He sinks even lower into his crouch, almost exaggerated now, head weaving beneath the line of fire.
Wakabayashi keeps working behind the left hand, occasionally mixing in a straight right, but he is forced to punch downward toward the moving target.
Okabe absorbs or slips what he can, continuing to close the gap without offering return fire.
A full minute passes, then another, and the pattern remains the same. From the southern stands, irritation turns into open ridicule. Several supporters rise from their seats, cupping their hands around their mouths so their voices carry clearly toward the ring.
"What is that stance supposed to be?"
"You're twenty-five, not some rookie trying new tricks!"
"Trying to reinvent yourself now? Too late for that!"
"Fight properly! Stop crawling around!"
Laughter ripples through the section as a few fans mimic his exaggerated crouch, bending forward in their seats.
