The atmosphere inside Korakuen Hall refuses to settle. If anything, the noise only grows louder as the seconds tick away between rounds.

Then the bell for the sixth round rings.

Ding!

And the crowd immediately responds with another surge of excitement.

"Let’s go, Aramaki!"

"Give us another round like that!"

"Come on, Leo!"

"Beat him, champ! I know you can do it!"

Despite the rough ending to the previous round, Serrano leaves the corner with the same swagger he always carries.

His head bobs lightly from side to side, moving to a rhythm nobody else can hear, as though he is strolling through the entrance of a crowded pub with music playing somewhere in the background.

It looks less like a boxer stepping into the sixth round of a title fight and more like a man enjoying himself in the middle of a dance floor.

Across from him, Aramaki leaves his corner still with the disciplined composure. He claims the center of the ring and brings his guard high and tight.

His stance looks more compact than before, his level slightly lower, his posture calm and deliberate.

"Look at these two! You’d never guess they’re walking into the sixth round of the same fight."

"Seriously! Serrano looks like he’s heading to a party, and Aramaki looks like he’s clocking in for work. And somehow neither man looks shaken."

"That’s why this next round feels so important."

"Exactly. Because sooner or later, one of them is going to force the fight into his world."

Serrano is the first to get to work, following Kirizume’s instructions. His left hand becomes the center of everything he does, pumping out jabs while he circles around the perimeter of the ring, carefully keeping Aramaki planted in the middle.

Pop!

Dug.

Dug. Dug. Pop!

Dug.

Dug. Dug.

Pop!

Dug. Dug. Dug.

The shots vary in speed and rhythm, but the objective remains the same; score, move, and never gives the challenger a stationary target.

For now, Aramaki doesn’t pursue him. He remains near the center, making only the small adjustments necessary to stay balanced.

And because there is no pressure forcing Serrano backward, the champion doesn’t need to constantly escape through sharp angles the way he did before.

Even so, Serrano occasionally breaks into a short shuffle, his feet bouncing across the canvas for no reason other than to entertain the crowd.

The audience responds every time.

"That’s it, Leo!"

"Show him!"

"Keep dancing!"

From the outside, Aramaki appears fully occupied. His gloves rise and fall with the incoming punches.

He blocks some, slips others, moves his head off the center line, and occasionally takes a short step back whenever Serrano extends a little farther than expected.

Yet his attention isn’t really on the punches anymore. Instead, Aramaki spends those moments studying Serrano himself; the way he breathes, the way he moves, the way his legs react after each shuffle and pivot.

The previous round left plenty of damage behind, and Aramaki wants to know if those body shots are still lingering beneath the surface.

***

After more than twenty seconds of observation, Aramaki finally takes a step forward.

The reaction is immediate. Serrano shifts to his left and snaps out a jab at the same time.

Dsh!

The timing catches Aramaki slightly off guard, and the punch lands before he can react.

Serrano changes angle again and fires the same sharp left hand. But this time Aramaki sees it coming.

He knocks the punch off line with a short parry.

Dug.

Then he takes another step forward, and another, little by little.

In response, Serrano’s footwork immediately becomes more active. The shuffles return. He side-steps constantly while pumping out jabs.

Dug.

Dug. Dug.

Dug. Pop!

Dug. Dug.

His torso rocks left and right as he bends at the waist, creating decoy movements before slipping toward another angle.

Direction changes begin appearing more frequently as he works to preserve the space between them.

"Beautiful movement from Serrano!"

"Look at how many different looks he’s showing!"

"He’s giving Aramaki a new picture every few seconds."

But unlike the earlier rounds, Aramaki no longer feels overwhelmed by the movement. The body work he invested in the previous round is clearly having an effect.

Every adjustment Serrano makes still creates space, yet somehow it no longer feels as difficult to predict where that space will appear next.

The exits remain available, but they seem getting narrower and narrower as Aramaki keeps taking them away one by one.

Then the familiar high-low probing sequence appears again.

"There it is! The setup that changed the fight!"

"And after what happened last round, Serrano can’t afford to ignore it!"

"Keep your eyes on this one, folks. The last time Aramaki showed it, everything turned upside down."

