Seeing Ryohei coming at him with that reckless intensity pulls a memory from deep in Hamakawa's mind. For a split second, he sees Umemoto.
Sure, Ryohei's body isn't as thick as Umemoto's. He doesn't carry the same monstrous speed or brute strength.
But the willingness to stand in range and trade feels identical. That fearless acceptance of impact. That hunger inside the pocket. It isn't something Hamakawa ever expected from Ryohei.
And as Ryohei stands in front of him now, posture rigid after the exchange, Hamakawa notices something else; the density in his neck, the way the muscles tighten and brace. It's solid, and unyielding.
"So he really prepared for this," Hamakawa thinks.
Hamakawa anchors himself at center ring, spreading his lead foot wider.
"Fine…"
"You want to eat my counter?"
"Then come."
Across the ring, both Narisawa and Sera slam their palms against the apron.
