Talent Has a Price

On Shen's fifth circuit, his rear foot landed on the polished patch. For one instant, his retreat shortened by three centimeters. Three was enough. Lu used his own three-year-old jab to turn Shen's head, then entered Jiang's distance. A shoulder feint triggered Shen's habitual retreat. His shoe slipped. Lu's left fist stopped before Shen's eyes. The true attack—a low kick—cut down his supporting leg. Shen dropped to one knee. In round two, he stopped trusting his compass and rushed forward. Lu surrendered the center, steadied himself with the faint echo of Axis Control, and worked the body at close range. Before the bell, Shen spat out his mouthguard and conceded. Lu did not celebrate. He stepped down and pressed ice to his ribs.