Joren's corner buzzed with energy as he returned to the stool.
"That's your round, baby!" his boxing coach clapped. "That's what we're talking about—cleaner exits, better entries. You're seeing him now!"
Another coach nodded, wiping sweat from Joren's back. "Damon's slowing down. Keep touching him, force him to commit, then drag him in."
Their confidence was clear, but a bit premature.
They didn't see Damon's quiet reads. They only saw Joren surviving better.
"Stay sharp," the head coach warned. "You've got momentum. Let's take more next round."
They believed the fight was turning.
But Damon's corner knew better.
He sat quietly on the stool, his breath steady, his face unreadable. A towel wiped across his back, while the corners around him worked without urgency.
Victor leaned in close, voice even. "They think you're slowing down."
Damon didn't look at him, just nodded faintly. "Let 'em."
