Both fighters sit in opposite corners. Yet one irony hangs thick in the air. Ryoma, the one trailing by knockdown and two deductions, stands tall, still looking fresh.
But Noguchi, leading on points, slumps on his stool, face bruised and swollen. The cutman presses an iron hard against his cheek, smearing grease along the puffed skin.
Maruyama studies Ryoma across the ring. The kid isn't even sitting, just standing there, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on the ref like he wants to burn him alive.
"He's losing it," Maruyama frowns. "Look at him. He's been so eager to end this early. But his impatience has caused him this fight. That rage is eating at his gas tank."
Noguchi winces as the cold iron presses his cheek. "Tch…"
Maruyama leans closer, voice low and sharp. "Listen. You don't need to trade with him anymore. You're miles ahead on points. He can't touch you on the cards unless he puts you down. And he won't. Not if you don't give him the chance."
