The ring was never a pleasant place for Reizo. Anyone who saw him in it would say he loved it, maybe even that he was destined for it, but he loathed it. He hated the rules and regulations they put on boxing. He hated the red tape and restrictions, the crowd it always drew, and he had a disgust passed down from his parents for turning something so primal and pure into sport and play. The only thing he wanted out of people for being able to bust faces was respect, or fear. He wasn’t really picky.
Still, it served its purposes. He did get some small pleasure out of it, if only for being able to go in and knock the hell out of someone and get encouraged to do it, and it was fun from time to time. And it was very useful for what he was doing today.
Trying to breed something harder into Kazuya.
So he weaved his hands in front of the older boy, bright red mitts hovering in one spot before moving to another after the terse sound of Kazuya’s punches landed. They didn’t sound bad, but he was definitely going to have to get on his ass to start weight training again. Technique only took you so far in street fights. Brute strength, as Reizo was keen to demonstrate so often, was the major force.
In a lull of the punches, he snuck a hand up in between the other boy’s hands, smacking him gently on the chin and sighing.
“Keep your hands tighter together, and quit breathing through your mouth,” he chided him breathily, taking off the training mitts and then wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.
“If you ever get into a fight with an experienced striker and don’t keep that guard up, you’re gonna get jawed.”