The arena detonates. For a split second, it's not even cheers, but disbelief. A sharp collective intake of breath, like the building itself flinched.
This was supposed to be another quiet minute. Then it became another stretch of Ramos controlling space, piling points, carrying the round to the bell the way he always does.
The second round lulled them. The third had settled into Ramos' routine.
And then, suddenly, just within ten seconds. Ten seconds is all it took to bring Ramos to the canvas.
The noise crashes in late, uneven and chaotic.
"He's down…!"
"No way…!"
"Did you see how he did that?!"
"Ryoma… knocking down the Philippines Champion."
Across the ring, Virgil Santos jolts forward so hard he nearly slips between the ropes.
"Ramos!" he shouts. "Ramos, can you hear me?"
There's less than fifteen seconds left. He knows it.
