Chapter 600: Through Flesh and Focus

Ryoma circles left again, light on his feet. For a brief moment, his eyes flick to the side. Inside his vision, the System’s HUD quietly marks the round timer.

[Round Time Remaining: 1:48]

His gaze lingers on it for only a fraction of a second before settling back on Thanid’s face.

“One minute forty-eight…”

“That’s enough time to tear the cut open again.”

“Enough time to force the referee to call the doctor.”

Ryoma glides another half-step to the left, aligning the angle again. His left hand flicks out, and the jab snaps against the same spot.

Thanid jerks his head away, but Ryoma follows, sliding along the outside angle.

Then another jab lashes forward, and finally…

Dsh!

…lands on the right temple. Thanid’s cheek twitches, his face scowling with irritation.

Ryoma stays composed, watching the skin ripple under the impact.

“Just a little more.”

His feet glide another half step to the left, then bends slightly, feinting a punch to the ribs. Thanid reacts, and Ryoma’s jab snaps again upstairs, landing easier this time.

Dsh!

The crowd reacts as a thin spray of blood flicks sideways from the cut.

Thanid tightens his guard, but Ryoma doesn’t slow down. The jab keeps coming, mixing it with feints, crosses, and guard manipulations.

But the target is still that right eye, jabs flying quick and precise, each strike guided back to the same fragile patch of skin.

Dsh!

Dug. Dug. Dsh!

Dug. Dsh! Dsh!

Thanid’s right eye begins to swell further under the repeated impact.

At ringside, the analyst leans forward. “He’s going right after the cut now.”

The lead commentator nods immediately. “And if that opens any worse, the doctor might have to look at it again.”

Inside the ring, Ryoma’s focus stays locked on the damaged eye.

Open it.

Just a little wider.

The next jab lands square again.

Dsh!

Thanid’s jaw tightens, a flash of anger crosses his expression as he wipes instinctively at the blood with the back of his glove, irritation flaring in his eyes.

He steps forward as if to continue the exchange. But the referee has already seen enough.

“Time!”

He moves quickly between them, spreading his arms to force separation before waving toward ringside.

The crowd immediately erupts into a restless murmur. At the commentary desk, the commentators raise their voices over the noise.

“There it is! The referee’s calling the doctor back in!”

“That cut just opened up again. Ryoma’s been targeting that eye relentlessly.”

***

Outside the ropes, in the blue corner, Kiet’s eyes stay fixed on his fighter as the doctor climbs through the ropes. A faint crease forms between his brows.

He doesn’t say anything, but the concern is obvious. The fight has been brutal, and a stoppage here, because of the cut, would end everything in the most frustrating way possible.

The murmurs in the arena grow louder as the doctor approaches. Everyone knows what’s at stake now.

Thanid stands still while the doctor steps close, lifting his chin slightly.

“Look at me.”

A flashlight sweeps briefly across the eye.

“How many fingers?”

Thanid blinks once, forcing the swollen lid open just enough to focus.

“Two.”

The doctor studies the swelling for another moment, leaning closer to examine the cut. Then Thanid speaks again, his voice low but edged with irritation.

“I’ve fought through worse than this.”

The doctor glances up at him. The blood is still seeping along the edge, but the injury itself isn’t directly on the eyelid. It sits higher, just above the outer edge of the eyebrow where the bone of the temple rises beneath the skin.

The eye itself still responds when the doctor lifts the flashlight again, the pupil tightening against the light despite the swelling beginning to gather around it.

Thanid’s gaze hardens, the muscles along his jaw tightening as the blood continues to trail down his cheek.

“I know my eye is still fine. Don’t stop the fight for something like this.”

For a brief second the two men simply look at each other. Then the doctor straightens and turns toward the referee.

“He can continue,” he says firmly. “But if that eye gets worse, I’m stopping it.”

Thanid exhales sharply through his nose, clearly displeased with the warning, but he says nothing more as the referee nods and prepares to restart the action.

The referee points directly at Thanid.

“You heard him. Protect yourself.”

Thanid says nothing, and simply goes back to the center ring.

“Well, there you have it,” the lead commentator says with clear relief in his voice. “The fight will continue.”

The analyst nods, still watching the swelling around Thanid’s eye on the monitor. “That’s a tough call for the doctor, but the cut is above the brow, not directly on the eyelid. As long as the vision isn’t impaired, they’ll usually allow the fighter to go on.”

But when the fight resumes, the change is immediate. Thanid’s right glove rises higher, pressed tightly against the injured eye.

Ryoma sees it clearly. And it makes the geometry of the fight simpler.

He keeps circling to his own left, still threatening the damaged side with subtle feints and probing jabs. Thanid answers with his left, snapping it out to keep the champion at bay.

