Della Cruz stays in range and chains into a sequence of short hooks, his torso swaying side to side as he shifts the angles, turning each punch slightly to find a way through.
Dug. Dug. Thud! Dug. Bugh! Dug.
Five compact hooks, driven into the body from both sides, some digging wide into the arms, others sneaking tighter through the middle.
Most are absorbed on the guard and upper arms. But two slip through clean, thudding into the ribs and upper chest, forcing Kenta's frame to tighten under the impact.
Kenta reacts quickly, firing a compact one-two in return, keeping it simple. But Dela Cruz reacts in time, his right glove knocks the jab off its line as he dips his head just enough to let the cross pass over.
His rear foot sliding back, knee bent. Then with almost no pause, he coils instantly, and a tight left shoots out from that position, snapping clean across Kenta's face.
Dhuack!
