The clash of fists echoed through the basement training facility.
Alex ducked under Pavel's jab, his body moving on instinct now rather than conscious thought. He saw the opening... Pavel's guard fractionally too high... and drove a straight punch toward the exposed ribs.
Pavel twisted, absorbing the impact on his forearm, then countered with a knee aimed at Alex's midsection.
Alex read it half a second before it came. His hand dropped, catching Pavel's thigh mid-strike and redirecting the momentum sideways.
The exchange flowed seamlessly... attack, counter, adaptation, response. Neither man giving ground, both pressing advantages that appeared and vanished in microseconds.
Alex's breathing had found rhythm. His movements had shed their earlier clumsiness. He was still getting hit... Pavel's experience ensured that... but the hits were glancing now, controlled, teaching rather than punishing.
