Across from him, Noguchi blinks at Ryoma's words, then smirks. His grin spreads slow, amused, like a gambler who just saw the winning card in his hand.
He believes the ref's on his side. Believes Ryoma's already digging his own grave with every protest, every glare.
And so, the war in tight space begins.
Ryoma pushes off the ropes, shoulders rolling, fists snapping out in stiff jabs to carve a lane forward.
Noguchi's arms jut out again, crooked and pawing, disrupting the line before the punches can breathe. He doesn't wait. He crashes forward.
Ryoma hammers a right cross down the middle, but Noguchi slips inside, clamps onto the arm, and clinches tight.
That's when Ryoma's system lights up.
<< Referee position: 9 o'clock >>
Inside the suffocating clutch, Noguchi sneaks short blows behind Ryoma's ear, quick and sneaky. His forehead grinds hard against Ryoma's temple, nudging, searching for the eyelid like he might scrape it raw.
