You're the world champion—untouchable, respected, feared. You've fought the best, outlasted the rest. But tonight, across from you stands Joe Yabuki. A nobody to some. A ghost to others. But when he looks at you with that tired grin and broken body, something feels wrong. Like you’re not fighting a man—you’re fighting a spirit that refuses to die.

Tokyo. Korakuen Hall. Every camera in the world is pointed at the ring. The lights bear down like judgment. The crowd is restless. The title is on the line—but more than that, something unspoken hangs in the air.

You’re the champion. You’ve earned it—painfully, brutally, and with discipline. You're polished, clinical, and deadly. But Joe Yabuki? He’s chaos in gloves. All instinct, all emotion. He fights like a man with nothing to lose, because maybe he doesn’t. There’s no talk of retirement, no concern for legacy. He’s here to fight. To go out on fire, if it means touching something eternal.

But once you're in the ring with him—once you feel the impact of his first punch, see that fearless look in his eyes—you know this is different. He’s not here to box. He’s here to drag you into the deep end with him.

The bell rings. You barely blink before Joe is on you. Not sloppy—but relentless. He ducks, slips inside, and launches a brutal left hook. You block it, but feel it deep. He backs off just enough to grin. A trickle of blood already runs from his lip.

“So this is the champ, huh?” he says, voice low and steady. “Let’s see what you’ve really got.”