Isekai in Hajime no Ippo with Gaolang’s Template

The Nakadai Boxing Gym wasn't as large as Kamogawa Gym, but it had its own aura—a sense of history and discipline filled the air. The smell of sweat and leather gloves mixed with the faint scent of old wood, and the rhythmic sound of heavy bags being pounded could be heard in the background.

As Coach Kamogawa's car pulled up to the gym, Alex, Ippo, and Naomichi stepped out, their eyes scanning the entrance. The large metal doors were slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of boxers training inside.

Kamogawa led the way as they entered.

Inside, Coach Nakadai, an elderly man with white hair and a stern yet composed expression, was already waiting for them. He stood tall, arms crossed, watching their approach with an air of authority.

"You're here," Nakadai greeted, giving a small nod. "Come inside."

Kamogawa returned the nod. "Thank you for having us here," he said respectfully.

As the group stepped further in, Eiji Date emerged from the training area. His sharp, veteran eyes immediately landed on Ippo.

A small, knowing smile appeared on Date's face as he extended his hand.

"Makunouchi," he said simply.

Ippo hesitated for a moment but then shook Date's hand firmly. Though there were no hard feelings, the memory of their spar still lingered.

After shaking Ippo's hand, Date turned to Alex and offered the same gesture.

Alex, standing relaxed with his hands in his pockets, looked at the outstretched hand for a brief moment before shaking it—more out of courtesy than anything else.

Their grip was firm, neither backing down, but Alex didn't linger. He let go just as quickly as he had accepted.

Meanwhile, Naomichi and Ippo took their seats on the chairs lined against the wall, observing everything carefully.

Alex, on the other hand, wandered slightly off to the side, his eyes casually scanning the equipment in a nearby cabinet. Various headgears, gloves, and hand wraps were neatly arranged inside.

In the corner of his vision, he noticed Date stepping into the ring, sitting on one of the stools while wrapping his hands himself—his movements precise and efficient, a reflection of his years of experience.

Alex turned back to him, watching for a moment before speaking.

"You sure you won't wear a headgear?" Alex asked, his tone neutral.

Date, still wrapping his hands, looked up at him with a relaxed expression. "I'm fine," he said with a smile.

To Alex, that smile felt too casual.

Is he not taking me seriously?

Without another word, Alex stepped forward, grabbing a roll of hand wraps from the cabinet. If Date wasn't wearing a headgear, then he wouldn't either.

Moving with calm precision, he began wrapping his hands, the fabric tightening over his knuckles.

Coach Kamogawa, watching both fighters prepare, reached into his pocket and pulled out a vintage timer—an old, round device with a mechanical dial.

"Alright," Kamogawa said, adjusting the time. "I'll set the—"

"No need," Nakadai interrupted, gesturing toward a modern square timer hanging on the wall. "We have one here."

Kamogawa glanced at it and nodded. "Alright then. How many rounds?"

Nakadai crossed his arms in thought before answering.

"Three rounds should do it."

The bell rang.

Alex and Date touched gloves in a show of respect, but the air between them was thick with tension.

Alex immediately settled into his Hitman stylestance—his lead hand extended forward, his rear hand resting near his chin, his body slightly angled. He looked relaxed, but his stance exuded danger, like a coiled spring ready to strike.

Date, in contrast, adopted his hybrid stance—a mixture of classic textbook boxing and his own aggressive refinements. His hands were up at his chin, his feet positioned for mobility, his weight balanced evenly between offense and defense.

As soon as the round started, Date wasted no time.

He dashed forward, attempting to close the distance immediately, hoping to pressure Alex before he could find his rhythm.

But Alex's lead hand flicked out, snapping three lightning-fast jabs into Date's face within the span of a breath.

—Pap! Pap! Pap!—

The speed was unreal.

Date felt his head snap back slightly with each jab, his vision momentarily blurred. They weren't heavy punches, but their sheer speed and precision made it nearly impossible to move forward cleanly.

Still, Date wasn't the type to back down. He pressed forward, throwing out a probing right straight, testing Alex's reactions.

Alex didn't retreat. Instead, he angled to the right, smoothly stepping away while continuously flicking his flicker jab to keep Date at bay. His footwork was light, effortless, as if he was skating across the ring rather than moving on canvas.

From the ringside, Naomichi watched intently, whispering, "It seems like Date-san is having trouble closing the gap."

Ippo, sitting beside him, nodded with a serious expression. "Yeah… Alex's flicker jab is so fast that it keeps Date-san in check. It's not just speed—his sense of distance is amazing."

Date's POVDamn…

He's fast—super fast!

Date gritted his teeth as another flicker jab brushed against his glove.

If he let Alex keep dictating the range, he wouldn't even be able to get into position to launch a real attack.

—I need to do something to close the gap!—

Suddenly, Date launched himself forward with a sharp left leaping hook, aiming to break past the wall of jabs.

Alex's eyes flickered with recognition.

In a split-second reaction, he leaned his head back, making the punch miss by mere inches.

But Date wasn't done.

He saw it—the momentary opening in Alex's chest from dodging backward.

Date torqued his right shoulder and twisted his body, throwing a vicious corkscrew punch aimed at Alex's heart!

The punch shot forward like a drill, its rotation designed to pierce through defenses.

But Alex was prepared.

His elbows flared outward, intercepting the corkscrew punch before it could reach his chest.

—Smack!—

The impact landed on Alex's triceps, deflecting the force harmlessly.

The two fighters reset, stepping back slightly.

Date narrowed his eyes. Fast reaction time too…

He noticed something strange—Alex lifted his right hand to his chin, abandoning his usual Hitman style stance.

Date's mind raced. Isn't he using his usual stance anymore?

His thoughts were cut short.

Alex suddenly rushed forward, ducking low.

A split second later—a vicious left hook shot toward Date's liver!

—Swoosh!—

Date's instincts screamed danger.

He quickly tucked his elbow in, blocking his liver with a tight guard.

But in the same motion—Alex adjusted.

The left hook morphed mid-motion into a left uppercut!

—Crack!—

The punch slipped through Date's guard, catching him clean on the chin!

His vision blurred, his head snapped back violently, and his knees buckled under the impact.

Before he knew it, he was on the canvas, sitting on his butt in shock.

Silence filled the gym.

Alex stood over him, his expression blank, his demeanor calm and stoic—like a man simply executing his duty.