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Shinji's somewhat jaded gaze lightened if only slightly at the sight of the arena in the distance. He had been without a good scrap for too long. A wry smile even made its way across his lips. With one last drag he flicked the remainder of his cigarette to the arena floor, where he proceeded to unceremoniously stomp it out under a heavy, booted heel. His fingers probed tentatively at the fabric of his pockets before nonchalantly he slipped his hands into the pockets of old, worn-in, hand-me-down jeans. With a couple measured steps, the fighter entered the arena-proper.

There wasn't an immediate outburst from the crowd. The man was a relative unknown, after all, with only a scant few appearances in previous tournaments. The crowd seemed to react more-so to the fact that there was indeed a fighter entering rather than any one in particular they could recognize. Shinji wasn't perturbed. In all honesty, he could care less about the crowd, he could just as easily be fighting in a vacuum, just him and his opponent.

He trudged onward, taking his time at a comfortable pace. There was no music, no pomp and circumstance. The magnitude of the situation didn't seem to phase the young man in the least. He had a job to do, after all. He was remarkably focused.

He would take his place in the arena's center. Shaking out his arms, as if he were shaking the dust off, his heavy, studded leather jacket rustled slightly, he took his time getting ready. There was no rush, after all. He gave his opponent a slight glance, nothing more than an acknowledgement of his presence. Still getting comfortable, he balled his left fist into his right hand, his knuckles cracked and popped audibly. After tilting his neck from side to side, eliciting another series of cracks and pops.

"It's been awhile..." He began, "But, I'm pretty sure I'm good to go."

With that, the fighter slipped into a lazy boxing stance. His form wasn't poor, but his leading left arm hung low, his fist at about waist level. His left was a little higher, cocked back, just below his jawline. His stance was "loose", comfortable. His 6' 4" frame bounced with surprising fluidity upon the balls of his feet.

With his leading right hand, he beckoned for his opponent to come.

"Alright, big guy, c'mon, let's dance."

"Hrm..."

Shinji's brow furrowed and his gaze leveled-off decisively as he gathered what information he could. While it would be dangerous to make assumptions, it was clear that his opponent was a big guy. Something not inherently indicative of a slow pace or clumsiness, Shinji did take note of Samuel's weapon: a sledgehammer. Not necessarily a tool of speed or precision, Shinji continued to bounce about on the balls of his feet, his stance remained fluid and malleable. While he wouldn't go so far as to assume that his opponent's inevitable, incoming strike would be slow, he was confident that he would be able to deal with the blow.

In his head, he counted his own footfalls, each bobbing bounce contributed to the countdown while his eyes remained focused upon his opponent. Timing was everything, here. Then, almost as soon as he had set his mind to it, in came the hammer.

With an audible "SWOOSH!" the hammer would tear through the air at an alarming pace. While Shinji's first instinct was (as it often is) to find a way to close the distance and counter-attack as soon as possible, his higher mind thought otherwise. He recognized the danger this weapon presented. What he thought he'd do (and, coincidentally, what he did) was to double-back. Hopping in sync with the rhythm of his bobbing, bouncing footwork, he would leap off the ground with subtle speed and surprising "oomph" behind his movement. He'd move far enough both upward and backward to allow the hammer's rapidly-arcing steel head to pass him by, just in front of where he stood just moment's before.

Then, something primal clicked. He had an opportunity to press, and he would make use.

His movement went something like this: pouncing back a short distance, in an almost-feline fashion, he would land in a modest crouch. From there, he would nigh-instantaneously surge forward, like a compressed spring being released. This transition from defense to attack was perhaps a hallmark of his frenetic fighting style. Shinji would see his opportunity in the wake of his opponent's hefty strike, figuring the considerable momentum of the blow would keep the hammer's head out of striking distance for at least a moment or two. During the aforementioned moment or two, Shinji made his move. Springing forward like a lunging wildcat, his right leg took the lead, powering him forward until he landed firmly upon his left, well-inside his opponent's "personal space". In synchronicity with his left leg touching-down, Shinji's clenched right fist would be directed to clip his opponent in the chin in the form of a hefty hook. His opponent, Samuel, was a large man, but Shinji was no slouch. His heavy, hooking punch was wild, but fast and exceedingly powerful.

After cocking his hand back from about waist-level before hurling his full body-weight into the blow, if it connected it, his opponent would most certainly feel it. His left hand remained on-guard, at about jaw-level. Shinji was no slouch, at least not in combat.

Shinji grimaced, a block wasn't something he had necessarily anticipated but it seemed like a likely outcome. He certainly hadn't foreseen his opponent voluntarily losing his own weapon. The young man's grimace shifted into a discernible grin. The hammer would have been tricky to deal with, as far as he cared, his opponent had given up on an effective strategy and with that thought in mind, Shinji breathed easy. Sure, his opponent blocked his punch, but, again, it wasn't a surprise. With such a wind-up, even the speed of the blow could not offset how obvious his intention was.

