Kanzaki comes forward, measured this time. His stance shifts, shoulders hunched, chin tucked, arms tight to his ribs. Elbows guard his body, forearms angled up to shield his face.
He inches forward like a coiled spring, every step short and heavy. It’s the stance of an in-fighter, built to eat punches on the way in, then punish up close.
"Let’s drag him in, and finish this quick."
But Ryoma’s smirk twitches. He sees it for what it is: Kanzaki abandoning his own style. The proud out-boxer has thrown away his elegance, forced to brawl.
"So this is your answer to my flicker?" he whistles, already regains back his composure.
Almost like throwing an insult, Ryoma slides back, and his own stance shifts. The bounce returns to his feet, light and quick.
He circles on his toes, head loose, arms floating low at his sides. Smooth footwork glides across the canvas, almost casual, float like a butterfly.
Kanzaki presses, cutting the distance step by step.
The moment he enters Ryoma’s range...
A barrage of lefts lashes into him. Not heavy, not killing shots, but constant interruptions.
Ryoma never plants his feet like he did with the flicker style. He slides away, sidesteps sharp, pivots out, always circling, always controlling the space, never gives Kanzaki a stationary target.
Kanzaki grits his teeth, shoving forward, but Ryoma is already gone, stinging him from a new angle.
Finally, Kanzaki pauses, chest heaving, irritation carved into his face.
"You bastard..." he scowls.
He gave up his own boxing to copy Aramaki’s in-fighter to crack Ryoma’s flicker jabs. But now Ryoma taunts him by wearing the style Kanzaki once called his own, the out-boxer’s crown.
Kanzaki drives forward, chin tucked, arms tight, doing his best to honor Tsuchida’s instructions. Compact, no wide swings, keep walking Ryoma down.
But Ryoma keeps slipping away, sliding out on nimble feet. Step, pivot, sidestep, and flares jabs occasionally. Each time Kanzaki thinks he has him cornered, Ryoma vanishes with a quick angle, tagging him with a jab on the way out.
Kanzaki’s irritation grows with every missed chance.
"Think you are good?!" He snarls. "Don’t forget who beat you with that style in round one!"
Yes, it’s the very style that had won Kanzaki the first round. And he believes he has advantage in this.
Ultimately, he abandons Tsuchida’s plan and slides back into his familiar stance, longer guard, lighter feet, trying to out-box the out-boxer.
At ringside, Hiroshi grips the corner pad, frowning. "Why’s Ryoma not sticking with the flicker? He had Kanzaki locked down with it. Coach, shouldn’t we tell him to go back?"
Nakahara stays silent, eyes fixed on the ring. He watches Ryoma circle, watches Kanzaki chase with irritation mounting with every step.
"No. Leave him," Nakahara mutters with a shake of his head. "Hate to say it, but the kid’s calmer than you give him credit for."
Hiroshi blinks, confused. "But..."
Nakahara doesn’t take his eyes off the fight. "There’s more to this than just landing punches."
"What do you mean?" Hiroshi asks.
"This style is good to rake points," Nakahara replies. "You control the fight by maintaining your space. But not when you’re falling behind."
Hiroshi’s brow furrows. He glances back to the ring, then slowly, his expression shifts as understanding sinks in.
"So, you’re telling me..."
"Yes," Nakahara cuts him off. "Kanzaki is dancing in Ryoma’s palm right now. Sure, Kanzaki can dance too. It’s the style he knows best. But then what? Ryoma already scored a down. He’s leading by a wide margin. If Kanzaki wants to turn the table, he can’t dance. He has to force his way in."
Exactly as Nakahara says, Kanzaki bounces on the tips of his shoes, trying to prove whose dance is better. But no matter how fast his feet move, he isn’t seizing control.
Gradually, frustration leaks through. As he presses forward, his form slips. He chases with flurries, arms flailing between half-dancing and half-brawling, leaving openings Ryoma reads with ease.
A jab smacks Kanzaki’s face the moment he thinks he’s caught Ryoma. By the time he resets, Ryoma’s already slid away.
"Stop running away, coward!" Kanzaki growls. "Fight me!"
