Back in the ring, the third round ticks down to its final ten seconds. Both corners hammer the apron, their shouts cutting through the noise, signaling the countdown.
But neither fighter shifts gears. Their rhythm stays the same; steady, cautious, stubborn.
Aramaki still hasn't landed a clean punch. His gloves touch air or Junpei's guard, nothing breaks through.
He looks lost, still struggling to catch the rhythm, to read Junpei's timing.
At least, that's how it seems to everyone watching.
And then…
Ding!
The bell rings. The third round ends.
Junpei raises his hand, something he almost never does. It's not to boast, but out of instinct, a flicker of satisfaction and relief, the feeling of control returning.
Aramaki turns to his corner. His face is clouded, but his steps are steady. The bruises bloom under the lights, one cheek swelling.
