CHAPTER 61: CHAPTER 61: RICO ON THE RISE I

The private glow faded from Javier’s vision as they walked toward the inspector’s table. His legs still trembled from the semifinal, but a steadier weight settled in his chest. The work sat where it should, not too high and not too heavy. Centered and calm.

Tommy moved beside him with his hoodie half-zipped and his mouth set. The loss to Liam still rode his shoulders. Danny had said the experience would pay off later, that losing to a better fighter teaches quicker than an easy win. Truth still stung.

"You looked sharp out there." Tommy found a small smile and kept pace. "Chris could not touch you in that second round."

Javier reached and set a hand on Tommy’s forearm before they reached the table. He held the look so the words would land. "You fought hard. We talk it through on Monday and fix what needs fixing. There is always a next tournament."

Tommy drew a breath through his nose and let it go. His shoulders lifted a fraction.

Danny bumped a glove against Tommy’s arm and kept it light. "Round by round. That is how we build."

Miguel made it simpler. His voice stayed flat and steady the way it always did when emotions ran high. "You did not quit against Liam. We correct the feet. Everything follows."

"Yeah." Tommy’s smile found more shape. "Yeah, okay."

They reached the table where officials sat with clipboards and bout sheets. The inspector looked up with a pen ready. The referee set the documents down and kept it crisp.

"Restrepo, semifinal. Referee stops contest, Round Two, one nineteen."

The inspector noted it and slid the sheet across. Javier signed slow and neat. One more. One more win and a Golden Gloves title would be real. The thought sent a clean current through his stomach, not fear, just electricity.

Vicente formed at his shoulder like a shadow stiffening into shape. The ghost looked stronger under the gym lights, as if the work had weight for him too. "Before you leave," he said, tone soft and sure, "learn who waits for you in the final."

Javier’s nod was small enough to hide in a blink.

He turned toward the team. "Can we stay and watch the other semi?"

Miguel nodded once. "I was about to suggest it. Sit and study."

They found a row with a clean angle on the ring. Family clusters filled the bleachers. Gym jackets pressed the rail, coaches leaning forward with the focus of people who have seen a thousand rounds. Voices dropped as the next fighters made ready.

The PA hissed and cleared. "Next bout, Novice Welterweight semifinal. In the blue corner, from Bed-Stuy Boxing Club, Rico Gonzalez. In the red corner, from Brooklyn Heights Boxing, James Richard."

Cold touched Javier’s chest as if he had stepped outside in January. He leaned forward and fixed on blue.

Rico. The name rang through years that never quite happened.

Rico Gonzalez bounced in place near the steps, shoulders loose, eyes bright. Younger here. Cleaner. The same frame and balance Javier remembered from another life. The same natural rhythm that would one day make him valuable muscle for the wrong kind of work. Right now those gifts stood honest under fluorescent light.

Breath stuck for a beat. Memory came without warning and without mercy.

He saw Rico bleeding from a head wound in an alley behind a jewelry store in Queens, a future that no longer owned this night. Sirens lived on the far end of the block. Footsteps had run and left him, half-conscious and mumbling Spanish. Javier had slid an arm under his shoulders and hauled him into the car.

He saw the hospital bed three days later with fresh stitches above the brow and old tattoos on both forearms. "You saved my life," Rico had told the ceiling, voice rough, eyes glass-bright. "I owe you."

He saw Rico in his kitchen at two in the morning with blueprints spread across the table. Fingers traced steel doors and camera arcs. "Service elevator here," Rico had said. "Blind spot for forty seconds when they rotate the guard."

He saw the last picture and wished he did not. A car burning on an empty road and the man who wanted warmth and a beach and enough money to bury his mother never finding any of it.

"Yo." Tommy leaned nearer and followed the stare to blue. "What is wrong? You look like you saw a ghost."

Javier kept his eyes on the corner while Rico shadowboxed in tight lines. The combinations looked efficient and patient. "I know him."

Tommy looked once more and came back to Javier. "From where?"

"Just around the neighborhood." Javier kept the knowledge pressed behind his teeth and let the breath settle. "Trust me. He wins this fight."

Tommy’s brow creased. "How can you know that?"

Javier set his elbows on his knees and watched Rico move. The tattoos were there, but they read different now, not prison badges, more like markers of nights survived. He let the question pass. Some answers did not belong to this room.

A clean interface rose at the edge of his sight and stayed private.

[ NEW SKILL UNLOCKED ]

ANALYSIS

Effect: When you watch a fighter live, the system records tendencies and builds a study profile.

Progress: Increases as clean patterns are observed.

Thresholds:

• 30% — Shadow Simulation (basic) available in training

• 60% — Targeted Drills unlocked

• 90% — Full Spar Simulation (limited) available

Notes: Accuracy depends on rounds observed; profiles decay if not refreshed.

The bell rang sharp and clear.

James came out with long limbs and a textbook stance, a clean outboxer in motion. He touched center first and sent a testing jab that skated past Rico’s ear. Feet slid, shoulders turned, distance held. His coach called for the stick. He obeyed.

Rico wrote a different line. He took no wild steps and made no rush. He slipped the next jab outside and let his weight sit a beat on the back foot so James would think he had space. He did not. When James set to throw a harder jab, Rico touched a firm counter to the chest, not heavy, just a mark to set the math.

The next beat carried weight. Rico shifted across the line and drove a right hand into the body. The sound carried under the lights and moved through the front row. James’s eyes widened a fraction. Power had a voice.

James tried to reset with a jab–cross and a neat side step. Rico cut the angle with two half-steps and met him where he wanted to go. No chase. No sprint. Just placing pressure like a man closing a door with his shoulder.

"Body first," Miguel murmured from their row, approval in the breath. "Smart pressure."

Danny nodded without looking away. "Ring cutting is tight. Look at the feet."

The crowd leaned into the noise as the pattern grew clear. This was not brawling. This was pressure built in small measurements.

James doubled the jab to test the guard. The first snapped against Rico’s gloves. The second tapped the head without effect. Rico walked through both and ate the space between them.

When James reached to tie up, Rico left a hook on the ribs before the command. The shot sat on the legal side and landed clean enough to pull a grunt from behind the mouthpiece.

"Break. Step back." The referee’s voice cut it clean.

They separated without argument. The point had been made. Every attempt to smother would cost something.

James tried to circle right and use the long legs to build angles, but Rico met him with a diagonal and drew a line to the ropes. He did not hurry the work. He used two small steps, then one more, and the corner arrived by itself.

Rico let the moment breathe and did not spend it. He touched a jab at the chest to pin the guard and clipped a right downstairs before stepping off. James followed and found distance; Rico let him have it for a beat so the rhythm would seem to belong to him. It did not.

The final minute of the round belonged to the man who refused to chase. Every circle was cut early. Every long-range setup was smothered. James landed a couple of clean jabs and got credit. Rico kept loading the ledger with body touches and control.

The bell caught James backing up as a firm jab snapped his head once on the center line. He took the step to his stool with respect in his eyes and a first light worry under it.

[ ANALYSIS PROGRESS — RICO GONZALEZ ]

Logged habits: 12%

Notes: Half-step ring cuts; body before head; guard reset at chest level.

A cold knot settled in Javier’s stomach. He had seen Rico think like this over blueprints. The patience matched. The ability to read and adjust matched. Different room, same mind.