CHAPTER 55: CHAPTER 55: REST DAY AND RETURN

The alarm buzzed at 6 AM like a drill through his skull, and Javier flinched before he reached for the button. His whole body screamed when he tried to sit up, and every muscle felt as if it had been beaten with hammers. His ribs ached where Jerkins had landed clean shots; his hands were still puffy despite the ice.

"Ugh," Tommy groaned from the next bed as he blinked at the ceiling and barely moved. "I can’t feel my arms."

"My everything hurts," Javier muttered while he steadied his breath and swung his legs over the side. Moving felt like he was ninety years old, and he took a moment to rub his temples.

"How’d you sleep?" Tommy asked as he pushed himself upright with a wince.

"Terrible. You?"

"Same. Had nightmares about getting punched all night."

"Yeah? I kept dreaming about that uppercut and playing it over and over."

"Dude, that was insane," Tommy said as he rolled his shoulders and hissed through his teeth. "The sound it made when you caught him. Your whole body changed after that punch; you knew you had him."

"Felt different too," Javier said, and his eyes sharpened as he remembered the moment. "Like I actually belonged in there."

They sat quietly for a moment, and both of them replayed their fights in their heads while the room settled.

"We’re really in the semifinals," Tommy said, and his voice dropped.

"Still doesn’t feel real," Javier answered.

"Wish we had family here to see it."

Javier looked at his friend and nodded. Group home kids didn’t have parents cheering in the stands, yet he kept his tone steady. "We’ve got each other though."

"Yeah. And Miguel and Danny."

"That’s enough."

They pulled on their running clothes like old men getting dressed. Javier’s shoulders protested every movement, and his fingers trembled when he tied his shoelaces. He blew into his hands to warm them, then stood with a tight breath.

Grey Williams waited by the front door with his coffee mug as always. The steam curled past his face, and his eyes creased with pride.

"Good morning, champs," Grey said, and his grin sat wider than usual.

Both boys stopped walking. "Champs." Nobody had ever called them that before. They glanced at each other, and a tired smile spread across Tommy’s face.

"Morning, Grey," they replied together.

"Going for your morning jogs as always?"

"Yeah," Javier said, although every step would hurt. He pulled his hoodie tighter and rolled his neck.

"Be careful out there," Grey added as he lifted the mug. "You boys earned some respect last night; people notice champions."

They stepped outside into Brooklyn’s cold air. The streets lay quiet except for delivery trucks and a few early workers heading to jobs. Javier watched his breath fog and found a rhythm with Tommy at his shoulder.

A soft blue window appeared in Javier’s vision.

[GOOD MORNING]

[WORKOUT IN PROGRESS]

They started jogging slowly. Neither of them had the energy for their usual pace, yet the movement helped work out the stiffness and clear their heads.

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 14.1/100]

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 14.2/100]

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 14.3/100]

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 14.4/100]

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 14.5/100]

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 14.7/100]

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 14.8/100]

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 14.9/100]

[DISTANCE: 0.5 KILOMETERS]

[ENDURANCE +0.1: 16.1/100]

"My legs feel like concrete," Tommy panted while keeping his chin tucked.

"Keep going. It’ll get better," Javier said, easing his stride rather than stop.

[DISTANCE: 1.0 KILOMETERS]

[ENDURANCE 18.1/100]

A bodega owner lifted a shutter and waved at them, and they waved back without breaking stride. Their legs grew heavier with each step, yet their breathing settled.

[DISTANCE: 2.5 KILOMETERS]

[ENDURANCE 28.1/100]

[WORKOUT COMPLETE]

[RECOVERY MODE RECOMMENDED]

When they got back to Marcus Garvey at 7 AM, other kids were already moving around. The showers hissed; someone laughed down the hall; a pair of younger boys argued about homework they had forgotten. The noise felt familiar, and it calmed Javier’s nerves.

Vicente appeared beside him as Javier and Tommy caught their breath. The ghost’s eyes shone with approval.

