The gym falls into low murmurs. Every voice carries that uncertain weight that comes when something unexpected just happened.
Reporters hover near the ring, cameras hanging useless around their necks.
"…he didn't land a clean hit," one whispers.
"Yeah, Ryoma couldn't even find the rhythm," another adds, flipping through his notes. "That's rare. He's usually the one reading everyone else."
"I've covered him since his debut," a third mutters. "Never seen him look like that."
From the other side of the ring, Shoji lets out a dry laugh. "So this is the guy Elliot picked over me? Couldn't even tag him once. Just hype… no bone."
A few of the younger fighters chuckle quietly, though none sound convinced.
Narisawa, still by the ropes, doesn't join in. His eyes stay on the ring, where Ryoma sits on the stool, head bowed, breathing measured.
"Don't be too quick," he says.
Shoji turns. "What, you think he did good?"
