The friction bled out from beneath Daejung's feet, and he was gone again in the space between one blink and the next, closing the distance faster than either of them could fully track.
Joon barely got a sphere up in time, catching the strike at an angle that sent sparks skittering across the cracked pavement, the impact still rattling clean through his arm to the shoulder. His mind ran the calculation even as his body reacted, the same rough math he'd been running all fight. Daejung hit like a truck when he connected clean, but every clean hit meant he'd committed to a line, and committed lines could be read.
"He's not slowing down," Do-yun muttered, already repositioning.
"Neither are we," Joon said, though the words came out through gritted teeth.
