THE WINNERS FROM THE LOSERS
by Lady Addiction
FANDOM: Hajime no Ippo
PAIRINGS: None
WARNINGS: Gen, spoilers for Volg's fight
SUMMARY: Volg has an unexpected meeting with another Japanese boxer, and learns the true difference between winners and losers.
AUTHOR NOTES:
1. For those who want to know about this series and the two main characters of this fic, go here: www . livejournal . com/ users/ ladyaddiction/ 29303.html #cutid1
2. Most everything here is fiction or based on the boxing world portrayed by the anime rather than fact, so if you are a boxing fan, I hope my mistakes won't offend you.
WWWW
It hadn't changed at all in the one year since Volg had last seen it. The Bologoe Gym, neatly tucked in between a pharmacy and a bakery, was still small and cramped. The white walls with their red trim and small square windows remained unchanged down to the paint peeling off to reveal the grey insides and the dark scuff marks where frustrated men had pounded their fists. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat, blood, and old leather, alive with grunts, thuds, and loud voices.
This was where he had practically grown up after he was discovered. This was where he sweated and bled and studied until his head had no room for anything other than boxing.
This gym was his life.
He stepped inside, smiling faintly as the gym regulars called out greetings and commiserated with him. There were no new faces that he could see, and his disappointment was sharp. When he had heard that Japanese boxers were coming to St. Petersburg for the new corporate-sponsored tournament, he had been expecting to see one small, mild-mannered boxer. He had been hoping to see him.
"You," that was a Japanese word—Volg turned on his heels. He was startled to see a young man his age staring at him. He couldn't remember ever seeing him in Japan. "You, you're Volg Vangrief, aren't you?" the stranger asked.
"Ah, yes, yes, I am Volg," he replied in stuttered Japanese. He was surprised that he still recalled it so well. "Who are you?"
"We've never met. I'm Miyata Ichiro. I used to be from Kamogawa Gym."
"Kamogawa Gym!" Volg's face lit up. "Makunouchi's gym! You, you are Makunouchi's friend?"
The other boxer snorted. "No, we're not friends, but I do know him." Those cool black eyes flickered over him coolly, assessingly. Volg instinctively stood up straighter. "Are you with this gym?" Miyata asked.
"Er, yes, yes, this gym trained me and sent me to Japan, yes," Volg replied awkwardly. "But I no longer box. Not for a year."
"You quit boxing?" Miyata repeated, brows arching in startlement.
"Well, not quit yet. I was taking care of my mother. But I am thinking of staying amateur," Volg explained. His eyes shifted to watch the other men quietly gathering around them. "I love boxing," he said, looking Miyata in the eye, "but I am thinking pro-boxing is not good for me."
"So, you suffer a little defeat in Japan and you're giving up pro-boxing?" Volg recoiled at the scorn evident in Miyata's closed expression.
"Not small defeat!" Volg retorted, stung. "I just…"
"You're just giving up. Some world champion you are," Miyata interrupted. "Do you think you're the only boxer to ever be embarrassed abroad? How can you say you love boxing when you have so little pride in how you box!"
The men around them began to growl and demand that Volg explain why he was letting a little foreign shit from Japan treat him like trash. Volg barely heard them, too shocked by the unexpected attack from a virtual stranger.
"Ippo lost too. You saw it, you fought for the belt after he lost. But did Ippo give up? Of course not. Even if he had lost again, do you think Ippo would have given up?" Miyata continued relentlessly, his dark eyes boring into Volg's with a heavy intensity. The Russian began to feel slightly suffocated by an unseen pressure.
Volg made an effort to look away before he shook his head in the negative. He remembered the dogged stubbornness of his most memorable opponent. No, he couldn't see Makunouchi giving up, even if he had suffered a hundred defeats. He would still be boxing, still be trying his best.
"I never got a chance to meet you when you were in Japan. I was watching your death match with Sendou with Ippo. Actually, one of the reasons I was looking forward to coming to Russia was to get a chance to spar with you. But I'm heading for the Youth World Boxing Championships, and I have no time to spare for losers," Miyata concluded cuttingly. He pivoted on his heels, glared at the crowd, and stalked away. He paid no attention to the loud calls by their audience.
Volg watched him leave, totally stunned. He slowly made his way out of the gym, absentmindedly replying to the others' comments, until he was back on the streets.
He couldn't help thinking about it, all the way back to his small town several miles from St. Petersburg. Miyata's words rang inside his head, creating a hollow feeling inside of him.
No, he told himself. No, he wasn't a loser. He wasn't quitting boxing. He was just planning to train more, to do more amateur tournaments for the next few years. After some experience, he would be back in the pro ring. He would be back.
But Volg couldn't convince himself that he wasn't lying.
