The referee immediately dives in, arms outspread to signal the knockdown and begin the count. But he freezes mid-motion as he sees Ryoma stepping closer.
With a cold, deliberate motion, Ryoma hooks the thumb of his glove into the corner of his mouth, breaking the suction of the rubber guard. He pulls the mouthpiece free, pinning it against the padding of his glove.
Immediately, the referee's face flushes with irritation. "Hey, Ryoma! Get back! Neutral corner!" he bellows, placing a firm hand on Ryoma's chest to shove him away.
Ryoma doesn't budge. His gaze is locked onto Villanueva. Without the obstruction of the mouthguard, his voice cuts through the roar of the crowd with crystalline clarity.
"You'd better stop underestimating me," Ryoma says, his English smooth, edged with bite, "If I want to…"
"Ryoma, this is a warning," the referee cuts in sharply. "Mouthpiece in, or I'm taking a point."
