Mark smirked, his voice cutting through the tense air. "You're out of your league, Cross. You think you're special?" he taunted, his words laced with arrogance.
Damon didn't respond, focusing instead on maintaining his stance. He shifted slightly, his body light on his feet, prepared for Mark's next move.
Mark's eyes narrowed, and he darted forward, feinting with his left hand before throwing a quick jab aimed at Damon's face.
Damon saw it coming and swayed back, narrowly avoiding the punch.
"Mark's trying to bait Damon with those jabs," Michael Bosley commented from the table. "He's setting up for something bigger."
"Yeah, but Damon's keeping his cool," Daniel Greene added. "He's not falling for it."
Mark didn't let up, pressing forward with another jab, but this time, Damon snapped a quick low kick to Mark's lead leg.
The kick connected with a solid thud, and Mark grunted, retreating slightly.
