Seeing Miguel do this, Kashimo matched his rhythm and walked forward.
His steps were unhurried, and the rhythm of his soles striking the ground gradually fell into sync with Miguel's tapping footsteps. Step by step, they resonated at the same pitch, like two instruments tuned to one another.
His posture remained loose, his hands hanging at his sides and his shoulders swaying slightly, but Miguel's figure was reflected in his pale blue eyes, which were as calm as a frozen lake.
Miguel's pupils contracted slightly, but the curve of his lips grew wider.
"Oh? Instead of backing away, you're coming toward me-" His voice emerged from that uninterrupted rhythm, carrying a hint of husky excitement.
The tapping beneath his feet abruptly quickened, like a nut whose shell had been crushed underfoot to expose the searing kernel inside. His body tensed within that accelerating rhythm, every muscle swelling and contracting under the infusion of cursed energy, like an engine pushed to its limit, its pistons pumping frantically through its cylinders, ready to explode at any moment.
"Then let me feel the gap between us, Mr. Kashimo!"
The instant the final syllable left his mouth, the distance between them had shrunk to less than half a step.
Miguel moved. His right fist sprang from his waist, without a windup or any warning tension in his muscles. It seemed to have been launched by that rhythm, fast and heavy, cutting through the air with a piercing whistle as it shot straight at Kashimo's face.
The angle, speed, and power of that punch had all risen by more than a notch. Its gust swept a layer of yellow sand off the ground, bursting into a murky cloud between them.
Kashimo raised his left hand from his side. It was a small movement, almost lazy.