Ryoma is already feeling the walls closing in. Every time he tries to circle, Ryohei's reach clips him, gloves grazing his cheek or shoulder.
His footwork stays sharp, but the space vanishes too fast, forcing him to slip and weave in tighter space than he likes. His breathing grows sharper, and that hint of frustration is back in his eyes.
From the ring corner, Hiroshi returns, towel still draped over his shoulder. He stops, squinting at the ring, noticing how the space is narrower than before.
He approaches Nakahara, who's standing arms crossed by the post, watching with a strange calm. Lowering his voice, Hiroshi leans in.
"What is this now, Coach?" he asks. "You saw earlier how the kid got his form ruined. And now you shrink the ring? You're pushing him into Ryohei's wheelhouse."
Nakahara doesn't look away from the action. His gaze stays fixed on Ryoma, slipping barely past a straight and weaving under a hook.
