The clash had stopped looking clean.
Their guards drooped between strikes, their shoulders heaved, their chests rattled with each pull of air. Sweat ran down their temples and dripped from their chins, cutting streaks through the dust clinging to their skin.
Isan's jab snapped out, but the punch lacked the same whip it had before. Shira saw it and slipped inside, hammering a hook into his ribs. The sound was thick and heavy. Isan groaned, doubling slightly, his breath catching.
Regaining his bearings, his shin swept low, smashing Shira's thigh again. The impact sent Shira stumbling, his leg quivering beneath him.
He forced it to hold, but his step after was uneven, the limb refusing to bear weight as cleanly as before.
The fight started tilting towards Isan side with a sharp edge.
Isan's fists and shins hammered into Shira with merciless rhythm, each impact thudding deeper into his frame. His thigh was mottled purple and trembling, his ribs screamed with every breath, and his guard sagged like it belonged to a man twice his age.
One straight from Isan split Shira's lip wider, the spray of red glinting in the sun. Another hook smashed into his ribs, and the sound of it drew a hiss from even Daiana in the crowd. Shira bent, one knee nearly touching sand before he forced himself upright, staggering.
Isan pressed. His strikes were cleaner now, slower than at the start but still cutting and heavy.
His shin drove into Shira's thigh once more, nearly toppling him.
The courtyard was loud now, students shouting for Shira to hold, others convinced it was already done.
Daiana's voice cut sharp through them all.
"Stay on your feet!"
The sudden shout brought Shira to his feet, breathing heavily and trembling all over.
A look of shock flashed for a second in Isan's eyes as he looked over Shira.
A jab snapped out, but Shira slipped inside.
The punch skimmed his ear as his own hook ripped across Isan's cheek. The crowd gasped as the strike landed flush.
Isan reeled, not badly hurt but caught. Shira's knee rose, smashing into his midsection before he could reset. The strike drew a rough grunt, forcing him back a half-step.
Shira pressed again, his fists flurrying. They were ragged, some missing, some glancing, but others drove through: one into the ribs, another snapping Isan's chin.
Isan tried to answer with a crushing body kick, but Shira turned into it, catching the leg under his arm. The impact still jarred his ribs, nearly dropping him, yet he held fast, teeth gritted. With a raw shout, he twisted, yanking Isan off-balance and slamming him sideways into the sand.
The courtyard erupted.
Isan rolled, furious, scrambling back to his feet, but Shira was already moving. He surged in, ignoring the shriek of pain from his thigh, and hammered a straight into Isan's guard that drove him backward a full pace.
Their bodies were breaking, every strike stolen from what little they had left.
The difference between the two now, laid that where Isan was slowing down, Shira grew reckless.
The ring shook with every step now. Sand scuffed, chalk lines blurred, breaths tore ragged through the air.
Isan steadied himself, forcing his body back into stance, sweat dripping from his jaw. His cheek throbbed where Shira's hook had landed, his ribs still ached from the desperate knee.
Shira, in contrast, looked half-broken doll. His chest heaved, his thigh trembled each time he shifted weight, blood traced his lip and smeared across his chin.
Isan lashed forward, a piston jab meant to end it clean, but Shira slipped it barely, ducking under and answering with a wild cross that cracked into his jaw.
The crowd roared, the sound like a wave breaking.
Isan's retaliation came sharp, a low kick that sank deep into Shira's bruised thigh. His leg buckled, nearly folding him, but instead of falling back Shira stepped through the pain. He staggered inside and drove his shoulder into Isan's chest, forcing him off balance.
Isan stumbled half a pace, guard still high.
In that moment, Shira's fists blurred.
Left to the ribs.
Right to the chin.
Left again, snapping Isan's head sideways.
The crowd shouted each impact, voices climbing higher with every strike.
Isan tried to retreat, seeking half a breath to recover, but Shira didn't let him. He pressed forward, his stride uneven yet relentless, fists snapping out like wild hammers.
The first skimmed Isan's guard, the second split through and cracked across his cheek. Dust lifted where his sandals dragged, but Shira did not slow. His left sank into Isan's ribs, forcing a grunt, his right arced up and clipped his chin.
The crowd erupted with each strike, the rhythm building into a storm.
Isan tried to pivot away, guard high, but Shira cut him off, forcing him toward the chalk edge. A sharp jab caught Isan's lip, splitting it, and blood shone bright against the heat. He spat red into the dust and tightened his guard, but the punishment was mounting, his breath rasping shallow.
Shira stormed forward again. His fists rattled against Isan's forearms, one-two, then a sudden shift. He dipped low, shoulder driving in, and his fist buried itself deep in Isan's midsection. The impact bent him forward with a guttural sound.
The follow-up came instantly. Shira's knee surged high, cracking against his chest, and the blow lifted him half a step back. His balance faltered, legs heavy under him.
Silence fell in the yard, broken only by Shira's ragged breath. He stood over Isan, body heaving, every bruise and mark screaming, but his stance still firm.
Then the noise broke, a wave of shouts and gasps tearing through the watching students.
The fight was finished. Shira had won.
Isan collapsed in the sand, his body curling faintly as though trying to rise, but his limbs refused him.
Shira stood over him, chest heaving, sweat darkening the fabric at his back. His hands trembled faintly at his sides, not from hesitation but from exhaustion
The courtyard held still, the silence so complete it seemed to press on every throat.
Then the noise broke like a dam. Cheers surged, gasps cut sharp, voices rose in disbelief.
Daiana lowered her folded arms at last.
Her eyes, which had followed every exchange with the sharp attention of someone who had already felt Isan's strength herself, softened with the faintest trace of pride.
She nodded once, slowly, as if acknowledging not only the victory but the brutal price Shira had paid to earn it.
Temari's voice cut sharp above the din, though not loud.
"Unbelievable… they almost fought to the death."
Baki's gaze lingered on Isan's fallen frame before shifting to Shira, as the corner of his mouth lifted a little.