WWWW
He had been of two minds whether to watch the matches at the Borovsk Stadium. The new tournament was for the first ever Junior European Boxing Title Tournament, sponsored by one of the major Russian corporations and various European boxing organizations. Most of the boxers were from Europe, with only a few from Thailand, Japan, Mexico, and America. Out of the hundreds that came, only one would go home with a champion belt.
The decision was taken out of his hands when his uncle came to him for help with the farm. For the next month, he was busy with the farm and taking care of his mother, who was slowly getting better under the gentle care of his aunt and grandmother.
Another two months passed and Volg never entered the stadium. Instead, he was busy helping rebuild a burned-down house, teaching children how to read, and reading new books. He told himself that he was not running away, that he was just too busy.
When he learned that Miyata Ichiro was one of the final contenders for the belt, he bought a ticket for the match.
He watched, absorbed. Miyata was a slight, speedy shadow well-matched to the reedy, long-armed Mexican opposing him. The fight was all clean sharp blows, swift reflexes, and skilled footwork. Miyata was fast and accurate, his fists coming out in rapid, lightning blurs. However, Volg could see that the Japanese man was at the disadvantage. The Mexican punched harder and had a longer reach, even if he wasn't as fast as his opponent, and the damage after five rounds was accumulating.
Then he gasped. The Mexican was attempting a Dempsey Roll, the rapid weaving motion and ferocious two-handed attack that would surely crush Miyata mercilessly. He stared, holding his breath, as the Mexican feinted and propelled Miyata backward. The rain of blows came.
Volg blinked. Rather than being beaten bloody, the Japanese boxer was easily avoiding the blows, his hands up tight in a turtle guard. Then he lashed out, one fist arching to land in his opponent's face with a sharp crack and driving the Mexican right down onto the canvas. The referee rushed over to separate them and began to check over the Mexican. The crowd hushed, spellbound, until the referee rose and signalled that the match was over and Miyata Ichiro won the very first Junior European Boxing Title belt. Bruised and bleeding from heavy blows, the young Japanese stood at the center of the ring and brought his arms up, sending his fellow Japanese into wild cheers. The rest of the audience began a belated clapping, then cheering.
Volg went home thoughtfully.
WWWW
This time when he entered the gym, the first person he saw was Miyata Ichiro. The other boxer was dressed in jeans, a black shirt, and a dark-green blazer, talking with an older man who bore a good resemblance to him. Volg approached them carefully, and the two fell quiet upon seeing him.
"Ichiro, it looks like you have a guest. I'll go see if Isamu-kun's ready." With a squeeze on Miyata's shoulder, the older man nodded at Volg and left.
"Volg-san," Miyata greeted curtly. Volg saw the after-effects of the brutal series of matches in the heavily bruised face and the way the other man held his body, moving a touch too carefully.
"Miyata-san, congratulations," he said.
"You were watching?"
"Yes, it was a very good match." Volg hesitated, then pushed on. "I have been thinking, what you said before."
"Ahh." Miyata's face was closed.
"You are right," Volg continued, "I quit pro-boxing too easily. I…I had high expectations coming to Japan. When I failed…I lost heart." He looked down to the ground, wondering if he should be saying this to someone he didn't even know.
"The two of us," Miyata interrupted, "we won too easily, didn't we, in our first matches?" Volg jerked his head back up. "You're not the only one with high expectations. Ever since I was a child, I've been told I was a great boxer. By the time, I became pro, I thought my moves were perfect."
Volg found himself nodding. That was what he had felt as an amateur boxer, an unbeatable sensation. With an amateur world championship belt, he thought pro-boxing would not be difficult at all.
"But I was wrong," Miyata was saying. Their eyes met. "Pro-boxing is not that easy. It is a hard life. There are people out there who are just as good as us, just as desperate for a win. There are people with all sorts of circumstances for whom boxing may be a living, a hobby, or a life. All of that doesn't matter.
"Yes, your previous victories and losses affect your ranking and how much you make, but that's not what pro-boxing is. All that matters is that when you are in the ring, you fight with all that you can. That you don't give up until you win or your body can no longer move. That regardless of how often you get knocked down, you keep coming back up. That is what pro-boxing is."
"I understand that now," Volg replied quietly. "I understand. And I'm not giving up."
"Good. I hate to have to tell Ippo that you're quitting." Miyata's face broke into a smirk. Volg blinked and he smiled back tentatively.
"Makunouchi is a good man, tell him that."
"I will."
This time, when Volg walked out of the gym, the hollowness had been replaced by a growing sense of peace.
No, he wasn't quitting boxing. Not while he can still move.
Not while there are men like Makunouchi and Miyata waiting in the ring for him.
-FIN-
Any Hajime no Ippo fans out there? How did the characterizations go, do you think?
I hope that all you readers have fun! If you have any comments, please let me know. I'd appreciate hearing from the readers!