Cabello gets back to his feet almost immediately. The fatigue and pain have yet to fully catch up with him, but his mind is already beginning to fracture.
The commentators' words linger in his head. The talk about reading the future is absurd, and yet, the thought of Ryoma reading his mind returns, creeping back into his thoughts.
"He keeps reading me..."
"How...?"
"How the hell does he always know where I'm going?"
This time, the referee does not prolong the count. He stops at four, studies Cabello for a moment, and then steps back.
"Box!"
Cabello returns to the dancing rhythm of his Cuban Boxing, the very style he takes the most pride in, precisely because it is so difficult to read.
But the pride doesn't last. His mind is too occupied with one question: how does Ryoma keep catching him?
In a second, the distraction seeps into his movement. His rhythm becomes stiff, his upper body slightly swaying and rocking awkwardly.
