A faint smile appears on Phantom Ryoma's face as he calmly walks toward the corner. With every step, the mitt pads around his hands dissolve into blue particles and reform into boxing gloves.
His training clothes vanish, replaced by the same trunks and shoes Ryoma always wears on fight night.
"Alright. Three rounds."
Ryoma loosens his shoulders and arms. His feet bounce lightly from left to right as he settles into his usual pendulum rhythm.
At first, he expects Phantom Ryoma to copy every movement. Instead, the projection casually circles the ring with long, relaxed strides, posture low, both gloves remain hanging around stomach level.
Ryoma has seen this during previous sparring sessions, except back then it belonged to Miguel Cabello.
"I didn't ask you to spar using Cabello's database," he says, unable to hide the irritation in his voice.
