both fighters were visibly exhausted, their movements slower, their breaths labored. Miyata's arms trembled slightly under the strain of Mashiba's onslaught, but he stood firm, refusing to give in.

As Mashiba continued his relentless attack, Miyata summoned the last reserves of his strength. He swung a wide hook from his guard, aiming for Mashiba's temple. Mashiba's sharp reflexes allowed him to dodge just in time, the punch grazing past his head.

Undeterred, Miyata immediately followed up with a powerful overhand punch, putting everything he had left into the attack. Mashiba leaned back at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the blow. The missed punch caused Miyata to stumble slightly, his exhaustion and frustration evident in his movements.

The two fighters faced each other in the center of the ring, both bloodied, gasping for air, and drenched in sweat. Their once-crisp movements now had a sluggish, desperate quality.

Mashiba adjusted his stance, lowering his lead hand to prepare his signature hitman style. He stepped forward with a lead hook, his arm whipping out like a coiled snake. The punch connected cleanly with Miyata's cheek, sending his head snapping to the side.

Miyata's legs wobbled, and his knees buckled as if the ground had given way beneath him. He staggered back, his feet unsteady and unable to support him any longer. With a heavy gasp, he slumped down, his gloves barely touching the canvas as he tried to rise.

The referee quickly assessed the situation, watching as Miyata struggled to push himself upright. His legs betrayed him, trembling uncontrollably, and his body sagged as if drained of all energy. The referee waved his hands, signaling the end of the fight.

"It's over! Mashiba wins!" the announcer declared, and the crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and murmurs, their excitement tempered by the brutal reality of the bout.

Mashiba raised his bloodied gloves in victory, his face a mask of exhaustion and triumph. The referee guided him back to his corner, where his team celebrated his hard-fought win.

In the backroom, the tension was palpable. Ippo sat stiffly, his hands clenched into fists as he watched the screen. When the referee stopped the fight, Ippo's face fell, his disappointment and sadness clearly visible.

Takamura leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed. "It was a close match," he said evenly, though his tone carried a hint of regret.

Kimura shook his head, his expression frustrated. "If Mashiba hadn't stepped on Miyata's foot in round two, Miyata would've had this one. That knockdown changed everything."

Alex, sitting quietly in the corner, finally spoke up. "Things like that happen in boxing. It's not always fair, but it's part of the sport." His voice was calm, but there was an undertone of respect for the effort both fighters had shown.

To be continued…