CHAPTER 54: CHAPTER 54: QUARTERFINAL WAR - JERKINS VS JAVIER III

"Final round! Box!"

Jerkins came out swinging with courage, knowing he needed a miracle. His technique remained beautiful despite the damage - jab snapped Javier’s head back, cross thundered against his chest guard, hook whistled past his ear as he ducked.

But Javier had learned to read the patterns. He slipped the jab by millimeters, feeling leather brush his hair. Ducked the cross completely, hearing it slice empty air. Then exploded upward with a short hook that crashed into Jerkins’ wounded ribs.

THUD.

Jerkins’ mouth opened in silent agony behind his mouthguard. His knees buckled slightly, left hand dropping to protect the damage.

[HOOK SKILL +0.1, CURRENT: 31.9/100]

[STRENGTH +0.1, CURRENT: 24.0/100]

[RING IQ +0.1, CURRENT: 22.3/100]

"There!"

Vicente shouted from ringside, moving like a conductor.

"Again! Same spot!"

Scattered voices from the crowd called out encouragement, but the gym were more attracted by the fight now - other fighters sizing up potential semifinal opponents.

Javier cut off the ring like a master hunter, forcing Jerkins toward the ropes with calculated steps. Every movement purposeful. The canvas trembled under their feet.

When Jerkins tried to escape with footwork, Javier was already there. Two quick steps, perfect angles, trapping him against the blood-stained ropes where the damage accumulated.

Left hook to the floating ribs - CRACK - Jerkins whimpered audibly. Right uppercut to the same spot - SMACK - his breathing became ragged gasps. Quick jab to reset - POP - then another hook that made him stumble sideways.

[FOOTWORK +0.1, CURRENT: 29.9/100]

[TECHNIQUE +0.1, CURRENT: 25.7/100]

[ENDURANCE: 18/100 → 16/100]

Each body shot landed with increasingly wet sounds. The crowd winced with every impact. Jerkins’ movement became labored, his feet shuffling instead of dancing. His breathing came in sharp, pained gasps between exchanges.

"Break! Box!" the referee commanded, stepping between them as Jerkins tried to clinch.

But Jerkins showed the heart that had carried him this far. Despite the damage, despite the pain, he refused to surrender. When Javier got careless and dropped his guard for a heartbeat, Jerkins fired back with everything left.

Sharp uppercut snapped Javier’s head back violently - leather cracked against bone. Cross rattled his headgear like thunder - CLANG - sweat exploded in all directions. Hook to the temple that made his ears ring and vision blur momentarily.

[DEFENSE +0.1, CURRENT: 17.3/100]

[SPEED +0.1, CURRENT: 27.5/100]

The crowd gasped. For a moment, the old Jerkins flickered back to life - the boxer-puncher with perfect technique and dangerous power.

But Javier answered immediately, instinct and training taking over. Jab split Jerkins’ guard - POP - blood sprayed from his nose. Cross exploded against his jaw - CRACK - his head whipped sideways. Hook to those tender ribs again - THUD - Jerkins doubled over, mouth opening in silent scream.

They traded now in vicious exchanges. Jerkins threw jab-cross-hook with championship form - first caught Javier’s headgear, second hit his chest guard, hook found his temple with meaty impact. Javier responded with hook-uppercut-cross - body shot made Jerkins grunt and stumble, uppercut grazed his chin, cross caught him flush on the jaw.

Blood streamed down both their faces, mixing with sweat to create dark streams. The canvas beneath them showed wet patches where violence had pooled.

[CROSS SKILL +0.1, CURRENT: 33.4/100]

[UPPERCUT SKILL +0.1, CURRENT: 24.5/100]

"Ninety seconds!" the timekeeper’s voice cut through chaos like a blade.

Jerkins loaded up for one final assault, knowing he needed something spectacular. His breathing came in sharp, controlled gasps despite the rib damage. Beautiful jab to create space, cross loaded with everything he had left.

But exhaustion made him show the punch. Shoulders dropped a fraction too early, weight shifted too obviously. Javier read it like Vicente had drilled into him - pattern recognition under pressure.

He ducked perfectly, feeling the cross whistle overhead close enough to ruffle his hair. Time slowed as he coiled his legs beneath him.

The uppercut exploded upward like a piston, catching Jerkins flush under the chin. The impact sent shockwaves through both their bodies. Jerkins’ feet left the canvas for a heartbeat, suspended by pure will.

CRACK.

The venue fell silent except for the echo. Jerkins’ knees gave way, legs wobbling like a newborn colt. His eyes rolled back briefly behind the headgear.

[UPPERCUT SKILL +0.2, CURRENT: 24.7/100]

[POWER +0.1, CURRENT: 19.7/100]

[TECHNIQUE +0.1, CURRENT: 25.8/100]

The crowd stirred with sudden energy. "OHHHHH!" echoed through the gym. Other fighters at ringside straightened, recognizing a defining moment. Coaches leaned forward, studying the technique.

But Jerkins’ legs found steel somewhere deep inside. Through sheer force of will, he stayed upright. Grabbed Javier desperately, buying precious seconds to clear his head.

"Break! Box!" the referee commanded, pushing them apart. His eyes watched Jerkins carefully, ready to stop the fight if necessary.

Both fighters emptied their tanks in the final minute. Sweat splashing from their bodies in the cold air. The canvas beneath their feet told the story of the entire fight. Dark patches where sweat had pooled during early exchanges. Droplets of blood from both fighters marking their tirade of punches. The rubber mat slick with evidence of their match.

