Yanagimoto stirs, blinking through the blur. He pushes himself off the canvas, gloves rising on instinct as the referee's count hits eight.
"Are you okay?" the ref asks. "Can you still fight?"
Yanagimoto nods, steadies his stance, and the fight resumes.
And Jurobei wastes no time.
He steps in, calm but relentless, tightening the noose with compact pressure. Every motion is still measured, cutting angles, forcing Yanagimoto back without overextending.
DSH! DUG! DSH!
Yanagimoto's guard trembles under the rhythm.
But the veteran doesn't throw wild. He doesn't have to. Every jab finds the gaps, every step steals space.
Soon, Yanagimoto's back skims the ropes. Desperate, he fires a left, then another. But each one gets punished in return…
DSH! DSH!
…two clean, compact jabs snapping into his face.
He grits his teeth, mixing another left from a tighter angle, trying to push Jurobei off him.
