Inoue Breaks Picasso Down, Shows Why Nakatani Isn’t the Problem People Think

Naoya Inoue didn’t come to Riyadh to gamble. He came to work. Twelve rounds, wide cards, no drama. David Picasso was outclassed, outpaced, and slowly worn down until the fight became what it always was going to be — a test of whether durability could survive control. It couldn’t.

This was a managed job. And that matters, because Inoue is no longer fighting to impress. He’s fighting to stay clean while lining up the next problem.

From the opening bell, Inoue boxed like a man protecting his future. Tight base. Hands high. Feet under him. No reaching. No chasing. Picasso tried to sell ambition early, threw to the body, tried to hold ground. But the timing gap showed immediately. Inoue’s jab wasn’t flashy. It was disciplinary. It froze Picasso’s lead foot, then the right hand came through the gaps once the guard got heavy.

By the third round, the fight was already decided. Picasso could take shots. He just couldn’t change the rhythm.

The Problem Wasn’t Power

Picasso’s issue wasn’t heart or toughness. It was access.

Inoue never gave him a clean entry. Every step-in met the jab. Every planted exchange got answered with something shorter and sharper. Picasso had moments when Inoue eased off, especially mid-fight, but those were allowances, not openings.

When Picasso tried to work the body, Inoue answered upstairs and stepped out on angles Picasso couldn’t follow. When Picasso tried to pressure, he walked onto counters. That’s not dominance. That’s control.

By the sixth, the body shots from Inoue started to matter. Not because Picasso was close to folding, but because his stance narrowed. His exits slowed. His counters came half a beat late. Inoue noticed and dialed the pace back even further. Veteran work.

Why This Version of Inoue Walks Through Nakatani

Here’s the part people are getting wrong.

Junto Nakatani is tall, awkward, and left-handed. He gives a lot of fighters trouble. He doesn’t give this Inoue trouble. Especially not after his performce today.

Nakatani fights upright. He likes range. He needs time to set his shots and he prefers straight lines. That’s poison against Inoue. The jab alone will break Nakatani’s stance. Inoue will step outside the lead foot, take away the left hand, and make Nakatani reset every exchange.

And Nakatani doesn’t like being crowded. He backs up in straight lines and covers up high. That’s where Inoue eats. Short hooks. Right hands over the top. Body shots under the elbows. No panic. No rush.

A trainer watching this Picasso fight sees it clearly. Inoue didn’t open up because he didn’t need to. Against Nakatani, he will. Nakatani gives ground. Picasso tried to hold it. That’s the difference.

If Nakatani can’t force Inoue backward early — and he won’t — the fight becomes a long night of getting picked apart while looking busy.

What This Fight Actually Exposed

This didn’t raise Inoue’s ceiling. It showed his floor.

He can win every round without taking risks. He can hurt you without chasing. He can shut down ambition with structure. That’s dangerous at this weight.

Picasso proved he belongs near the top of the division. He didn’t prove he can change outcomes. That’s an important distinction.

And if Inoue ever slips — if the timing dulls, if the legs go — this version still survives on craft alone. That’s what makes him such a bad night for anyone standing across from him.

If Inoue had struggled here, questions would follow. He didn’t. So they won’t.