On Della Cruz's side of the arena, the mood tightens into something uneasy. The noise shifts, breaking into scattered murmurs as they watch his frame looking smaller than it ever has.
"…Why's he looking like that?"
"Is he scared?"
"…No, that's not him. He's not a coward."
"He's just being careful… yeah, that's it."
Kenta also sees clearly the shift in Della Cruz, the way his posture tightens. And for the first time since he settled inside the zone, something else slips into his mind.
It's not instinct, not reaction, but an idea.
End it now.
He blinks once, and the narrow tunnel widens just slightly. The sharpness dulls at the edges as something else begins to form, an image of the belt resting in his hands.
To make it worse, Okabe shouts out from the blue corner.
"End it, Kenta! This is your best chance!"
The call pulls Kenta out of the zone. And now he steps in with clear intent, no longer just driven by instincts and feelings.
