The ring felt smaller once the movement started.
No bell rang. No referee stepped between them. Just the scrape of shoes on canvas, breath fogging in the harsh basement light, and the low, expectant murmur of the people watching.
The Madrid ex rolled his neck and grinned, loose and mocking, arms hanging low at his sides as if this were a game he'd already won. "No gloves," he said, bouncing lightly on his toes, his sneakers squeaking on the canvas. "Good. I want you to feel it. Every second."
