The spotlights focusing on the ring burned Javier’s eyes. Way brighter than the gym’s usual fluorescents. Crowd noise faded to distant noise.
His legs turned to jelly climbing through the ropes. Canvas bounced under his feet. Nothing like the heavy bags and floor mats. This felt alive.
Devon waited at center ring, composed and easy. Rolling his shoulders, flexing his neck. He belonged here. Like he’d been doing this since childhood.
Javier’s mouth felt dry as cotton.
The referee—same gray-haired man from Tommy’s fight—motioned them forward.
"Same rules, gentlemen. Keep it clean. Touch gloves when ready."
Javier’s gloves felt heavy as he raised them. Devon’s came up smooth and natural. Leather met with a dull thump.
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat. Devon’s stayed steady. Focused. No fear whatsoever.
Javier’s stomach dropped.
They stepped back. The crowd grew louder. Someone shouted his name from the group home section.
The system window popped up again with Devon’s stats, blue text glowing:
[RECORD: 8-2-1 (AMATEUR)]
[STYLE: BOXER-PUNCHER]
Every number topped his own. Javier’s throat tightened.
Vicente appeared at ringside, arms folded. The ghost looked solid under bright lights.
"Forget the numbers," Vicente said, voice cutting through noise. "Fight your fight, not his."
Javier took a shaky breath.
"Fighters ready?" the referee called.
Devon nodded once, bouncing on his toes.
Javier raised his gloves higher.
The bell sliced through everything like a blade.
Devon came out smooth as silk. His feet barely touched canvas, sliding across the ring like he was floating. Every step had purpose. Every movement flowed into the next.
He started with mind games. Fake jabs that made Javier blink. Shoulder feints that looked like loaded punches but weren’t. Testing Javier’s reactions.
Javier tried setting the tone early. He pumped out a quick jab, aiming for Devon’s headgear. But Devon saw it coming and his head slipped left, and Javier’s glove caught nothing but air.
The counter came back lightning fast. Devon’s right hand thumped into Javier’s guard like a hammer.
The shock ran up Javier’s arms to his shoulders. This kid could punch.
Devon found his rhythm immediately. He stayed just outside punching range, using his longer reach. Jab, jab, cross. Light shots, but all landing clean on Javier’s headgear and chest protector.
The leather popped each time. Clean, scoring punches.
The three judges sat straighter, pens already moving on their scorecards.
"Let’s go, Javi!" Tommy’s voice carried over the noise from ringside.
Javier tried getting inside where he could work. He threw a looping left hook aimed at Devon’s ribs, putting everything behind it.
But Devon wasn’t there anymore.
The kid had pivoted away at the last second, smooth as a dancer. While Javier was off balance from the missed punch, Devon caught him with a perfect check hook that rattled his headgear.
[COUNTER OPPORTUNITY MISSED]
Flashed across Javier’s vision.
Anger flashed through Javier’s chest. Devon’s timing was perfect. Every time Javier thought he saw an opening, Devon had already vanished.
"Stand still!" Javier grunted through his mouthguard.
Devon just smiled and kept moving. Boxing. Making Javier look clumsy.
The crowd was getting restless. They’d come for real boxing, not a boxing lesson. But Devon was putting on a teaching.
Javier’s footwork felt like lead. Heavy and awkward. He kept getting caught with his feet square—the worst position in boxing. Devon punished him every single time.
A crisp three-punch combination snapped Javier’s head back. Left, right, left. Each shot landed clean and echoed through the gym like gunshots.
"Angles, Javi!" Miguel’s voice boomed from the corner. "Stop chasing him! Cut off the ring!"
Vicente appeared at the ring ropes, ghostly form intense. "You’re thinking too much! Move like you do in shadowboxing. This isn’t street fighting!"
But Javier felt trapped in quicksand. Every step was effort. Devon made it look effortless.
At the one-minute mark, Devon stepped in with bad intentions. He threw a picture-perfect straight right that drove deep into Javier’s ribs, just under the chest protector.
