The crowd keeps roaring, even though Ayano's no longer throwing. The furious exchange has ended. Now it's only Ryoma pressing forward, relentless.
Takashiro can only watch. Every thud of Ryoma's glove makes his stomach tighten. He just hopes Ayano survives until the bell, though that hope shrinks with every clean hit.
"Coach, do something!" Suda blurts, voice trembling.
"There's nothing to do now," Takashiro says grimly. "If only he'd used his left and his footwork earlier, he could've bought space, recovered, fought on equal ground."
Then, out of nowhere…
DSH!
Ayano fires a short left hook that lands flush, snapping Ryoma's head sideways, breaking his rhythm.
He throws another, then another, but his legs betray him. His punches lose their form, his body swaying, exhausted.
Ryoma slips the next swing easily, steps back, and wipes a streak of blood from his mouth. He glances at the timer in his Vision Grid: less than forty seconds left.
