Kanzaki comes forward, measured this time. His stance shifts, shoulders hunched, chin tucked, arms tight to his ribs. Elbows guard his body, forearms angled up to shield his face.
He inches forward like a coiled spring, every step short and heavy. It's the stance of an in-fighter, built to eat punches on the way in, then punish up close.
"Let's drag him in, and finish this quick."
But Ryoma's smirk twitches. He sees it for what it is: Kanzaki abandoning his own style. The proud out-boxer has thrown away his elegance, forced to brawl.
"So this is your answer to my flicker?" he whistles, already regains back his composure.
Almost like throwing an insult, Ryoma slides back, and his own stance shifts. The bounce returns to his feet, light and quick.
He circles on his toes, head loose, arms floating low at his sides. Smooth footwork glides across the canvas, almost casual, float like a butterfly.
Kanzaki presses, cutting the distance step by step.
