Ryoma doesn't pursue the retreat. He lets Villanueva drift away on his own terms, choosing not to chase the momentum that's just been created.
For a few seconds, Villanueva has the luxury of distance without pressure. So he uses it, not to relax, but to reassess.
His eyes narrow slightly as he replays what just happened in his mind; the way Ryoma's timing shifted, the sudden burst of precision, the three clean lefts that had overturned the rhythm of the round in an instant.
It was control taken back in a single sequence, and he knows it. But how it was done, he absolutely has no clue about it at all.
And he doesn't get much time to decipher it either, as Mendosa slams the apron hard from the blue corner, signaling for the last ten seconds.
"Ten seconds! Now push it!"
Villanueva hears it, and Ryoma is aware of the timing too. The atmosphere tightens at once, the air between them feeling denser, as if the ring itself has contracted.
