CHAPTER 57: CHAPTER 57: TOMMY VS LIAM II– COMPLETE DEFEAT

The bell rang like a gunshot, cutting through the tournament venue. Both fighters stepped up aggressively as the sharp clang echoed through the gym. Tommy bounced forward with new determination, Danny’s tactical adjustments fresh in his mind. Liam met him at center ring with predatory calm, ready to adapt to whatever Tommy brought.

"Stay smart!" Danny called from the corner, his voice cutting through the ambient noise.

Tommy immediately threw a feint–jab–cross combination with sharper technique than in Round 1. His left shoulder dipped slightly, selling the fake. Liam started to slip, then caught himself as Tommy’s real jab snapped forward.

The punch caught Liam flush on the nose through his headgear, snapping his head back slightly. It was the first truly clean shot Tommy had landed all fight.

"There!" Danny shouted, jumping up from his stool. "That’s it!"

But Liam’s response killed any hope immediately. He smiled behind his mouthguard, tapping his gloves together mockingly. His voice carried clearly through the crowd noise, dripping with confidence.

"Not bad... but try harder."

He immediately fired a lead right hook to Tommy’s body, the leather crashing into his chest protector and driving air from his lungs. Then he pivoted out smoothly before Tommy’s counter hook could land, his footwork making Tommy look clumsy.

The tournament officials leaned forward, noting the clean exchanges on their scorecards.

Tommy pressured with a double–jab–cross–hook sequence, trying to build on his earlier success. The first jab grazed Liam’s face, the cross whistled past his ear as he pulled back, but the hook landed lightly on his chest protector with solid contact.

Liam responded instantly with a sharp one–two combination upstairs. His straight right connected with Tommy’s headgear, rattling his skull inside the protective padding and sending sweat droplets flying.

The crowd stirred. Both clean hits generated alternating cheers from each side of the venue. The boxing was competitive now, no longer the one–sided domination of Round 1.

Liam’s taunting continued mid-ring. "You’re slowing down already."

Tommy tried cutting off the ring, his footwork aggressive as he forced Liam toward the ropes. But Liam sidestepped smoothly and fired a left uppercut to the ribs that made Tommy grunt audibly behind his mouthguard.

The shot drove air from Tommy’s lungs. He immediately clinched, trying to smother Liam’s work.

"Break! Box!" the referee commanded, pushing them apart with thick hands.

As soon as the ref stepped back, Liam burst forward with a quick three–punch combination. Jab to disrupt Tommy’s vision, cross that found the temple of his headgear, left hook upstairs that connected cleanly and turned Tommy’s head violently inside his protective gear.

Tommy’s vision blurred momentarily as his brain rattled against his skull.

He fired back immediately with a jab–cross–jab sequence, refusing to be intimidated. The last jab scored clean, connecting with Liam’s headgear with satisfying contact.

The crowd volume rose dramatically. This had become an open exchange rather than systematic control. Both fighters were marking each other now.

From ringside, Javier felt his stomach tighten. Tommy was fighting better, but Liam still looked calm—too calm.

Mid–round brought a momentum battle. Tommy adjusted his guard and started targeting the body with purpose. Two hooks landed on Liam’s ribs with meaty impacts before Liam tied him up in a clinch.

"Break!" the referee called immediately.

Liam stepped in as soon as they separated, feinting low to draw Tommy’s guard down. When Tommy’s hands dropped slightly, Liam threw a looping overhand left that clipped Tommy’s headgear, rattling his head inside the protective padding.

Instead of backing out, Liam stayed close and ripped two body shots to Tommy’s right side. Both punches landed with wet, heavy sounds that made Tommy wince visibly through his protective gear.

Tommy clinched again, forcing another break. His breathing was becoming labored, the accumulated body work taking its toll.

"Move your feet!" Danny screamed from the corner. "Don’t let him set!"

Tommy doubled his jab to push Liam toward the ropes, his footwork aggressive and purposeful. He fired a body–head combination—left hook to ribs, right hand to headgear. Both landed with solid authority, the hook making Liam grunt and the cross snapping his head back.

