That brief exchange should excite the crowd. But even with Ryoma landing two clean shots on Masuda's face, the Cruel King Army stays deathly silent. Over a thousand of them, scattered around the hall, and not one makes a sound.
They stand like frozen soldiers awaiting an unspoken command. And that silence presses in on Masuda, making his confusion in the ring feel heavier.
Masuda tests the range again. Without realizing it, he actually adjusts his timing to Ryoma's subtle pendulum rhythm in the motion of sliding forward. An instinct flares, knowing he will reach him.
Dsh!
His glove taps Ryoma's guard.
Ryoma slides his lead foot back and snaps out a jab of his own. But the punch dies halfway, missing by just a few centimeters.
Masuda keeps his head moving, careful not to drift into Ryoma's reach, slightly changing angle from left and right.
