The arena no longer feels relaxed when the sixth round approaches. Conversations that once drifted lazily between spectators now shorten into sharper exchanges, and more eyes remain fixed on the ring instead of wandering toward phones or side discussions.
In the blue corner, Okabe sits upright on his stool with a spark in his eyes that was not there earlier. He nods to himself as if confirming something only he can see.
"I can see it now… I can see where this is going."
Coach Murakami presses the cold Enswell against Okabe's forehead and left cheek, where swelling has begun to rise beneath the skin.
"I won't let that kid feel comfortable tonight," Okabe continues, voice steady but firm. "I won't let him return to his form he wants so badly. Not for a second."
Sera watches him closely, arms folded but expression measured. "You did very well," he says. "That exchange at the end disrupted his rhythm. But he still won that round. That means half this fight already belongs to him."
