Back on the feet, Damon didn't rush. He let Ivan come forward, hands high, throwing a jab-cross combination that clipped the guard.
Damon circled smoothly, slipping the hook that followed, and tapped Ivan with a calf kick before sliding out of range.
Ivan pressed again, trying to close the gap. Damon feinted low, made him sprawl, then stepped back smiling.
Every exchange forced Ivan to work, every feint pulled a reaction. Damon's pace looked calm and steady, while Ivan's chest was rising a little faster now.
Jim Logan caught it from the desk. "You can see what Damon's doing here, he's making Ivan carry the load, making him work for every inch."
Damon popped the jab, circled left, then leaned out of the way of another heavy right hand.
He answered with a clean one-two down the pipe, not full power, but enough to keep Ivan honest.
Ivan came back with a wild flurry, jab, cross, hook, but Damon blocked and slipped, forcing him to miss.
