Chapter Fifty: Two Phone Calls

The next morning, after making breakfast for Sora, Tsukasa Aoki donned a mask and hat, dressed casually in sportswear, and headed to a mobile phone store. Under the relentless sales pitch of the staff, he casually picked out a smartphone. The price wasn't high. Since he needed to use his own SIM card, he couldn't buy many of the models bundled with mobile carriers, so he simply chose an older model for just over ten thousand yen.

After inserting his SIM card, the first thing Tsukasa did was to find Toru Maeda’s number from the contacts bound to the card.

The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Hello? Boss?" Toru Maeda’s robust voice made Tsukasa breathe a sigh of relief. Although he had anticipated that Toru wouldn't be seriously hurt, he'd still worried for a long time.

“How’s your injury?” Tsukasa walked along the street, looking at the bustling shops around him, his tone gentle.

Toru Maeda laughed heartily, “Haha, don’t worry, Boss! I’m tough as nails. I’m fine already!”

“Which hospital are you in? I’ll come see you.” Tsukasa felt guilty, knowing Toru had taken a beating because of him. He considered buying a fruit basket or something, but before he could say so, Toru hurriedly refused over the phone, “No, no, Boss, don’t come to see me.”

Lying in the hospital with a bruised face and his head wrapped like a mummy, Toru spoke into the phone a bit sheepishly, “Boss, you really don’t need to visit. I’ll be back in school in a day or two, it’s nothing serious.”

“Why bother coming here? You really think they could do anything to me? Haha, hahahaha!” Toru laughed a bit awkwardly. Truth was, he was just embarrassed—after boasting to Tsukasa about his strength, he’d ended up hospitalized in no time. It was a bit humiliating.

Quickly changing the subject, Toru said, “I heard you sent Kitaro Ishihara to the hospital by yourself yesterday?”

Hearing Ishihara’s name, Tsukasa’s expression turned cold. “Yes. Others may not know, but I’m sure Kitaro Ishihara ended up in the hospital.”

Though he’d been dizzy by the end of the fight yesterday, Tsukasa still remembered how hard he’d hit. At the very least, Ishihara’s nose was either broken or badly bent, and his teeth would need a dentist’s attention.

“Hahahaha, that’s the Boss for you!” Toru’s voice was gleeful. “A friend told me today that Ryota Ishihara had to get a gold tooth—no telling how many front teeth got replaced.”

Tsukasa chuckled softly, but there was no trace of pride on his face. If it weren’t for the Daruma sticker healing all his wounds overnight, he’d probably have been laid up in the hospital for ages himself. He didn’t see any honor in it.

“Well, since you’re fine and don’t want me to visit, let’s leave it at that. See you in class on Monday… and try to be more careful. Don’t be so reckless. If they come looking for me, just tell them where I am—no need to take a beating yourself.” Tsukasa couldn’t help but nag a little.

Toru replied, full of indignation, “How could I sell you out, Boss!”

“Patients, please keep quiet…” The nurse nearby jumped at Toru’s outburst, but he was too worked up to care. “I may not be as strong as you, Boss, but I’m a man too! I’d never betray a friend!”

So melodramatic… Tsukasa thought Toru was a little slow, but his heart warmed all the same. He laughed and scolded, “You think you’re in the right, huh? Next time, don’t make decisions on your own. If something happens, call me. Got it?”

This rascal—he’d better keep an eye on him. Who knows when someone might take advantage of him.

Toru hesitated, then understood Tsukasa’s meaning. He was overjoyed. “Yes, Boss!”

“All right, that’s enough. I’ve got things to do. See you Monday.” Tsukasa hung up. On the other end, Toru, bursting with excitement, punched the air, leapt up from his bed, and shouted “YES!”—only to bang his head with a thud. Groaning, he quickly lay back down, flashing a goofy grin at the nurse, who looked at him with exasperation. “Nurse, it hurts… I think I’m dying… Could you check me again?”

The nurse and the other patients could only sigh—if you can jump high enough to hit the ceiling, you hardly seem like you’re dying.

Tsukasa then dialed Iwao Matsuyama’s number.

After two rings, an angry voice answered, “So you finally remember to call me back?”

He didn’t need to think to know this guy must have called him plenty yesterday.

“Sorry, Iwao, I got caught up with something yesterday. My phone broke, so I couldn’t call. I just bought a new one today—calling to apologize right away,” Tsukasa replied, laughing sheepishly, expertly taking the blame.

Iwao grunted on the other end. “Did you get in a fight yesterday?”

Huh? How did he know? Tsukasa’s laughter faltered.

“I knew you were up to something! Don’t give me that ‘something came up’ excuse. I figured you were in trouble!” Iwao, pleased at having guessed right, scolded, “Do you realize how much an injury would affect your training? Think you’re tough now? I know plenty of real fighters—want me to set up some sparring matches?”

“No, no!” Tsukasa hurried to admit fault. Whatever happened, Iwao was just looking out for him. He explained, “It’s not like I wanted trouble. They came looking for me—what could I do? Don’t worry, I’ll be at training tomorrow.”

Iwao, still not appeased, pressed, “Tomorrow? So you are hurt?”

“No, really, I just promised my little sister I’d take her shopping this afternoon and have dinner with her tonight. I’ll be free tomorrow, and I’ll train properly,” Tsukasa replied with a wry smile.

Iwao sighed helplessly. “I’ve always thought you were mature and talented. That’s why I value you so much. You know what you should and shouldn’t do, right?”

“Yes…” Tsukasa nodded.

“You know how much time is left before the tournament, and where your skills stand. I don’t want to have to drag you by the collar every day. If you’re serious about this competition, you should take it seriously yourself.” Iwao’s voice softened, almost pleading. “There are so many young people who come to me, calling me ‘Coach Iwao’ all day, and I ignore most of them. But I signed you to a great contract—don’t waste the opportunity. Not everyone gets such good training conditions.”

Tsukasa didn’t find him nagging at all. He replied obediently, “Yes, I know you really do care about me, Iwao.”

And it was true. Just the training paid five thousand yen an hour—few fighters in Japan, even the famous ones, could earn like that. In fact, it was a rare arrangement worldwide.

Most fighters had to pay for coaches and training teams. Who else had a training team that paid the fighter to train? Anyone else in Tsukasa’s place would be forking out tens of thousands of yen a day, not making money from it.

“Enough said.” The sound of a lighter flicking came from Iwao’s end. “Remember, don’t get into fights. If someone’s giving you trouble, call me. Got it? Save your punches for the ring. There are plenty of people in the cage who’ll fight you—don’t go picking on kids outside.”

Tsukasa blinked, a bit surprised, but his heart felt warm. “I understand, Iwao… Thank you.”

“Okay, then. Take care of your schedule. Come early tomorrow—I’ll be in all day. If you don’t show, or if I see you’re injured, just wait and see what I’ll do!” Iwao exhaled a puff of smoke and hung up.

Tsukasa slipped his phone back into his pocket, hands in his jacket, lips curving into a faint smile beneath his mask.

The people around him, it seemed, were all unexpectedly warmhearted.