The Boxing System: I Became the King of the Ring-Chapter 20: Jamal vs Tommy III

Jamal still pressed forward - his nature - but the explosive bursts were gone. Now he threw in clusters of two or three before backing off to breathe.

Tommy found his second wind. Or maybe his third. He circled with purpose now, keeping distance, flicking his jab whenever Jamal got close.

The gym went quiet immediately. People sensed they were watching something special. The final act of war.

Tommy’s jab was beautiful now. Snap, snap, snap. Each one caught Jamal clean on headgear and jerked his head back. No power behind them, but perfect timing. Textbook scoring punches.

The judges leaned forward, watching every exchange.

Jamal tried answering with heavy artillery - those looping hooks that had caused damage earlier. But Tommy wasn’t there anymore. He slipped left, ducked right, made Jamal punch shadows.

"That’s it, Tommy!" Miguel shouted. "Box him!"

Still, Jamal was stronger. When he connected, it mattered. A straight right caught Tommy high on the shoulder and spun him.

Tommy staggered two steps, found his balance, immediately got back on his toes. No quit in him, and not tonight.

The clock ticked down. One minute. Forty-five seconds. Thirty.

Both boys knew what had to happen next.

They looked at each other across the ring. Some unspoken agreement passed between them. Time to empty the tanks.

Tommy stopped moving. Jamal stopped trying to cut angles. They walked toward each other like gunslingers at high noon.

Then they let it all go.

Tommy threw a jab. Jamal threw a hook. Tommy fired a right hand. Jamal answered with an uppercut. No defense, no footwork, no strategy. Just two kids throwing leather and seeing who wanted it more.

The crowd lost its mind. People jumped on chairs. Kids screamed until voices cracked.

Tommy’s jab split Jamal’s guard and popped him clean. Jamal smiled through his mouthguard and drove a hook into Tommy’s ribs that made him grunt. Tommy fired back immediately with a right cross that caught Jamal flush on the jaw.

Even through headgear, you could see Jamal felt that one.

The referee circled them like a hawk, ready to dive in if things got dangerous. But both boys were in control. Hurt, tired, bleeding, but in control.

Ten seconds. Five. Three. Two. One.

The final bell exploded through noise like a gunshot.

"Time! Step back! That’s it!"

The referee jumped between them, arms spread wide. Both fighters took a step back and immediately started to wobble.

Tommy’s legs gave out first. He sat down hard on canvas, not caring about pride anymore. Jamal leaned against the ropes, chest heaving like bellows.

Sweat and blood had mixed into a pink puddle beneath their feet. The canvas told the story of three rounds of honest work.

**************

The three judges huddled around their table like they were planning state secrets. Scorecards spread out, pencils tapping, quiet discussion. The entire gym held its breath.

Everything was audible now. Tommy’s ragged breathing. Jamal’s sneakers squeaked as he shifted weight. Someone was coughing in the back. The hum of overhead lights.

Miguel stood by the ring, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Finally, the head judge stood with a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, after three rounds of amateur boxing, we have a decision."

Tommy sat hunched on his stool, ice pack covering half his face. Blood had dried in crusty streaks on his upper lip. Jamal paced slowly along the ropes, hands on hips, still trying to catch his breath.

"All three judges score the bout for the winner... by unanimous decision..."

The pause felt like forever.

"Jamal Washington!"

The gym exploded. Jamal’s supporters erupted in cheers and whistles. Tommy’s corner clapped hard and respectful. No boos, no complaints. Everyone had seen the same fight.

Miguel was first to reach Tommy. He knelt beside his fighter and squeezed his shoulder.

"You just went to war, kid. Three rounds with a killer and you never backed down. That’s what commitment looks like."

Tommy nodded, too tired for words.

Miguel walked across the ring to where Danny was toweling off Jamal. They worked together, helping both fighters cool down.

"Good work from both boys," Miguel said, checking Jamal’s hands. "That was real boxing."

"Tommy showed heart," Danny agreed, then called over to Tommy. "That counter hook was beautiful, kid. You timed it perfectly."

Jamal had gotten his wind back. Still sweating, still shaky, but he walked over to where Tommy sat. The crowd quieted, watching.

Jamal pulled off his right glove and held out his hand.

"You’re one tough bastard," Jamal said, grinning. "I thought I had you finished in round one."

Tommy managed a bloody smile and bumped Jamal’s fist with his glove. "You hit harder than the heavy bag."

"You too, man. That hook came out of nowhere."

"Lucky punch."

"Nah. That was skill."

The crowd gave both fighters a standing ovation. Even the grizzled old-timers were nodding approval. They’d seen something real tonight.

Javier felt his throat tighten with emotion. Pride, fear, respect, all mixed together. Tommy had lost the fight but won something bigger. He’d proven he belonged.

Vicente materialized at Javier’s shoulder, solid as a real person in the dim light.

"Your friend earned his stripes tonight," Vicente said quietly. "Win or lose, he’s a fighter now. People will remember that."

"He looked good."

"He looked like he had a heart. That’s worth more than technique." Vicente’s eyes found Javier’s. "Now it’s your turn to show what you’re made of."

A soft chime echoed in Javier’s head, barely audible over crowd noise.

[OBSERVATION BONUS: FIGHT ANALYSIS UNLOCKED]

[NEW DATA: PRESSURE FIGHTING TACTICS RECORDED]

[NEW DATA: CLINCH RECOVERY METHODS STORED]

Javier barely registered the system notifications. His focus was entirely on Tommy, who had moved to the ring steps and was sitting with his head back, ice pack draped over his nose.

Javier walked over and sat beside his friend on the cold metal steps.

"How bad does it hurt?" Javier asked.

"Everything hurts," Tommy said, voice muffled by the ice pack. "But I don’t care. I actually fought someone for real."

"You did good out there."

"Felt like he was trying to kill me." Tommy lifted the ice pack and looked at Javier with one good eye. The other was starting to swell. "Kid hits like a brick."

"You hit him back though."

"Yeah, I got him a few times." Tommy shifted the ice pack to a fresh spot. "My face hurts but whatever. Worth it."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, two kids who’d grown up faster than they’d planned.

"MIGUEL! DANNY! TIME FOR THE NEXT MATCH!"

The announcement cut through noise. Javier’s stomach dropped to his shoes.

Tommy turned to look at him. "That’s you, brother."

"Yeah."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. I was shaking before my fight." Tommy reached out and bumped Javier’s shoulder. "Just don’t let him push you around like Jamal did to me."

Javier stood on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. His hands were already starting to shake.

Miguel appeared like magic, carrying Javier’s gloves and protective gear. The gloves were new, still smelling like fresh leather.

"Time to suit up, champ," Miguel said. "Your turn to show them what Marcus Garvey boys are made of."

The gym noise seemed to swell as Javier began putting on his gear. Hand wraps first, then the chest protector, then the headgear that made everything sound underwater.

Finally, the gloves. Miguel laced them tight, checking each one twice.

"You ready?" Miguel asked.

Javier looked across the gym at Devon, who was shadowboxing in his corner. Smooth, fluid, dangerous.

"No," Javier said. "But let’s do this anyway."