Coleman moved like a tank with a brain, solid, always pressuring, but calculating behind those eyes.
He didn't throw recklessly. He stalked. His hands stayed high, chin tucked, and every step forward was a setup.
Ronny circled left, jabbed low at the thigh, then flicked a feint up top. He wasn't giving anything for free.
Coleman didn't bite.
Instead, he shot low, fast, exploding forward with a level change that could catch most strikers flat-footed.
But Ronny had seen it coming.
He sprawled hard, hips heavy, pushing Coleman's head down while framing off the shoulder.
As Coleman tried to adjust, Ronny slid out to the side, angled off, and clipped him with a short left as they separated.
It wasn't heavy, but it was sharp. Precise. The kind that made a wrestler think twice.
The crowd clapped. The coaches shouted.
Ronny reset.
Coleman wiped his nose and came forward again.