"Running?" Ryoma shrugs mid-step. "Isn’t this how you usually box?"
Snapped, Kanzaki lunges, throwing jab-straight combinations. Ryoma keeps distance, parrying cleanly, never losing rhythm.
What once looked like elegant out-boxing now reeks of desperation. The more Kanzaki presses, the more jabs land flush across his face.
When he thinks he has Ryoma pinned to the ropes, Kanzaki hurls a wild swing, irritation flaring in his eyes. Ryoma ducks, lets the blow sail over, and slips around to his back.
Kanzaki stumbles into the ropes, balance breaking. The moment he whirls around...
A jab cracks his temple, stunning him in place. But Ryoma doesn’t follow up. He just waits, daring Kanzaki to chase.
And Kanzaki, fuming like a mad bull, charges again, his out-boxing reduced to a broken shell.
Ryoma doesn’t even need volume in throwing punch. He focuses on maintaining the distance, throwing fewer shots, but each one lands on the same spot, Kanzaki’s right eye.
A minute into the third round, Kanzaki’s right eyelid begins to swell. And Tsuchida knows, Ryoma’s planning the same thing he did with Aramaki, blinding one of his opponent’s eyes.
"Kanzakiii!" Tsuchida calls out. "What the hell are you doing?! Stop dancing around! Your boxing won’t help you now!"
He slams the canvas, face red with fury. Check latest chapters at novel_fіre.net
"Guard high and tight! Protect your eyes! Cut the distance, fight him close, and keep your punches compact!"
But it’s too late. Kanzaki’s already in the middle of a wide swing. And Ryoma slams a left into Kanzaki’s face.
Sweat arcs in the air after the impact. And Kanzaki’s stunned in place. His knees wobble, but he tries his best to stay on his feet, covering his face with both arms.
"What did I tell you?" Tsuchida snaps. "Enough with the huge swing. Keep your guard tight!"
Kanzaki finally obeys. After all, the lefts Ryoma threw at him have pilled the damage he can no longer ignore, forcing him to abandon pride.
He braces, teeth clenched, stepping forward in the in-fighter’s stance, pivoting sharp, absorbing jabs on his arms.
This time, after withstanding all the oncoming jabs, Kanzaki manages to trap Ryoma in the corner.
"Yes! That’s it!" Tsuchida bellows. "Now pour it on!"
Kanzaki fires a straight right, forcing Ryoma’s guard high. Then he digs hooks to the body, left and right.
Ryoma doesn’t retreat. He clamps his right arm around Kanzaki’s head, almost a clinch, left hand tying up Kanzaki’s right.
"Don’t let him hold you! Keep it compact!" Tsuchida yells.
Kanzaki slams his left into Ryoma’s ribs, compact, sharp, over and over. But Ryoma just shakes his head with every blow, like it doesn’t hurt him.
The referee wedges in, tapping Ryoma’s right hand.
Ryoma releases. And Kanzaki steps back.
Before the ref restarts them, Ryoma smirks. "You won’t break me. You’re weak! Aramaki’s much stronger than you!"
Kanzaki charges again, same scene repeating. Hooks, pressure, compact strikes.
And again Ryoma ties up, smothering, holding him down. He drains Kanzaki’s stamina by putting his own weight on him.
Kanzaki keeps hammering the ribs with his left. And Ryoma just shakes his head again, voice louder this time.
"Nope! Nothing! My mom can punch harder than this."
The ref moves in, but the bell saves them first.
Ryoma finally lets him go.
Kanzaki lifts his head, panting, eyes bloodshot. Their stares lock inches apart, but Kanzaki’s breath is ragged, heavier than Ryoma’s.
"What?" Ryoma scoffs. "Why you looking more tired than me?"
This time, Kanzaki can’t answer him back. He just turns, trudging back to his corner.
But Ryoma’s voice cuts through the arena again.
He adds one more dagger as he walks to his corner.
"Your punches are light. Can’t compare to Aramaki’s."
Kanzaki hears every word. And he can’t ignore him anymore.
He’s endured, he’s fought, he’s sacrificed his own style, his pride.
And yet it feels like he gained nothing from it.