But Serrano doesn’t bite. He watches the setup, waits for the follow-up that never comes, and simply lets Aramaki reset.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, he abandons the structure entirely and lowers both gloves to his sides, standing in front of Aramaki with almost casual indifference.

"Whoa... that’s different."

"That’s not the disciplined Serrano we’ve been watching for the last few rounds."

In reality, Serrano can still keep the structure and continue fighting comfortably. His legs are still working, and the fight has not yet reached a point where he is truly forced to abandon the system Kirizume gave him.

But Serrano no longer cares about that distinction. Kirizume has gave him permission to trust his instincts, and now he just found the excuse he was looking for.

Aramaki has already pushed him far enough. The comfortable space is no longer perfect. Whether he actually has nowhere to go or not, it no longer matters. Serrano has already decided that from here on, he can do whatever he pleases.

***

A bored expression spreads across Serrano’s face as he begins teasing Aramaki, casually reaching out to tap the top of the guard with his lead hand.

They aren’t really jabs. He’s simply touching Aramaki’s gloves, as though testing for a reaction, or trying to provoke one out of him.

Then Serrano stands still for a moment. And suddenly, his lead foot shifts outward and his torso leans to the left. The next instant, he explodes forward, leaping into a wide left hook that rises from a low angle.

But Aramaki has already recognized the signs, already reading the change in Serrano’s posture and behavior.

So he doesn’t need to read the punch itself. Aramaki simply follows the simple instruction Ryoma drilled into him.

He dips at the knees and tightens into a compact guard.

BUGH!

The hook crashes into his guard and clips the area just beneath his armpit.

Most of the impact is absorbed by the block, but the force behind the punch is still enough to jolt Aramaki sideways.

And the moment Serrano’s lead foot lands, his rear foot immediately finds the canvas, allowing his right hand to surge forward.

Aramaki still reacts in time, catching the punch on a double guard.

DUGH!

Then he immediately steps back before Serrano can build any further momentum.

"Whoa! That’s a completely different Serrano!"

"He just launched himself into that hook!"

"Forget the footwork and angles, he’s trying to take Aramaki’s head off now!"

"And look at the power! Aramaki blocked most of it, but that shot still moved him!"

***

Serrano casually strides forward with both gloves hanging low and his chin held high, carrying himself like a champion looking down on a challenger he considers beneath him.

Then he starts throwing, hammering away at Aramaki’s guard, slamming lefts and rights into the raised guard with little concern for efficiency.

DUG!

Dug! DUGH!

DUG!

DUGH!!!

As if landing clean is no longer the point, like he’s just trying to send a message.

He wants Aramaki to feel the weight, the aggression, and the confidence behind every shot. He wants to make it clear that if this is going to become an ugly fight, then he’s more than willing to meet Aramaki there.

And Aramaki doesn’t hesitate. At the very least, Serrano is finally fighting him at mid-range now, a distance where he can actually reach.

As Serrano keeps firing his left hand from an awkward lower angle, Aramaki begins moving with his torso. Not by bending at the waist like Serrano, but by working through his knees.

His body tilts subtly left and right while maintaining the same compact, disciplined structure. His gloves stay high as his thighs and calves do most of the work, compressing and releasing like springs beneath him.

"Look at Aramaki now. He’s no longer just walking Serrano down, he’s starting to fight with him."

"And that’s when things get dangerous. The moment both guys start meeting each other in the pocket, this fight can explode at any second."

After slipping and blocking several punches, Aramaki finally steps in behind a slip and a roll, firing a compact left hook followed immediately by a right overhand.

Serrano blocks the first punch on his glove.

Dug.

And then leans his torso backward, slightly tilted to his left, allowing the overhand to only graze across his chest.

But the movement doesn’t stop there. Using the recoil from the lean, Serrano swings back into position and whips a left hook toward Aramaki.

Instead of retreating, Aramaki swings at the same time, launching a left hook of his own.

THUD!

BAM!!!

Both punches crash into the right side of their bodies almost simultaneously.

"OH! They hit each other at the same time!"

"Neither man gave way there!"

"That’s a painful exchange!"

"And look at them both freeze! Those body shots landed clean!"

Both fighters instinctively draw a short breath through clenched teeth, their legs slightly trembling as the shock of the collision travels through their bodies.