But the angle slowly works against him. As Ryoma continues drifting left, he’s moving toward Thanid’s right side, the very side the challenger is trying to shield.

With the right glove locked over the eye, Thanid has fewer ways to adjust, forcing him to rely almost entirely on that lone left hand to manage the distance.

Ryoma begins testing it immediately; a hook slams into the right side.

Bug.

Thanid tightens his elbow. He manages to catch the hook along his right arm, but the force drives his guard outward, pulling his right guard wider to the side and briefly opening more gaps down the middle.

Ryoma keeps circling, watching, measuring, and scanning that midsection.

He sees Thanid’s breathing becomes slightly heavier now. Each inhale lifts the ribs just a little before the chest compresses again.

After reading the breathing rhythm, Ryoma steps in behind a lead hook and a cross, keeping Thanid’s right guard wide, and his left arm pinned in its place.

Dug. Dug.

Then he sends another lead hook…

Dug.

…and this time, chained with his right fist twisting sharply as it drives forward. A corkscrewing punch buries itself deep into the solar plexus.

BUGH!

Thanid’s body freezes. For a fraction of a second, his diaphragm spasms and his breath simply stops.

“Oh my… Right into the solar plexus! That’s brutal!”

“That kind of precision… The impact alone can knock the air right out of him.”

“Look at him freeze!”

Ryoma steps in immediately, snapping a precise uppercut with his left hand. The motion lifts Thanid’s guarding left arm just enough to shift its alignment, carefully creating space while making sure his knuckles won’t collide with the hard ridge of the elbow.

Now his attention is fully on the heart. In that instant, something strange flashes across Ryoma’s sight. For the briefest moment, the body in front of him becomes translucent in his perception.

[Vision Assist — X-Ray Targeting]

A faint skeletal outline overlays Thanid’s torso, ribs and sternum ghosting across his vision as if the flesh had turned transparent.

Ryoma doesn’t question it, because his fist is already moving. So he simply follows through; another corkscrew punch drives straight into the center of the chest.

BUGH!

Thanid’s body jolts violently from the impact.

Ryoma doesn’t stop just to wait for the symptom. He pivots outside immediately, throwing a right hook upstairs.

As his right arm whips outward, the same strange overlay remains for a fraction longer; showing the hinge of the jaw, the fragile structure around the ear, the delicate system inside that governs balance.

It’s a strange kind of vision he has never experienced before. But Ryoma doesn’t have the luxury of questioning it now. He just swings the arm, and…

BAM!!!

…the hook crashes into that exact point.

“OH! WHAT A SHOT!”

“THAT LANDED CLEAN BEHIND THE EAR!”

Thanid’s neck tightens instinctively, but the force still drives through the ear.

For a split second the entire world tilts. Sound collapses into a piercing ring. The arena lights smear across his vision as his equilibrium shatters.

His head whips sideways, and his body drops.

“Down! He’s down!”

“That shot landed perfectly behind the ear! That’s the equilibrium point… when you hit it clean like that, the inner ear completely loses its sense of balance!”

On the screen, the slow-motion replay shows the hook crashing just behind the jawline.

“You see it right there,” the analyst continues, pointing at the monitor. “The mastoid area. That’s where the vestibular system sits. Even if the fighter isn’t knocked unconscious, the brain suddenly receives conflicting signals about orientation.”

Back in the ring, Thanid remains on his knees, both gloves braced against the canvas.

“And look at his posture,” the analyst adds. “That’s not just a knockdown from impact… that’s his balance system trying to recover. The entire room probably feels like it’s spinning right now.”

The referee rushes in immediately, stepping between them as Thanid struggles on his knees.

“Down!” he announces. “Neutral corner!”

The referee glances at Thanid, and then begins the count.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

But then he hesitates. His eyes flick toward the champion.

Ryoma is still standing there, not moving. He’s staring down at his own gloves with a vacant expression on his face. For a moment, the arena noise seems to fade from his awareness.

Inside his vision, the strange overlay hasn’t disappeared. The faint skeletal outlines still linger. But now they’re closer, too close.

Through the leather of his gloves, Ryoma can see the faint structure of his own hands, bones shifting beneath the skin as his fingers flex slightly.

He stares at them, confused.

“What… the hell?”

The word slips out under his breath. Then the referee’s voice snaps again.

“Ryoma Takeda! Neutral corner!”

But still, Ryoma doesn’t respond. His eyes remain fixed on his gloves, the strange “X-ray” vision still flickering across them.

The referee frowns. And the count for Thanid hangs there, momentarily halted as the official waits for the champion to follow the instruction.

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