The crowd erupted, sensing a potential shift. But Liam bobbed under Tommy’s next hook and spun out expertly, regaining center ring control with veteran composure.

The final thirty seconds brought Liam’s true dominance. Tommy overreached on a right cross, desperate to score big. Liam slipped inside with perfect timing, landing a snapping left uppercut to the chin through Tommy’s headgear.

Tommy’s knees bent slightly as the shot rattled through his skull. The headgear absorbed most of the impact, but the clean technique was unmistakable.

Tommy stayed upright and threw back instinctively, but his punch missed as Liam stepped back with perfect timing. Liam fired a precise three–punch combination in response: jab to disrupt Tommy’s vision, cross that connected with his headgear and snapped his head back, hook to the body that drove air from his lungs. All three shots were clean scoring blows that the officials noted carefully.

As the bell rang salvation, Liam leaned close enough for Tommy to hear: "One more round, and you’re done."

Both fighters returned to their corners breathing hard, but Tommy was visibly more fatigued. His chest heaved while Liam’s breathing remained controlled.

Tommy slumped onto his stool, sweat dripping off his chin guard like rain. Danny immediately pressed an ice pack to the back of his neck, wiping sweat from his forehead with urgent efficiency.

"You’re letting him get the last word in every exchange," Danny said, his voice tight with concern. "You need to throw and get out. No standing there waiting for his counter."

Tommy gasped between words. "He’s too quick... every time I think I have him—"

Danny cut him off. "Stop thinking you have him. Make him miss, then hit him. Change angles. Keep that jab in his face."

Danny applied petroleum jelly to a reddened spot on Tommy’s cheek while talking rapidly. Tommy drank water, spat into the bucket, and nodded with determination despite obvious fatigue.

His breathing was much heavier than after Round 1, showing the accumulated punishment from two hard rounds of amateur boxing.

Across the ring, Liam sat casually, arms resting on the ropes. His breathing was controlled and measured. His trainer gave light shoulder work while speaking in low tones.

"He’s getting tired now. He’s going to come wild. Stay tight, make him pay for mistakes."

Liam’s response carried quiet confidence. "He’s wide open after the second punch. I’ll finish strong this round."

The crowd buzzed with both gyms shouting instructions. Javier yelled encouragement from ringside, trying to lift Tommy’s spirits. But Liam’s supporters grew more composed, sensing victory approaching.

"Ten seconds!" the timekeeper called.

Danny pulled the stool away. "Last round. Empty the tank."

The bell rang sharp and clear. Round three.

Tommy came forward slower than before, his guard up but footwork heavier. His legs felt the accumulated punishment from two hard rounds of amateur competition. Liam met him at center ring, immediately seizing initiative.

A stiff jab connected with Tommy’s headgear, snapping his head back sharply. The impact echoed through the venue.

Tommy threw a single jab in return—weak, telegraphed, and lacking his usual snap. Liam slipped it easily with minimal head movement, then landed a straight left to the chest protector that drove Tommy back a half–step.

"Same move again? Come on," Liam said, his voice dripping with condescension. The front rows could hear his mockery clearly.

Liam stepped inside with surgical precision, unleashing a quick three–punch combination: jab connected with Tommy’s headgear, cross crashed into his guard, and hook to the body landed with a heavy impact that made Tommy grunt audibly.

All three shots were clean, all visible to judges, and all accumulating points systematically.

Tommy tried to counter with a hook, but it was sluggish and predictable. Liam ducked under smoothly, his movement fluid, and pivoted away before Tommy could reset.

Every time Tommy stepped forward, he walked into stiff jabs that snapped his head back. His offensive output dropped dramatically as fatigue set in.

The venue sounds grew increasingly one–sided as Liam’s supporters cheered each scoring shot with growing enthusiasm. Tommy’s corner grew quieter, watching their fighter systematically outclassed.

"Hands up!" Danny screamed, but his voice carried desperation now.

Mid–round brought Tommy’s last desperate effort. He threw a wide, loaded right cross with everything behind it. Liam sidestepped like a matador avoiding a charging bull, then landed a counter left hook flush to the side of Tommy’s headgear.

