Buhrama sprang forward with explosive speed, his muscles tensed like coiled springs, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
His eyes blazed with fierce determination, and his breath came in short, sharp bursts as he closed the distance between them in an instant.
But this time, Milo was ready. He had been watching, waiting, studying every movement, every shift in Buhrama's stance.
The moment Buhrama launched himself forward, Milo reacted.
He planted his feet firmly, his body light yet steady, like a leaf braced against the wind.
His sharp eyes tracked every motion, Buhrama's flexing arms, the twist of his torso, the slight change in weight as he prepared to strike.
As Buhrama's fist came hurtling toward him, Milo moved before the lightning came.
Instead of stepping back, he surged forward, straight into Buhrama's space, closing the gap between them in a single heartbeat.