"Morning, champion," Vicente said with a proud smile. "How does victory feel?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," Javier whispered as he rubbed his ribs.

"That’s what real fights do to you," Vicente said, and his gaze softened. "But look at yourself; you’re different now. You carry yourself like a fighter who knows he belongs."

Javier glanced at the small mirror by the door, and he saw it too. Something had changed in his eyes, and his shoulders sat a little squarer.

"Rest today," Vicente continued. "Your body needs to heal. Tomorrow, we prepare for the next war."

They grabbed quick showers, and the hot water eased their sore muscles. Mrs. Rodriguez’s voice cut through the hallway with brisk authority.

"Bus leaves in fifteen minutes! Move it!"

They climbed onto the yellow school bus, and the driver hummed the same off-key songs. Tommy closed his eyes against the window and breathed through the ache; Javier watched the city roll by and kept his thoughts tight.

At school, everything felt different. Kevin jogged up first with a wide grin.

"Yo, Tommy! Heard you won your fight!"

"Yeah, barely though," Tommy said, and colour rose in his cheeks.

Carlos joined them by the lockers and slapped Javier’s shoulder gently. "Both of you made semifinals? That’s insane!"

"It’s just local Golden Gloves," Javier said, yet he could not hide his smile, and the pride warmed his chest.

Ashley walked over with a curious tilt to her head. "When’s your next fight? I want to come watch."

"You do?" Javier blinked, surprised; Tommy’s eyebrows shot up too.

A girl from their math class pushed through the small crowd. "Are you gonna be on TV?"

"I don’t think so," Tommy said. "It’s just amateur boxing."

The attention felt strange. Yesterday they were just group home kids; now people stared and whispered when they walked by, and Javier kept his gaze forward.

First period English began, and Ms. Peterson wrote assignments on the board with brisk strokes. The chalk tapped the slate, and Javier’s stomach dropped.

"Oh no," he whispered to Tommy without moving his lips. "The assignment."

"What assignment?" Tommy’s brow furrowed; then his face went pale. "The essay?"

"The one she gave yesterday. I completely forgot."

Panic hit his stomach like a punch as Ms. Peterson turned. Ashley Williams heard them and glanced back, and her eyes narrowed in a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"You two forgot again?" Ashley said under her breath.

"Could I copy yours? Really fast?" Javier asked, and desperation crept into his voice.

She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You’re asking me to save you again?"

"Please?"

Ashley sighed, then slid her notebook over with a small shake of her head. "Fine. But you owe me."

"Thank you." Javier started copying as fast as his sore hands could move, and he bit his lip as the pen scratched.

Tommy leaned over with pleading eyes. "Can I get some of that too?"

Kevin turned around and pushed a page toward him. "Here, copy mine."

They wrote frantically with messy handwriting that stayed just readable. They finished as Ms. Peterson faced the class with her usual calm expression.

"Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Ms. Peterson," the class replied.

"I hope you all completed your assignments." She moved through the rows, and Javier’s heart pounded as he handed in his paper. She glanced at it and gave a small nod; relief spread through his shoulders.

The rest of school dragged. Math class felt like torture, and History felt worse. Javier’s body grew heavy in the desk chair, and the whispers returned during breaks. He kept his jaw set; Tommy kept tapping his foot; the clock refused to move.

Lunch came with the usual cardboard food, and break time faded. Finally, 3 PM arrived.

On the bus ride home, Miguel’s orders stood: skip the gym and go straight to Marcus Garvey. Complete rest before the semifinals. They obeyed without argument.

The evening felt strange without training. They ate dinner with the younger kids, watched TV, and played video games. Normal teenager stuff felt foreign after months of routine, yet the laughter helped.

"You nervous about Wednesday?" Tommy asked as they folded their clothes for the next day.

"Yeah. Really nervous. You?"

"Scared out of my mind," Tommy admitted, and he tried to smile through it.

Vicente appeared as Javier lay down and pulled the blanket to his chest.

"Tomorrow you start preparing for the biggest fight of your life," the ghost said quietly. "Rest now. Let your body heal."

