Ryohei weighs the option as the sweat cooling along his spine. By the cards, he's ahead with clean jabs, sharp flurries, head and body both marked. He can feel it in the rhythm, in how often Uchida's guard comes up a half-beat late.
And yet, the red corner fighter doesn't look hurt too much. He looks like someone who can take more.
It isn't just about Uchida's conditioning, that stubborn ability to absorb and stay upright. It's also about Ryohei's own boxing. All night he's fought on moving legs, but that same movement bleeds force from his punches.
No planted feet, no hip drive, no weight sinking into the floor. All his punches only come from arms snapping out, precise but light.
He's winning the rounds. But with this kind of boxing, he isn't going to break his opponent.
"But if I'm going to try knocking him down…" Ryohei finally speaks, voice low. "That means I have to stay in range longer. Fight him up close. Plant myself enough to put real weight into my punches."
