Ryoma arches a brow, half a smile breaking through. The warning isn't wrong, but it's pointed the wrong way.
If anyone's drowning in overconfidence, it's Ayano. And Ryoma's already decided to make him pay for it.
Across the ring, Ayano spins his left like a windmill, grinning with a predator's excitement. He's only taken one punch to the face, a light one, and he's already sure of himself.
"Moving up a class with nothing but a mosquito bite?" he sneers, lips curling. "I'll make you regret that decision for the rest of your life."
The bell rings…
Ding!
…and Ayano storms into the center.
He thought Ryoma would circle away like before. But no, Ryoma steps forward, plants his feet, angles his body in one clean line, left arm tight against his ribs, lead shoulder lifted, right hand guarding his chin.
"A Philly Shell, huh?" Ayano scoffs, lips curling.
He bumps his gloves together, bounces once, and opens up with a few stiff jabs.
