After telling both Seconds out, the referee commences both fighters to the center. As they square up, the irony cuts sharp.
On paper, Junpei holds the edge, one centimeter taller, nearly identical weight at the scale. Yet standing across from him now, Serrano looks carved from another mold.
Serrano's frame is thicker, shoulders broader, every line of muscle swollen and defined, as if the last thirty hours had packed him with steel.
"Alright, gentlemen," the referee says, steady, the same ritual before every fight. "Protect yourselves at all times. Listen to my commands. Keep it clean."
He lifts a hand, and the last line leaves his lips.
"Touch gloves if you will, and back to your corner!"
Junpei extends his glove without hesitation, calm and businesslike. Serrano meets it with a lazy tap, chin tilted high, swagger dripping from every motion.
