Kenta takes another step back, trying to carve out just enough space to rebuild his pendulum sway. His shoulders begin to loosen again, weight shifting from one foot to the other, searching for that familiar rhythm.
But Dela Cruz doesn't let it form. He stays right in front of him, close enough to smother the movement before it fully develops.
At that distance, the sway loses most of its effect, the subtle shifts no longer enough to blur the range.
"He's not giving him any room now," the lead commentator says. "He's staying right on top of him."
"And look at the targeting," the second adds. "He's not just headhunting anymore."
Dela Cruz starts digging in with short hooks, not fully to the body, not quite to the head either, landing in that awkward middle line around the arms and chest.
Two short hooks, left and right…
Dugh. Dugh.
…thud into Kenta's guard and upper arm.
But the force still moves him, his torso swaying slightly with each impact.
