Jade keeps trying to engage, but nothing lands clean. Ryoma's shots aren't heavy, but they score. Little marks of control, threading through guard just often enough to remind the champion who's dictating this exchange.
"You see this?" one commentator says, voice lowered in disbelief.
"He's matching him stance for stance," the other replies. "Every time Jade changes, Takeda changes right with him."
"And Jade's chasing now," the first adds. "But he's swinging at shadows."
Even so, the noise never dies. Every exchange draws a reaction.
Gloves colliding, shots caught on arms, punches skimming past by inches. To the crowd, it all looks dangerous.
They see two fighters throwing and adjusting in real time, the champion switching stances, the challenger changing styles, neither giving an inch.
It feels like a deadlock forged by skill, not caution.
And whenever one of Ryoma's flickers sneaks through and snaps Jade's head just enough…
Dsh!
