The two fighters returned to their corners, breathing hard but refusing to show weakness.
Both had taken shots, both had landed clean, and the pace of the fight was already heavier than most lightweights could handle.
Damon stayed still, arms folded, watching. He let the assistant coaches lean in and give instructions, towels pressed against shoulders, voices sharp with urgency. His role wasn't to yell,his role was to see. To study.
And what he saw was dangerous.
Ayo carried a kind of power that didn't belong in his weight class.
Every hook cracked like it came from a man two divisions above, and when his right hand missed, the air still shifted.
Damon noticed how his opponent, Ronny, had felt that power too.
Ronny was sharper now, twitchier, relying more on timing and angles, just as he always did when he respected someone's hands.
Damon narrowed his eyes. Ayo's footwork was rough, sometimes heavy, but he didn't need perfection.
