The round pressed on, sweat now dripping from both men as their pace refused to slow.
Max shook his shoulders loose, circling, his lead leg already red and tender from Kenji's persistent kicks.
Every step carried a small limp, but he masked it behind aggression, biting down on the mouthpiece and firing punches in flurries.
Kenji stayed calm, his guard tight, his eyes fixed not on Max's face but on his chest and shoulders, reading every twitch for a tell.
He snapped another jab, crisp and sharp, and followed with a low kick that smacked the same battered calf.
Max winced, but his answer came fast, a heavy hook to the body that slammed against Kenji's ribs, forcing a grunt from the Japanese fighter.
They collided again at range, Max pumping a one-two that brushed Kenji's guard, then leapt forward with a left hook.
Kenji rolled under, countering with a slick right straight that cracked Max's nose. Blood sprayed, red across the canvas.
