Gritting his teeth, Aramaki forces himself upright. The referee steps in, checking him over, but Aramaki shoves him aside. The gesture is weak, trembling, yet his eyes burn with stubborn fire.
"I'm fine!"
"But…"
From the stands, a wave of voices crashes down.
"Don't stop it, ref!"
"Let him fight!"
"You call it now and you're dead!"
Aramaki glares. "Didn't you hear them? They want me to keep fighting. And I can still take more."
And indeed, the crowd is with him now, his name carried in waves, their voices lifting his defiance.
"Hang in there, Aramaki!"
"Good luck getting up!"
Eventually, the referee chops his hand through the air.
"Box!"
Ryoma wastes no time. Dissatisfied, hungry, he storms forward, cutting off the ring before Aramaki can breathe.
His body feels like lead, legs heavy, and arms sluggish. But he knows he has no choice. This round must be the end.
"Need to put him to sleep."