"What if I’m not ready?" Javier asked as he stared at the ceiling.

"You are," Vicente said. "Trust yourself."

They fell asleep earlier than usual because their bodies demanded recovery.

The next morning brought the same routine. They woke up sore; they jogged slowly; they sat through school; they finished homework. Yet Wednesday felt electric; the air held the charge that comes before a storm.

[ENDURANCE: FULLY RECOVERED]

[READY FOR COMPETITION]

Miguel and Danny arrived at exactly 4 PM with serious faces and calm voices.

"Ready, boys?" Miguel asked, and he searched their eyes for doubt.

They climbed into the car, and the drive to the venue felt longer this time. Pressure built with every street they passed. Only four fighters remained in each division, and the thought made Javier’s hands curl.

The venue buzzed with energy. Fighters warmed up in every corner; coaches gave last-minute advice; officials checked equipment with quick efficiency. The smell of sweat and nerves filled the air, and the sound of jump ropes snapped like wires.

"Medical checks first," a tournament official called, and they followed without hesitation.

Both boys passed with ease, although Tommy’s heart rate ran high from nerves; he swallowed hard and tried to slow his breathing.

"Weigh-ins next!"

Javier stepped on the scale, and the official adjusted the weights with a flat expression. "155.8 pounds. Making weight."

Tommy bounced once to shake tension from his legs, then stepped up. "139.4 pounds. Making weight."

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s Golden Gloves semifinal matches!"

The crowd erupted, and energy built like electricity in the rafters. Javier felt it rise through the floor and settle in his chest.

Other weight classes fought first. The heavyweights threw bombs that shook the building, and the middleweights showed speed and skill with clean combinations. Each fight built tension toward the main events, and Danny kept pointing small details out with a calm finger.

Vicente appeared beside Javier as they watched. "Study every fight," the ghost said. "See how they handle pressure; learn from their mistakes."

The announcer’s voice rose again. "Next up—light welterweight semifinals!"

Danny pulled Tommy aside while Javier and Miguel watched. Danny’s hands shook slightly as he wrapped them with fresh tape, and his eyes never left Tommy’s.

"Listen to me," Danny said, and his voice dropped. "This Porter kid is a southpaw. That changes everything."

"Your jab is your best friend tonight. Use it to control distance, and do not let him get comfortable."

"Southpaws love that left hook. Keep your hands up when you’re inside, and don’t give him targets."

"Most important—stay relaxed. You belong here just as much as he does."

Tommy nodded and bounced on his toes. His nervousness showed in his quick movements and fast breathing, but his gaze stayed fixed.

Across the staging area, Liam Porter warmed up quietly. He looked lean and wiry with a light bounce on his feet; his calm face gave nothing away. No one knew what kind of fighter he really was, and that uncertainty tightened Javier’s stomach.

The PA system crackled over the crowd, and folding chairs scraped on the hardwood as people pressed toward the ring. The noise blended into a single roar.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer called with perfect rhythm, "this is a three-round bout in the light welterweight novice division!"

Cheers erupted from the Gleason’s Gym section, and Danny gave Tommy’s shoulders a firm pat.

"In the red corner, representing Gleason’s Gym, fighting out of Brooklyn, New York... Tommy Rivera!"

Tommy bounced higher as he tapped his gloves together, and he exhaled through pursed lips.

"And in the blue corner, representing Crown Heights Boxing Club... Liam Porter!"

A different section exploded with cheers, and clear sides formed in the crowd as chants rose and fell.

The referee brought both fighters to centre ring. These were standard amateur rules: three rounds at three minutes each with a point scoring system; protect yourselves at all times. The instructions came crisp and even.

Tension thickened until it felt like a rope drawn tight. This was not just another match; this was about proving yourself and earning the right to move one step closer to Golden Gloves glory.

Tommy touched gloves with Porter. There was no trash talk and no attempt at intimidation; only two young fighters who had earned their place in the final four.

The referee raised his hand.

"Box!"

The bell rang sharp and clear, and Tommy’s biggest test began.