Zhou Qiwen's fist came hurtling toward him.
A right straight.
A standard opening move in sanda.
His front foot pushed off the ground, his rear leg drove forward, and his fist traveled in a straight line toward Kannazuki's left cheekbone.
It wasn't slow.
After three years of specialized sanda training, this punch carried at least seventy to eighty kilograms of body weight behind it.
If it hit an ordinary person in the face, it would leave a bruise at best, a fractured cheekbone at worst.
The rush of air brushed past Kannazuki's ear.
The punch missed.
Not because Kannazuki had dodged.
He had stepped half a pace to the side.
Just half a pace.
The movement was so slight that most of the people around them hadn't even seen how he moved.
It was as though his body had never been in the line of attack.
Before Zhou Qiwen could pull his fist back.
Kannazuki's right hand had already clamped around his wrist.
His five fingers settled precisely into the hollows on either side of the wrist joint.
His thumb pressed against the radial styloid, while his other four fingers hooked around the head of the ulna.
A textbook joint-lock grip.
At the same time, Kannazuki raised his left hand, pressing the heel of his palm against the outside of Zhou Qiwen's elbow.
Two forces acted at once-the wrist twisted outward, the elbow pressed inward.
Zhou Qiwen's entire right arm was locked in a fraction of a second.
"Hiss-!"
Zhou Qiwen's face instantly contorted.
It wasn't pain, but a tingling numbness that ran down his entire arm, from shoulder to fingertips.
The sensation of his joints being pulled against their natural range left his mind blank.
His body bent down against his will.
His knee struck the concrete pavement.
He