CHAPTER 51: CHAPTER 51: THE NEXT STAGE

The group home morning routine continues unchanged despite their weekend success. Cold shower, breakfast, same worn chairs around the same scratched table. But the other kids watch them eat with something new in their eyes.

Respect mixed with envy. Fear mixed with admiration.

School drags like it’s moving through honey. Ms. Peterson asks if he’s okay after catching him stretching his ribs during English class, her eyes narrowing at the careful way he moves in his seat.

"Just sore from training," he says, trying to sit straighter despite the protest from his bruised ribs.

She frowns, taking in the faint purple marks visible at his collar. "Be careful with that boxing. Education should come first."

"Yes ma’am." He forces his hands to stay still on his desk, fighting the urge to probe the tender spots along his ribs.

But his grades are actually improving. The discipline from training bleeds into everything else. Focus carries over from the gym to the classroom.

The final bell rings like salvation. Javier gathers his books with relief, his shoulders finally relaxing from the careful posture he’d maintained all day. Miguel and Danny wait outside in Danny’s van, both trainers looking serious.

"Ready for the real test?" Danny asks, gripping the steering wheel as he loads their gear into the back.

Javier climbs into the passenger seat, feeling the weight settle over him. This isn’t recreational boxing anymore. The drive to the venue feels different - heavier, charged with something that makes his stomach flutter.

The tournament atmosphere on Monday is different. Fewer spectators since it’s a weekday, but the fighters are sharper. More experienced. The casual fans stayed home. Only the serious boxing people remain.

Officials process weigh-ins with efficient precision. Javier steps on the digital scale, same with his weight before his match against Wells. Well within the welterweight limit.

"Made weight easy," the official notes. "Good weight management."

The same doctor from Saturday examines both boys. Shines lights in their eyes, checks their reflexes, asks about headaches or dizziness.

"You’ve recovered well from your first fights," she says, stamping their medical forms. "Cleared for competition."

Tournament brackets show the bout order. Tommy’s light welterweight semifinal first, then two other quarterfinals, then Javier third on the card. Everything is organized and official.

Corner assignments posted - Tommy gets blue corner, Javier red corner.

"Semifinals first," the tournament marshal announces. "Light welterweight fighters report to staging in thirty minutes."

Tommy’s opponent is Kingsley Sylvester from Bedford-Stuyvesant Boxing. A southpaw with quick hands and a 2-1 record. The crowd is smaller on a weekday but the energy stays intense among the dedicated fans who showed up.

Javier watches from ringside as Tommy takes his corner. The kid who got knocked unconscious months ago now looks like he belongs here. Confident and ready.

The bell rings sharp.

Tommy opens with improved jab-cross combinations, but Kingsley answers with sharp counterpunches from his southpaw stance. Different angles, awkward timing.

Thirty seconds in, Tommy catches Kingsley stepping forward with a perfect right cross. The punch lands clean on Kingsley’s jaw as he’s moving into it.

Kingsley’s legs buckle completely. He drops hard, his body going limp before he hits the canvas.

The referee doesn’t hesitate. He waves his arms immediately, kneeling beside the fallen fighter.

"That’s it! It’s over!"

The small crowd erupts. Tommy helps Kingsley up when he comes around, showing perfect sportsmanship. The southpaw is okay, just shook up and embarrassed.

"Semifinals winner by knockout in round one," the announcer calls out. "Advancing to Saturday’s light welterweight final... Tommy Vega!"

Tommy raises his gloves briefly, then immediately looks for Javier. No showboating. Just business.

"Your boy’s got serious power," Miguel tells Danny as they watch Tommy leave the ring.

"Both your boys do. Wait till you see what Jerkins brings tonight."

Miguel wraps Javier’s hands with extra care, each strip of tape applied with professional precision. The ritual feels more serious now, each movement deliberate.

"Jerkins Glee hits harder than Wells," Miguel says, working methodically. "Different style. More of a boxer-puncher. Uses his jab to set up power shots."

Tournament officials check Javier’s gloves, headgear, mouthpiece, groin protector. Everything must meet USA Boxing standards exactly. The inspection feels more thorough now, each detail scrutinized.

Javier shadowboxes in the staging area, movements smooth and controlled. His body remembers the lessons from the Wells fight. Miguel holds focus mitts for quick combinations - jab, cross, hook. Staying sharp without overexertion.

A system window appears in his peripheral vision:

[OPPONENT DETECTED: JERKINS GLEE]

[CROWN HEIGHTS BOXING CLUB]

[RECORD: 3-1 AMATEUR]

[STYLE: BOXER-PUNCHER]

[STRENGTH: Level 2 (24/100)]

[SPEED: Level 2 (21/100)]

[ENDURANCE: Level 2 (26/100)]

[TECHNIQUE: Level 2 (28/100)]

[POWER: Level 2 (29/100)]

Across the staging area, Jerkins warms up with quiet confidence. His technique looks polished, economical. No wasted motion, no nervous energy. His 3-1 record shows in every shadowboxing combination.

This will be Javier’s toughest test yet.

"Welterweight quarterfinal fighters report to staging!"

The tournament marshal’s voice cuts through backstage noise. Miguel nods solemnly. Vicente materializes beside them, visible only to Javier, his ghostly form intense and focused.

"Time to prove the Wells victory wasn’t luck," Miguel says, applying petroleum jelly to Javier’s face.

"Stay behind your jab," Vicente adds, his voice carrying supernatural authority. "Work the body. Make him respect your power."

"Trust your training," Miguel concludes. "Trust yourself. You belong here."

The marshal leads both fighters toward the ring. Javier’s heart pounds against his ribs, but his breathing stays controlled. The canvas ahead represents everything he’s worked for.

Advancement to the semifinals. Proving he’s more than just a lucky first-round winner.

Both fighters touch gloves at center ring. No trash talk, no intimidation tactics. Just mutual respect between fighters who’ve earned their place in the quarterfinals.

The referee explains the rules clearly. "Three rounds, protect yourselves at all times, listen to my commands."

Javier returns to his corner, bouncing lightly on his toes. Miguel adjusts his headgear one final time. Vicente stands motionless at ringside, ready to provide guidance only Javier can hear.

The referee raises his hand.

"Fighters ready?"

Both nod.

"Box!"