This time, Noguchi doesn't plan to retreat, not after tasting the canvas once already. The shame of that knockdown lingers in his memory, a ghost he's desperate to banish. He surges forward first, snapping punches out of that crooked, hybrid guard.
Ryoma blocks them with ease at first, tight shoulders, quick parries, simple fundamentals holding strong. But then Noguchi's trick shows itself. None of his punches are thrown to land clean.
Each one paws, shoves, pries, worming between Ryoma's guard, pulling his arms wide like a crowbar wedged into a door.
And then…
Zrsshh!
…a real straight pierces the seam he forced open, sliding like a blade through cloth.
Ryoma jerks his head back, the glove grazing across his shoulder instead of his chin. Close. Too close.
