Not much.
&
nbsp;
Half a step.
But enough.
The crowd grew quieter.
His eyebrows tightened.
He came again.
Harder.
That was what I wanted.
I had learned a long time ago that angry men become predictable.
His shoulders
rose before his combinations.
His right heel lifted before his power shots.
When he kicked, he glanced at the target.
Good coaching could fix those habits.
Ego rarely allowed it.
Derek threw another low kick.
I checked it.
The sound of shin against shin echoed across the gym.
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
Then he shot for a double-leg takedown.
It was technically competent.
Fast.
Explosive.
Exactly what you would expect from a young athlete who had spent thousands of hours drilling takedowns on cooperative partners.
