Meanwhile, in the blue corner Shimamura does not sit. He remains standing, gloves resting low at his sides, chest still rising hard as he stares across the ring.
His eyes are steady, almost feverishly alert, as if he is afraid that looking away for even a second might let the feeling slip.
The cornermen crowd around him, voices overlapping with excitement.
"That's it," Hisaki says, wiping Shimamura's shoulder. "That's your rhythm. When you move like that, nobody can touch you."
Shoyo nods eagerly. "You should've done it earlier. He couldn't read you at all. Not once."
Shimamura hears them. He hears the roar of the crowd too, the chant that has started to find its shape. But he does not answer, does not even glance at them.
His attention stays fixed on the red corner, his mind deliberately holding on to the exhilarating sensation stirring in his chest.
Ozaki Rintaro steps in closer, lowering his voice. "Hey. Sit down. You need to…"