The impact spun Tommy’s head sideways inside the protective gear. Several spectators winced at the clean technique.

Tommy’s balance wavered from the counter, forcing him back to the ropes with his guard tight but purely reactive. He was no longer trying to win—just trying to survive.

Liam didn’t rush like an amateur would. Instead, he peppered Tommy with body shots and short jabs, each one clean, each one scoring, points piling up methodically.

The referee moved closer, watching Tommy carefully after a particularly clean shot that snapped his neck back violently.

"You okay, son?"

Tommy nodded through his mouthguard, insisting he was fine, but his eyes showed the accumulated effect of clean amateur punches adding up over three rounds.

Liam had transitioned from pure counter–puncher to aggressor, confident in his complete dominance. He mixed his legendary counters with initiating his own attacks.

Double jab to set up range. Tommy’s sluggish reply missed completely. Liam fired a ripping uppercut to the ribs followed immediately by a quick hook upstairs that rattled Tommy’s protective headgear.

Tommy barely threw back anymore. When he managed a punch, Liam was already out of range, having anticipated the attack before Tommy even threw it.

The technical gap had become a chasm.

"You done yet?" Liam taunted. "This is too easy."

His voice carried clearly over the crowd noise, psychological warfare mixed with physical dominance.

The final thirty seconds sealed the victory. Liam closed distance with predatory intent, firing fast combinations with machine–like precision. Nothing wild or desperate—just crisp, point–scoring punches to head and body that landed with metronomic accuracy.

Tommy covered up, trying to survive rather than win. His championship dreams evaporated with each clean shot that landed. His body language screamed defeat—shoulders hunched, head down, purely defensive.

Liam landed one last clean one–two combination to Tommy’s headgear. Both shots connected solidly, then he pivoted away smoothly before Tommy could even think about responding.

The final bell rang and Liam raised both gloves immediately, walking back to his corner without looking winded. His breathing remained normal, like he had just finished a light workout.

Tommy lowered his guard slowly, face flushed and streaming sweat behind his headgear. His body language showed complete frustration and defeat. Three rounds of systematic technical superiority were complete.

Both fighters returned to their corners without touching gloves. Tommy looked down at the canvas, avoiding eye contact. Liam remained calm and confident.

Danny immediately removed Tommy’s headgear, wiping sweat from his face while muttering encouragement despite the obvious outcome.

Across the ring, Liam’s trainer congratulated him with a firm handshake and shoulder pat. No celebration needed—just professional satisfaction.

The referee called both fighters to center ring for the formality. Officials handed scorecards to the ring announcer.

"Ladies and gentlemen... after three rounds of amateur boxing, all three judges score the bout... 30–27 for your winner, by unanimous decision... Liam Porter!"

Liam raised both gloves high before the referee even lifted his hand, soaking in applause from his corner and gym mates. Tommy’s gloves stayed low. He forced himself to nod and tap Liam’s glove once before turning away, shoulders slumped.

Tommy took the walk back to his corner quietly, avoiding eye contact with the crowd. This was his first real boxing loss—not just a sparring setback or training bout.

He felt the weight of dreams slipping away, the harsh reality that he wasn’t as good as he thought. The semifinal was over. His tournament was finished.

He sat down as Danny tried consolation, but Tommy only half-heard the words.

Liam celebrated briefly—no over–celebration, just a man who knew he would win and executed perfectly. He gave Tommy one brief glance before leaving the ring, almost dismissive.

The technical superiority had been obvious to everyone watching.

From behind the barrier, Javier watched his best friend’s devastation. The damage wasn’t physical—amateur gear had done its job. It was the emotional hit that cut deeper.

He realized how easily Liam had controlled the fight and knew his own semifinal was next.

The PA crackled to life: "Ladies and gentlemen, we’re now ready for our next semifinal bout. Novice welterweight division. Javier Restrepo and Chris Martinez, prepare for your fight. You’re up in fifteen minutes."

Javier stepped away from Tommy’s corner and headed to the warm–up area, his mind sharpening for his own semifinal battle. The harsh reality check was complete.