CHAPTER 62: CHAPTER 62: RICO ON THE RISE II

Between rounds, Rico’s corner worked like a clean machine. The coach set hands on the shoulders and kept the voice clear. "Shorten the path again. He is getting tired from backing up. Body first. When he shells, split the guard."

Rico nodded once. Breathing stayed even. No wasted motion.

Across the ring, James’s corner tried to talk speed into the air. A towel worked across the brow. "Keep the stick moving. Double the jab. Turn right. Do not go straight back. He is cutting you every time."

James pulled breath like he was climbing a hill. "I cannot get my shots off. He is there already."

"Make space first. Jab and move. Do not let him set his feet."

The ten-second knock sounded. James stood with legs that looked heavier than they had a minute before.

Javier kept his eyes on blue and let his breath sit in his chest long and slow. The system’s glow hung at the edge of sight like a reminder and a promise. Rico was still clean. Still honest work. The night felt like a door that might open onto a different street if he moved right.

Round Two began with urgency on James’s side and patience on Rico’s. The tall fighter tried to reclaim center with a double jab. Both punches cracked true. The first met gloves; the second grazed the head. Rico had waited for that level of commitment.

He slipped the first shot outside and let the second slide off the crown. Three quick steps and he stood in the pocket, too close for long levers. The next actions read like a drill sheet brought to life.

Jab high to pull the hands. Right hand to the solar plexus to take air. Left hook to the liver to make the ribs remember.

Rico stepped off and gave a half-step of space, not charity, just craft. James stayed upright, but the legs lost a little spring.

"That is how you break a boxer," Miguel said, voice low.

James tried to circle into room. Rico already owned the diagonal. He cut the lane to the corner post and arrived ahead of the move. This time he refused to leave the door open.

He worked with short punches and a quiet face. Left hook to the ribs. Right hand to the solar plexus. Another left to the soft place under the heart. No waste. No noise. Just choices.

James grabbed and wrapped his arms around Rico to buy a breath.

"Break." The referee’s command set them apart. Damage stayed where it landed.

The crowd thickened in the throat as it felt the shift. Rico’s side began a chant. James’s corner tried to throw him a rope with orders.

"Move your feet. Do not let him corner you."

Rico dictated the next two exchanges. When James jabbed, Rico slipped inside and counted to the body. When James reached to clinch, Rico left a legal hook on the ribs and made it expensive to hold.

With thirty seconds left in the round, fatigue painted itself on James’s face. A lazy jab hung in the air for a blink and told the truth about his legs. Rico slipped outside and saw what he had waited for all night, the guard dipping a fraction as James tried to reset.

The finish came clean and short.

A jab snapped the chin to lift the eyes. A left hook fell hard into the liver. A right climbed to the jaw just as the head dropped from the body shot.

The body shot did the real work. James’s legs turned to a question with no answer. He dropped to a knee and set one glove on the canvas while his face twisted with a pain that did not care about willpower.

The referee began the count. "One, two, three."

James tried to rise at four, muscles firing and failing. He found half a stand and lost it. The body would not let him pretend.

"Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." Arms cut the air and ended the story.

Rico bent and helped James to his feet without drama. He stayed with him until balance returned.

"You alright?" The question landed with simple respect.

James nodded once. "Good shot. Clean liver shot."

Rico allowed himself a small smile that did not ask for applause.

[ ANALYSIS PROGRESS — RICO GONZALEZ ]

Updated: 36%

Triggers: Body-first sequences; half-step cuts; guard dip after liver shot.

Shadow Simulation (basic) — AVAILABLE

Tommy clapped with the rest and kept his voice low. "You called it."

Javier watched blue while Rico’s gloves came off. "Body first, then head. He has always been smart like that."

Miguel folded arms and let the plan start forming. "We train for pressure. Make him miss in the pocket and step out, not straight back. Body denial starts tonight."

Danny grinned and did the math out loud. "Liver cover and pivot drills all week."

Vicente stood at Javier’s shoulder with a warmer weight than before. "Study him well. Do not let memories bend what you see."

Javier dipped his chin.

Another interface rose at the edge of sight and listed work.

[ ANALYSIS PRACTICE ]

Opponent model: RICO GONZALEZ (v0.36)

Training options:

• Shadow Simulation — 3 rounds; no stamina cost

• Targeted Body-Defense Drill — locked (needs 60%)

• Full Spar Simulation — locked (needs 90%)

Reminder: Profiles drift without fresh observation.

The PA crackled as officials updated the bracket. "Novice Welterweight final: Javier Restrepo versus Rico Gonzalez. Saturday night, eight p.m."

They rose as a group and moved with the rest of the gym traffic. Javier touched Tommy’s shoulder and steered toward the exit. Conversations hummed in the aisles: the kid from the group home against the pressure fighter from Bed‑Stuy.

Near the blue corner, a ring of kids stood with questions and bright faces. Rico rested his gloves on the table and answered with patience. The picture tilted something inside Javier, not jealousy, not fear, just a careful hope.

"Saturday," Miguel said as the night air found them by the door. "We have three days."

Javier nodded and replayed angles in his head. The system’s glow waited, patient as a metronome, then faded as they stepped into the cool Brooklyn dark.

Rico was still clean. Still chasing straight dreams under gym light instead of street light. In three days, they would meet as competitors, not partners from a road that no longer owned him.

Maybe this time, some things could stay different.