Rivera's despair doesn't last as long as Cabello's. Unlike the champion, he is watching everything from the outside, detached enough for his thoughts to slowly find solid ground again.
"If he could really read your mind..." he mutters, "then why did he struggle so much during the first five rounds?"
"How the hell should I know?" Cabello snaps back. "You're supposed to be the one telling me."
Rivera slowly shakes his head. "I don't know either. But one thing I'm sure of... he isn't reading your mind. It's nothing more than a psychological trick. I'll give him this… he's unbelievably good at copying your movements. But that's where it ends. He can't steal your creativity."
He then leans closer until only Cabello can hear him. "And your bodies aren't the same. Remember what happened in the locker room."
Cabello's expression subtly changes. He tightens the straps of his gloves, then lightly shakes out both legs, testing them for himself.
