There was no sudden, dramatic leap. Elias simply shifted his weight to his right heel and pivoted. Julian’s punches tore through empty space. The momentum carried Julian forward, stumbling slightly. He spun around, furious, and threw a heavy roundhouse kick at Elias’s ribs.
Elias stepped inside the arc of the kick. It was a tiny movement, just a shuffle of his feet, but it completely jammed Julian’s leg. With a casual flick of his wrist, Elias tapped the back of Julian’s thigh, disrupting his balance entirely. Julian crashed awkwardly to the mat, catching himself on his hands and knees.
"Lucky," Julian muttered, scrambling to his feet. His face was burning with embarrassment. The girlfriend in the front row wasn't smiling anymore.
Julian abandoned the idea of a 'controlled demonstration'. He was going to put the old man on his back. He charged again, this time unleashing a flurry of strikes—jabs, crosses, hooks, and front kicks. It was the combination that had won him the regional tournament.
It was utterly useless.