The tatami creaked as Yami shifted his stance. His eyes narrowed on Miles, his body coiled like a spring.
Then—he moved.
Yami exploded forward, his fist cutting through the air with the force of a hammer. His strike was sharp, clean, the kind that had floored dozens of opponents before they even blinked.
The crowd murmured in awe.
"This is it…"
"The foreigner's done for."
"Yami-san's fist is unstoppable—"
But just as the blow was about to land, Miles shifted.
A step, smooth and effortless, and the punch cut through empty space.
Whoosh.
Miles didn't even look strained. He turned his head slightly, letting the attack pass as though it had been nothing more than a breeze.
Yami stumbled half a step, eyes widening. His lips parted in disbelief.
"What—?"
The hall erupted in whispers.
"Did he just dodge that?"
"No one's ever avoided Yami-san's first strike—"
"He didn't even flinch!"
Miles's grin spread, sharp and amused. "Too slow. Come on."
