Chapter 847: No One Left to Protect Him
Ryoma’s declaration is met with another deafening eruption from the crowd. Thousands of spectators cheer wildly, many laughing at the sheer audacity of the challenge.
Amid the celebration, Superintendent Shibata lets out a quiet chuckle.
"No one can stop me now, he said?"
Detective Tachibana glances sideways at Shibata, a faint frown forming between his brows.
"...What’s so funny?"
Shibata simply clicks his tongue and gives a slow shake of his head.
"You really don’t get it, do you?"
He folds his arms with so much pride, his eyes returning to Ryoma inside the ring.
"That statement wasn’t just for Miguel Cabello. It was meant for someone watching from America."
Tachibana’s eyes narrow. "...Hugo Ramirez?"
Shibata nods. "Yeah, Cabello’s promoter."
Shibata’s expression settles into one of quiet satisfaction.
"It’s checkmate already. From this point on, whether we arrest Ramirez tomorrow or six months from now, it won’t matter anymore. He won’t be able to sabotage Ryoma’s preparation for the title fight."
His gaze remains fixed on the ring. "They spent years isolating Ryoma, making sure he can’t climb higher in the world stage. This time... it’s Miguel Cabello who’s been isolated. And there’s no one left to protect him."
Before Tachibana can respond, Shibata’s attention shifts toward the opposite side of the ring. Liam O’Connell’s corner has begun leaving quietly, surrounding the battered veteran as they guide him toward the tunnel beneath a growing swarm of cameras and reporters eager to chase the biggest story of the night.
Shibata’s expression immediately turns serious.
"Tachibana. Tell our people to secure them."
Tachibana follows his line of sight and instantly understands who he means.
"The media is looking in the wrong direction," Shibata continues. "As long as they keep treating Doyle as the villain, Ramirez will think he’s safe. But still, we’re not letting our key witness get buried under that circus. Get the entire camp somewhere secure. The fewer questions they’re forced to answer tonight, the better."
***
However, the moment Liam O’Connell’s camp steps into the corridor, reporters surge toward them from every direction, microphones and cameras thrust forward until the entire group is swallowed by a wall of media.
"Mr. Doyle! A moment please."
"Did your camp have anything to do with the vehicular accident involving Ryoma Takeda?"
"There’s growing speculation this was an attempt to sabotage Ryoma before tonight’s fight. How do you respond?"
"Did anyone from your organization have prior knowledge of the incident?"
Dozens of camera flashes burst without pause. Patrick Doyle simply raises a hand, shielding his face from the lights.
"I have no comment regarding those allegations," he says evenly. "They’re nothing more than speculation, and I won’t be discussing an ongoing matter."
Another barrage of questions immediately follows.
"Mr. Doyle! Are you denying any involvement?"
"Have the Tokyo police questioned you?"
Before he can answer again, several plainclothes officers move through the crowd, positioning themselves between Doyle and the reporters.
"Please step aside."
"Make way."
The officers quickly form a protective cordon around Doyle and the rest of Liam’s management before escorting them away from the crush of microphones.
On one side, Liam O’Connell is carefully guided toward a waiting ambulance, flanked by the two assistant coaches. On the other, Patrick Doyle and the team’s manager are quietly escorted by Tokyo police officers toward the parking area.
Most of the Japanese media assume the police are merely restoring order. But one international news crew captures the entire sequence from beginning to end.
The reporter faces the camera as Doyle and his manager are helped into the waiting vehicle.
"Patrick Doyle, head trainer and also promoter of North Forge Boxing Gym, has just been escorted away by officers from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police."
"Many observers continue to speculate that Doyle may have orchestrated the vehicular incident that nearly claimed Ryoma Takeda’s life. The alleged motive, according to that speculation, would have been to preserve Liam O’Connell’s opportunity to earn another shot at WBO world champion Miguel Cabello."
The camera lingers on Patrick Doyle and the team’s manager as they are escorted into the waiting unmarked police vehicle before the broadcast cuts back to the reporter.
***
San Juan, Puerto Rico
April 29th — 00:45 A.M. (AST)
Far away from the deafening celebration inside Yoyogi Gymnasium, another man watches the same broadcast in complete silence.
Inside a secluded suite of an upscale hotel in San Juan, Hugo Ramirez sits alone on a leather sofa, the only light in the room coming from the television in front of him.