Air exploded from Javier’s lungs. His knees buckled. He stumbled backward, gasping like a fish.
Devon smelled blood in the water. He pressed forward immediately, throwing combinations with more confidence now. Jab, cross, hook. The shots landed harder, with snap behind them.
Javier covered up desperately, gloves pressed against his temples. The impacts rattled through his arms.
"Stay off the ropes!" Miguel shouted. "Get your feet moving!"
But Javier couldn’t find the right distance. When he tried getting close, Devon tied him up expertly. When he backed off, Devon picked him apart with that sharp jab.
The kid was a problem solver. Every adjustment Javier made, Devon had an answer.
With thirty seconds left in the round, Javier threw caution to the wind. He launched a wild right hand with everything he had, hoping to catch Devon sleeping.
Devon saw it coming and pulled his head back just enough, and Javier’s glove whistled past his nose by millimeters.
The counter uppercut nearly took Javier’s head off. It grazed his chin through the headgear, but he felt the power behind it.
Too close. Way too close.
Desperate now, Javier swung for the fences. He managed catching Devon with a glancing shot to the shoulder—more push than punch.
Devon shrugged it off like nothing and went back to boxing. His smile said everything: I’m in control here.
The judges were observing closely now. Their pens moved constantly, marking every clean shot Devon landed. And he landed plenty.
In the final ten seconds, Devon showed off. He threw a perfect four-punch combination that had Javier covering up like he was in a hailstorm. The crowd gasped at the precision.
The bell rang, cutting through noise, a salvation.
Javier stumbled back to his corner, legs shaking. Devon walked calmly to his, barely breathing hard.
Javier collapsed onto his stool like his legs had given out. His chest rose and fell in heavy gulps. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. Every breath felt like work.
Miguel was already there with water bottle and clean towel. He worked fast, wiping Javier’s face and neck.
"Easy. Just breathe." Miguel’s voice stayed calm, professional. "You got a good look at him now. He bleeds just like you."
Javier grabbed the water bottle with shaking hands. Cold liquid felt amazing going down his throat.
"I can’t touch him," Javier panted. "He sees everything coming."
"He’s not psychic. He’s just reading you." Miguel knelt beside the stool, making eye contact. "Every time you throw, you show it. Drop your right shoulder, lean forward. He’s picking up your movement."
"Stop trying to knock his head off. Get close, work the body, make him uncomfortable." Miguel squeezed Javier’s shoulder. "You’re the stronger fighter. Use it."
Vicente materialized beside them, ghostly form tense with frustration.
"He’s boxing you to death out there," Vicente said bluntly. "Staying on the outside, picking you apart. You’re letting him fight his fight."
Javier looked up at the ghost. "What should I be doing?"
"Making it nasty. Get inside where he can’t use that reach. Lean on him, rough him up, make him work." Vicente’s eyes burned with intensity. "Stop being polite. This is a fight, not a dance class."
The crowd noise swirled around them. Javier could hear kids from the group home chanting his name, but it felt distant. Muffled.
Miguel checked the clock. "Forty seconds left."
He grabbed Javier’s chin, forcing focus. "Listen to me. When the bell rings, you press forward. Don’t wait for him to start boxing. You set the pace. Got it?"
"Cut the ring in half. Don’t chase him, trap him. Force him to stand and fight."
The ten-second warning buzzed through the gym. Miguel pulled the stool away and stepped through the ropes.
Javier pushed himself up. His legs felt steadier now, but his confidence was still cracked. One round down, two to go. He was already losing.
Across the ring, Devon sat relaxed on his stool. His corner was calm, just making small adjustments. No panic. No desperate advice. Devon looked over and their eyes met for a second.
The kid thought this was over already.
Miguel leaned through the ropes one last time. "Show him you belong here."
The referee stepped to center. "Round two! Box!"
The bell rang sharp and clear.
This time, Javier didn’t wait.