But Ryoma doesn't press. He adds only a single left hook to the ribs, fully controlled, the kind that lands without malice, and then he steps away, opening space instead of taking it. Oyama stumbles half a step, breath catching, but he's given time to recover.
It's clear that Ryoma showing restrain. But Nakahara's eyes shine anyway.
It isn't just the counter that stirs him. It's the chain; the slip outside, the weight transfer, the uppercut knocking the head up, the cross breaking balance.
The exact sequence Nakahara drilled into Ryoma only yesterday, now unfolding cleanly, instinctively, despite under pressure.
"This kid…" Nakahara mutters, lips curling despite himself. "He really doesn't stop surprising me."
Starting from the third round, the spar returns to politeness. Oyama pushes forward, earnest, trying to reclaim something he can't quite name.
But Ryoma is always gone by the time punches arrive, slipping outside, stepping around, always just off-line.
