This time it's three punches on the same line; jab, cross, jab, all straight to the head. It's fast, sharp, and compact. But Liam reads it easily.
Dug. Dug. Dug.
All three thud into his guard.
Then he answers with a short left hook in the gap.
Kenta draws his lead foot back half a step, lets the hook skim past, then drags his rear foot forward, angling it outward, stance still wide.
And…
"Tight. Tight. Tight."
He mutters it again as he fires another sequence; two right hooks, low then high, followed by a sharp left upstairs.
Liam drops his left arm to block the first, but the rhythm is too tight. The second clips his cheek.
Dug. Dsh!
He recovers in time for the third, snapping his right glove up to catch it on the forearm. Then he's gone, stepping back immediately, legs carrying him out of range.
"He's fast…"
Up in the booth, the commentators perk up, recognizing the pattern.
"Moriyama's starting to build something again," one says.
