NOVEL NEXT Chapter 103: Stolen Punch
The referee darts in, slicing between them with both arms stretched wide, separating Serrano from Junpei.
"Back to your corner," he says.
Serrano struts away with deliberate slowness, chin high, shoulders rolling, each step dripping with arrogance.
He jabs a thumb at his own chest, then points toward Junpei still on one knee, mouthing to the crowd.
"Too strong! Too easy!"
The crowds boo on him, but his grin never fades. His eyes are locked on his wounded opponent as if daring him to rise, milking every second of his performance.
From the commentary desk, one voice cracks with disbelief, "What a turnaround! Serrano drops him, one clean shot to the body!"
The other commentator cuts in, sharper, almost stunned, "And just like that, the tide has flipped. Red corner had control all fight. But now, suddenly, it looks grim for Junpei."
In the red corner, Junji's knuckles rap against the canvas. His body leaning halfway through the ropes, watching his fighter in so much agony.
The referee's count thunders in his ears, too quick, or maybe not. Maybe it only feels that way because his pulse is hammering.
"Up, Junpei! Get up!" he shouts, voice cracking, slamming the mat with his palm. "It's too early to stop now! Too damn early! Get up! You still have the chance."
His face is tight, panic seeping through. He can't tell if the count is racing or if time itself is slipping away, every second cutting at him.
Junpei stirs on one knee, eyes glassy but burning. His palms press into the canvas, slick with sweat. His legs feel like they're made of wet paper, trembling, hollowed out.
Each breath rasps sharp, chest aching as though Serrano's fist still sits lodged in his gut. It's like half his life gone in a single blow.
He thinks, just for a flicker, about staying there, milking the count until seven, maybe enough to breathe, to pull air back into his lungs. But the count seems too fast, feels too short and too cruel.
The world tilts as he pushes up, knees quivering. His gloves drag like anchors, his shoulders hitching.
The commentator leans in, voice doubtful, "He looks hurt… I don't know if he's getting up in time."
"Seven…"
"Eight…"
Junpei grits his teeth, staggering upright. His body sways, but somehow, both gloves rise above his cheeks.
The referee only takes one look. With no hesitation, he chops through the air and resumes the fight.
"Box!"
And just like that, the fight surges back to life.
Junpei's legs drag under him, each step like wading through doubled gravity. Being defensive is his only option now. So he tightens back into the Philly Shell, tucking low.
Serrano gives no ground. He storms forward, cutting the ring, closing the distance before he can slip away.
Junpei eyes are darting for space, looking for anything to steer clear of the ropes, the corner, clear of anywhere Serrano can trap him.
"Can't… stay here…"
He throws a few jabs to buy his way out, but it's not taking him far enough. Serrano brushes the jabs off, his fists swinging in arcs, forcing Junpei to pull his left back to protect his ribs.
Serrano hammers forward, desperate to land clean, but Junpei refuses to give him the satisfaction. His face, still untouched, still unmarked by Serrano's gloves, remains just out of reach.
"Damn it!" Serrano snarls, teeth bared.
The more he swings, the more impossible it feels. The shell guard is maddening, a wall that won't break, a throne he can't reach. Junpei's head is guarded like a crown Serrano is never allowed to touch.
Junji shouts from the corner, impatient. "You can't stay there for too long. Fire something back! Look for a way out!"
Again, Junpei fires out a few jabs, side stepping. His legs can move again, but he can't get away too far. Serrano's fists carve wide arcs, each blow slams into his guard.
Thud, pat, dsh… dum!
The sound of leather crashing against flesh and bone echoes through the ring. Junpei's lead shoulder quake, his stance rattles under the barrage.
They're not clean, not textbook, but the weight behind them is undeniable. Even half-blocked, they still jar Junpei, forcing him to give ground.
***
One minute into the second round, Junpei still can't get away from the ropes. Eventually, the Philly Shell, famed as one of boxing's most airtight defenses, begins to look fragile.
Junpei rolls his shoulder, tries to counter with a right uppercut, but Serrano's wild left crashes against his arm…
Dum!!!
…stopping it cold.
And the pressure slowly mounts.
Junpei's feet shuffle back, his stance tight but trembling, forcing him deeper to the ropes. The blocks may keep his chin safe, but his body feels the shockwaves.
One commentator mutters low into the mic. "Junpei's in survival mode now. He's absorbing too much. Can he even turn it around without fighting back?"
"Well, it's understandable," says another one. "That body blow must have killed his legs."
"But if he can last this round, he still has the chance to turn it around."
"Yes, his defense's still strong. The shell still works just fine."
From the blue corner, Shigemori leans over the ropes, his voice cutting through the roar of the crowd.
"Don't let him breathe, Serrano! More pressure! Make him drown in it!"
His eyes blaze, one hand pounding the turnbuckle. Then, sharper, ruthless, he barks the order.
"Mix your punches, low and high! Aim at his head too!"
Serrano presses for the finish, whipping punches at Junpei's head, but nothing lands clean.
When it comes to the chin, Junpei parries with his right, tucks his chin behind his lead shoulder. When it comes to his face, he bends into the ropes, smothering the angles.
"Hang on, Junpei!" Junji's voice rips across the noise. "You can ride this out. Survive the round, and back to me!"
The more Junpei resists, the more Serrano bristles. His grin cracks, frustration bleeding through. He snarls between flurries, words spitting out with his breath.
"Stop hiding, coward! Show me your face!"
But Junpei's mind is elsewhere. His right fist clenches hard, tendons straining as he baits Serrano forward.
Chance… a chance will come…
He's not just shelling. He's baiting, waiting for the right moment to strike back. Serrano's strong, sure. But he's still too green. There will an opening.
Wait…
Endure it…
Desperate, Serrano gradually lunges deeper, abandoning rhythm, both hands hammering for Junpei's skull. The space between them vanishes, close quarters now.
Bum!
Bug!
Dsh, dum!!
The blows shake Junpei's legs. But now he begins to see the gap in Serrano's frenzy. He rolls his shoulder into Serrano's right, deflecting it, waiting, begging for the left to fly.
And finally, he sees the chin wide open as Serrano lunges forward with his left.
Now!
He coils back, unleashing a cross counter with every shred of strength…
Swshhh!
…but only for the moment to vanish.
The referee steps in, his arms wrap around Junpei, pulling him tight, like protecting him from Serrano's advance. One hand clamps his shoulder, the other waves high in the air, head shaking.
Junpei blinks, stunned.
"…What?"
He stares blankly, confusion painted across his face.
In the red corner, Junji grips the ropes with both hands, mouth half-open, shaking his head in disbelief. He can't process it, none of it makes sense.
"Wu… why?"
At ringside, even the commentators falter. Their words slice into the air, uncertain, betraying the same bewilderment shared by thousands.
"Uh… wait, what's happening here?"
"Hold on… is this… is this actually a stoppage?"