Jerkins threw everything with desperation now. His combinations remained technically sound despite the damage - muscle memory overriding pain. Jab-cross-hook sequences that still carried power, footwork that still showed his training.

But each exchange cost him. His left hand kept dropping to protect those damaged ribs. His breathing became labored between flurries. Sweat mixed with blood from small cuts, creating pink streams down his face.

Javier pressed his advantage methodically. No wild swinging, no rushing for the finish. Each punch served a purpose - jabs to keep distance, crosses to snap his head back, hooks to those tender ribs that made Jerkins wince and stumble.

Left hook to the body - THUMP. Right cross to the head - POP. Another hook to those ribs - SMACK. Each shot landed with the precision of someone who knew exactly where to hurt.

[JAB SKILL +0.1, CURRENT: 38.0/100]

[HOOK SKILL +0.1, CURRENT: 32.0/100]

[ENDURANCE: 16/100 → 14/100]

Vicente’s voice carried supernatural authority: "Control the finish! Make him chase you now!"

With thirty seconds left, Javier shifted tactics completely. Instead of pressing forward, he began moving laterally, forcing Jerkins to close distance. Each time the wounded fighter stepped in, Javier was ready with sharp counters that found their mark.

Jerkins, desperate for a miracle finish, loaded up with power shots that left him vulnerable. A wild overhand right that Javier ducked, countering with a clean cross to the jaw. A looping left hook that he slipped, answering with a short uppercut to the solar plexus.

"Ten seconds!"

Both fighters met at center ring for one last statement. Neither giving ground, neither willing to surrender.

Jerkins fired a clean jab-cross that popped Javier’s headgear twice - POP-CRACK - his technique still beautiful despite everything. Pride and skill refusing to die even when the body was broken.

Javier answered with hook-uppercut that both found their mark - THUD-SMACK - the hook to damaged ribs made Jerkins wince, the uppercut snapped his head back one final time.

Neither fighter gave an inch until the final bell saved them both from themselves.

CLANG.

The bell’s echo faded into sudden, profound quiet. Both fighters stood motionless for a heartbeat, too exhausted for immediate movement.

Then they embraced at center ring, too drained for anything but respect. Jerkins whispered something in Javier’s ear - words only they would ever know. The crowd rose to their feet, applauding the quality of warfare they had witnessed.

[ENDURANCE: 14/100]

[CONDITION: COMPLETELY DRAINED]

[AMATEUR BOUT COMPLETE]

Miguel rushed through the ropes, wrapping Javier in a bear hug that lifted him off his feet. Vicente appeared, nodding once with deep satisfaction before fading away.

The judges compared cards with themselves, their decision evident to anyone who understood scoring.

"Judge Martinez scores 29-28. Judge Williams scores 29-28. Judge Thompson scores 28-29..." The pause felt long. "By majority decision... Javier Restrepo!"

Scattered applause broke out around the gym. Other fighters nodded with respect - they recognized quality when they saw it. Coaches made mental notes about a dangerous semifinal opponent.

[SYSTEM ACHIEVEMENT]

[CONGRATULATIONS]

[GOLDEN GLOVES LOCAL: SEMIFINAL QUALIFIED]

Javier raised his gloves weakly, barely able to believe the moment. His legs wobbled with exhaustion, but his smile could have lit the entire venue.

Despite his disappointment, Jerkins congratulated him genuinely at center ring. "You earned that win. Stay hungry." His sportsmanship in defeat showed the character that boxing builds in warriors.

The tournament medical officer examined both fighters thoroughly. Javier showed fatigue and minor swelling but no serious damage. His conditioning had carried him through three hard rounds against skilled opposition.

Miguel helped pack their equipment while officials updated the tournament brackets. "Semifinals are Wednesday evening. Tomorrow we rest, light training Thursday and Friday."

The routine of amateur boxing continued, indifferent to individual dreams.

The Marcus Garvey group wasn’t here tonight - this quarterfinal had been moved to an earlier time slot. But Tommy waited at home, probably pacing the dormitory, checking his phone for updates. Dr. Vasquez would be at her evening therapy sessions, trusting Miguel to handle everything.

The van ride back felt different without the usual celebration. Just Javier and Miguel in comfortable silence, watching Brooklyn blur past in the evening darkness. The empty seats behind them somehow made the victory feel more personal, more earned.

Miguel glanced in the rearview mirror. "How do you feel?"

"Like I belong here," Javier replied, meaning it completely.

They arrived at Marcus Garvey to find Tommy waiting on the front steps despite the cold. His face broke into a huge grin when he saw them.

"Well?" Tommy called out, bouncing on his toes.

Miguel held up one finger, then pointed toward the gym. "Semifinals."

Tommy whooped and rushed down to grab Javier in a bear hug. "I knew it, man! I knew you had it!"

Mrs. Rodriguez had kept a plate warm despite the hour. Javier ate while Tommy pestered him for details about every round. The younger kids were already asleep, but their excitement would come tomorrow morning at breakfast.

Finally, Javier collapsed onto his narrow mattress at 11:30 PM, every muscle aching but deeply satisfied. His alarm was set for 6 AM - regular school day tomorrow despite advancing to the semifinals.

The routine of group home life continued unchanged, indifferent to individual glory.

Four fighters left in his division. Two more wins for a local Golden Gloves title. The dream that had started in this same bed was getting closer to reality, one round at a time.

Vicente’s ghost didn’t appear - even supernatural mentors needed rest after wars like this.