The hook wasn't something Shinji was particularly invested in, to say the least.

Now, the leg kick was a rather simple maneuver, and like his own hooking power-punch, it was relatively easy to see coming. Harder to deal with once you take note, but still easy to take note of nonetheless. It's hard to miss the contortion that goes on, the wind-up, when your opponent is preparing to deliver a kick. If you're an educated combatant, at least. Though he didn't look it, Shinji wasn't some simple brawler. He had a mind for fighting, and extensive practice and training. Reading these little hints and clues was second nature.

With his full weight on his leading right leg, there was no feasible means to check the leg kick, the traditional defensive maneuver for dealing with such a strike. And so, Shinji simply did what he did best: pressed the attack. Leaning with even more weight and momentum on that leading right leg, he took a small, shuffle-step forward with both legs. His footwork was pretty fancy, as well. He grinned, again. Closing the distance, he cut off the angle. His opponent would not get full-extension, as he had hoped. Shinji was jamming him with pressure, standing well-inside his guard. The result was twofold: Samuel could not muster the full force of an effective leg kick, there simply wasn't the room to rear back and execute to perfection. Second, as Shinji pressed forward, he caused the strike to miss its intended target. Rather than hit the knee, because Shinji had stepped forward, the leg kick would strike higher, at the thigh. It would hurt, of course, but rather than strike the vital hinge of the knee the blow would glance off of the well-muscled, more-protected thigh area. Shinji wouldn't even be off-balanced, with most of his body weight upon that leg, it could very likely be Samuel who was knocked off balance, meeting unexpected resistance with Shinji plowing ahead relentless.

With a resounding crack, his opponent's heavy boot awkwardly glanced off of his thigh. The blow was hard, the boot was heavy, but Shinji saved his knee and incurred a stinging bruise instead. Shinji grimaced once again, his brow furrowed but his visage was not one of pain, but rather, determination. Now, it was his turn. In closer, now, his strikes would now turn compact, efficient. It was a hint, perhaps, that while he seemed like a brawler, at the structural base of his fighting style was the muscle-memory of thousand-upon-thousand of repetitions, built up over years of studying decidedly Eastern martial arts.

He retracted his right fist, almost as soon as his attack had been warded off. As he retracted the right, the left powered forth, a crushing, inside uppercut directed once again to clip his opponent firmly upon the underside of the chin. The blow was short, sweet, incurring power from Shinji's own forward-moving momentum, not from any discernible wind-up effect. The uppercut would followed by a body-blow, the retracted-right fist surging forth anew, this time directed to plunge into his opponent's rib cage, underneath the block he had just executed. Both blows were certainly powerful, but neither was life-threatening, neither was KO threatening, either. The uppercut could daze Samuel, for certain, if it hit its target it had that jarring potential. The body blow would do little more than exact a toll on the larger man's stamina and affect his breathing. Like the leg kick, the body-blow was directed to hinder, not to knock-out.

Taking immediate note of the dropping elbow, Shinji's only real manner of defense was to duck, as best as possible, which wasn't saying much given what little room he had to maneuver. He would tuck his head, clench his teeth and lean forward as much as was possible, not enough to duck the blow entirely but more than enough nullify some of its power. He would still be struck more-or-less where his opponent had intended, maybe a couple inches higher, above the bridge of the nose, underneath the forehead.

There was little else he could do, aside from taking note of the fact that his opponent wasn't attempting to block, as he executed the elbow. A split-second thought, an instinct more than anything, forced him to clench his fist and c**k it back. As he was cracked in the head, his right fist surged into Samuel's gut, another body-blow, though there was little more than primal instinct behind it, no plan, no nothing. His opponent's armor would likely ward off the strike without much effort.

Then:

"CRACK!"

Elbow > forehead.

"s**t!" Shinji snarled, all in his head, of course, as the weight of the blow caused him to shift almost all of his weight onto his back foot to prevent himself from simply collapsing back. He would fall back, almost-inevitably, regardless. Perhaps he wouldn't simply tumble haphazardly away, but he would fall, nonetheless. At least, that's what he thought. "s**t..." He thought again, as he could sense the transfer of momentum between his opponent's elbow, his own head, and his own body being forced back. Shinji thought he was about to be knocked off his feet. Surprising, then as his back impacted a wall of some sort, at his back. Blood already beginning to trickle subtly from his nostrils, Shinji grimaced. He didn't have time to be confused, though he certainly was, about exactly where the wall behind him had come from.

He fell against it willingly, much preferring to remain on his feet, his back railing against it with a modest thud.

Dizzy, but not so out-of-it that he couldn't manage at all, he would rebound against the wall, pressing forward, once again, into his opponent. After his presumably-ineffectual body-blow, he snapped forward with a focused glare in his usually-calm eyes. Rearing back after impacting the wall and relying on instinct more than anything, he snapped forward in an attempt to smash his forehead into the bridge of Samuel's nose.

"I'm going to feel this in the morning..."