Trent lunged forward with a primal yell, throwing a massive, looping right hook aimed directly at my jaw. Just like I had observed for weeks on his heavy bag, he telegraphed it a full second before it launched. His chin was completely exposed.
I didn't even raise my hands. I just slipped my head three inches to the left. The punch cut through empty air. The momentum carried Trent forward, off-balance. I brought my right foot around and gently hooked it behind his lead leg while placing my palm against his chest. I pushed.
Trent hit the asphalt hard on his back. The air rushed out of his lungs in a loud whoosh.