The shift doesn't go unnoticed. It ripples through the arena first as confusion, a collective lean forward, then snaps into recognition when Aramaki doesn't retreat.
When he charges in deeper, a murmur swells, sharp and rising, the sound of people realizing something has changed.
Aramaki steps in while Hanazawa's balance is still broken. He doesn't give him time to reset.
A left hook crashes in first, clean and sudden.
Thud!
Hanazawa's head jerks, and instinct finally kicks in. His guard snaps up late, elbows flaring wide as he tucks his chin down, bracing for what's coming.
But it doesn't stop Aramaki.
Another hook rips in from the other side. This one skids off forearms and glove, redirected, but it still moves him. Another follows. Then another.
The timing isn't pretty. It isn't surgical.
It's relentless.
Hanazawa's upper body starts to sway under the force, rocked left, then right, his legs scrambling to keep pace with what his torso is being forced to endure.