The live international feed shows Ryoma Takeda standing near the ropes, staring directly at Miguel Cabello as he delivers his challenge.
"...Enjoy being the WBO champion while you still can, because it won’t be yours for much longer. No one can stop me now."
Ramirez’s jaw slowly tightens.
"Tch."
His fingers tap lightly against the armrest before falling still. His expression grows increasingly rigid as the celebration continues.
What unsettles him is not Ryoma’s bold declaration itself, but the reality behind it. With the mandatory challenger now officially decided, the rankings, the sanctioning body, and every political maneuver he had relied upon suddenly feel far less useful.
After years of keeping Ryoma away from the world title picture, he can do nothing but watch the inevitable draw closer.
Ramirez reaches for the liquor bottle on the table and instinctively raises it to his lips, expecting a long swallow to wash away the irritation building inside him. Instead, only a few disappointing drops fall into his mouth.
His face darkens as he lowers the empty bottle and shoots a glare toward the bodyguard standing near the door.
"What the hell is this?" he snaps. "You call this stocked?"
The man stiffens. "S-Sorry, sir. That was the last bottle."
Ramirez tosses the empty bottle back onto the table with an irritated clack.
"Then quit standing there and go buy more. I don’t care where you get it."
The bodyguard has barely opened the door when Hugo barks after him.
"And bring some food too!"
"Yes, sir!"
The door closes behind the man, leaving Ramirez alone with the television.
He exhales sharply and rubs a hand over his face. Hiding from the authorities had already drained far more energy than he cared to admit, and now he couldn’t even step outside to eat without risking someone recognizing him.
His eyes drift back to the television, where Ryoma’s face still filled the screen amid the deafening celebration.
"This..." Ramirez mutters through clenched teeth. "This is all because of you. Ryoma Takeda..."
Ramirez reaches for the remote and begins changing channels with growing impatience. None of the channels manage to hold his attention for more than a few seconds before he presses the button again.
Only when another news broadcast appears does his thumb finally stop. The screen shows Patrick Doyle and his manager being escorted by officers of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police toward an unmarked vehicle parked outside Yoyogi Gymnasium.
"Many observers continue to speculate that Doyle may have orchestrated the vehicular incident that nearly claimed Ryoma Takeda’s life. The alleged motive, according to that speculation, would have been to preserve Liam O’Connell’s opportunity to earn another shot at WBO world champion Miguel Cabello."
A faint smirk slowly appears on Ramirez’s face. "This is what happens when you don’t listen to me."
He continues watching the report with quiet satisfaction. As long as the investigation remained focused on Patrick Doyle, the pressure stayed away from him.
He has already learned that the two men he hired were taken into custody. Now, with the Tokyo Police appearing to shift their attention toward someone else, Ramirez grows even more convinced that neither of them has revealed anything capable of leading the authorities back to him.
A moment later, his phone rings, and Ramirez picks it up without taking his eyes off the television.
"Yes, I’ve already seen the news."
.... ...
"I couldn’t care less what happens to Patrick Doyle. If the police arrest him, it only makes things easier for me."
He falls silent again, listening to the voice on the other end before slowly shaking his head.
"No. There’s nothing for me to worry about. He won’t open his mouth."
After ending the call, Hugo places the phone back on the coffee table. Barely a few seconds later, the suite’s doorbell rings, making him glance toward the entrance with mild surprise.
"That was quicker than I expected."
Assuming his bodyguard has already returned with the liquor and food, Hugo walks to the door and pulls it open while speaking without even looking up.
"What, did you forget your key?"
The question dies the instant his eyes meet two unfamiliar men standing quietly in the hallway, both dressed in dark business suits.
The older of the pair calmly removes a leather credential wallet, and opens it just long enough for Ramirez to see the gold badge and identification inside.
"Hugo Ramirez?" the man says. "I’m Special Agent Ethan Carter of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and this is Special Agent Eric Collins."
The color drains from Ramirez’s face. He can only stand frozen in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the two FBI agents who have finally found him.
Agent Carter closes the credential wallet before continuing in the same measured tone. "We have a federal arrest warrant issued in your name. At this time, you’re under arrest. Please step outside the room and keep your hands where we can see them."
In a single instant, every illusion of control Ramirez had managed to preserve over the past several weeks begins to collapse.
The empire he spent decades building; his fortune, influence, reputation, and carefully maintained power within the boxing world, suddenly stands on the verge of unraveling.
