Seeing Malik disappear into his own confusion again, Darren gives his shoulder another firm shake.
"Oi, mate. Come on. This isn't you. Where's the Malik I know? The one who usually won't shut the bloody hell up?"
Malik looks up and studies Darren's face, as if the answer might be hiding somewhere inside his nostrils or between the wrinkles on his forehead.
"Honestly, Coach…" Malik says, shaking his head. "I've got no fucking clue how I'm supposed to fight this bloke. You saw that first round. I couldn't even touch him. He's too good."
"Ah, right… that's your real problem." Darren leans in, his voice sharpening. "You're so fixated on his style that you've forgotten your own. You even forgot the bloody plan."
Malik blinks. "The plan?"
"Yes, the plan. I told you to go after his body. Chest, shoulder, wherever you can get to him. But for three bloody minutes, you've been chasing his head like a man possessed."
