The moment the bell fades, Korakuen Hall swells with noise, a hundred different murmurs breaking loose at once.
The crowd stirs, excited but unsure. Some think Ryoma's in control, others whisper that Sekino's experience just showed.
At ringside, the commentators fill the space, voices threading through the buzz:
"Ryoma looks sharp tonight, great composure, great movement."
"But Sekino's patience is something else. You can feel it. He's dictate the game in his term."
Ryoma returns to his corner under the bright lights, the sound of applause rolling like surf. Hiroshi and Sera greet him with easy smiles, already reaching to lift the stool and wipe him down.
"You looked great tonight, Ryoma," Hiroshi says. "You had him chasing ghosts."
But Ryoma doesn't answer. He just sits, leaning forward, eyes still narrowed, his breathing steady.
Inside his head, the confusion hasn't left him. The sting on his cheek feels sharper than the punch itself.
