The moment the bell rang, both fighters were up and moving, sharp, composed, like two men just getting started rather than entering the second round of a war.
Neither showed fatigue.
Neither showed hesitation.
They still looked fresh.
New.
Like round one hadn't happened.
Malikin's corner had done good work during the break. The cut above his eye had been sealed, the bleeding stopped, for now. But Damon knew better.
It wouldn't take much.
One clean shot, and it would open up again.
And this time, it wouldn't stop.
Damon moved forward first.
Pressure from the start.
His footwork crisp, cutting angles as he feinted high and low, forcing Malikin to react.
Malikin stayed patient, his hands up, his stance wide, but Damon could see it, the slight shift in his weight, the hesitation in his lead leg.
He'd felt those kicks.
He was already thinking about them.
