NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 122: Chapter 122: Robbery?
November 5th, 1992 – 10:00 AM
Inside the Juan Ramón Loubriel Stadium, Puerto Rico
The camera panned across the massive Juan Ramón Loubriel Stadium, capturing the electric atmosphere inside. At the center of the venue, a large stage was set up with two long tables, each adorned with four microphones and four chairs. A tall microphone stood in the middle for the announcer, positioned to introduce the fighters.
The scene then shifted to a man in his 40s, standing in front of the camera with a microphone in hand.
"Hello again, boxing fans around the world! I'm David, and we're here inside the stadium, bringing you exclusive coverage of the pre-fight press conference for tomorrow's highly anticipated event!"
The camera turned to the stage, where an older man in his 50s—a bald, brown-skinned Puerto Rican—stood confidently behind the central microphone.
In a deep voice, he spoke in English, his tone filled with authority.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the press conference for this historic fight card is about to begin!"
The crowd erupted into applause, filling the venue with excitement. Rows of reporters, analysts, and fans were seated in front of the stage, eagerly awaiting the fighters.
The announcer raised a hand to quiet the audience before continuing.
"Let us first introduce the co-main event of the night!"
On the left side of the stage, a young fighter stepped forward, walking with confidence. He stood 5 feet 11 inches tall, had curly hair, and wore a casual outfit. His neatly groomed mustache gave him a mature, composed look. Beside him, his 50-year-old Mexican coachfollowed closely.
As they made their way to the left table, the announcer introduced them.
"Introducing the number 7-ranked lightweight contender from Mexico! With a professional record of 32 wins, 1 loss, and 27 knockouts—Rafael Ruelas!"
The Puerto Rican crowd clapped, showing respect for the young warrior. But the Mexican fans, who had traveled all the way to see Rafael, cheered wildly, their voices booming through the stadium. Despite living and training in California, USA, his Mexican heritage was undeniable, and his supporters showed him unwavering loyalty.
Rafael Ruelas and his coach took their seats on the left side of the table, adjusting their microphones as the applause settled.
The announcer then turned to the right.
"And now, his opponent!"
A rugged-looking Mexican fighter stepped onto the stage. He had a rough face, slicked-back hair, and a confident smile. Dressed in casual clothing, he sported a traditional Mexican hat, a nod to his cultural pride. Walking beside him was his coach, a 50-year-old Mexican man with a serious expression.
The announcer's voice echoed through the speakers.
"From Mexico! The number 4-ranked lightweight contender, with a professional record of 35 wins, 3 losses, and 3 draws—with 30 knockouts—JORGE 'EL MAROMERO' PÁEZ!"
A massive cheer erupted from the Mexican fans, drowning out the applause from the Puerto Rican and American spectators, who clapped but with less intensity. Páez smirked, tipping his hat slightly before taking a seat on the right table with his coach.
With the co-main event fighters now seated, the announcer raised his hand once again.
"And now, it is time to introduce the fighters for our MAIN EVENT!"
From the left side of the stage, Alex Makunouchimade his entrance.
The crowd's reaction was immediate—a mix of boos and cheers filled the air. The Puerto Rican fans booed loudly, but the Japanese and American fans in attendance cheered in supportof the rising champion.
Alex walked shirtless, wearing a white coat over his shoulders and floral pants, along with his signature Makunouchi Dynasty boxing shoes. His presence exuded confidence, unaffected by the mixed reaction from the audience.
Beside him, his coach, Kamogawa Genji, followed, wearing a white tracksuit with the 'KBG' logo printed on the back.
As Alex took his seat, he casually glanced at the crowd, scanning the faces in the audience. His sharp eyes spotted a familiar group sitting in the upper-middle section of the venue—Ippo, Aoki, Kimura, Coach Shinoda, and Assistant Coach Yagi. They clapped in support, their presence a reminder that he's Team was behind him.
Alex's gaze then shifted to the front row, where notable figures in boxing sat.
Among them was Ricardo Martínez, the WBA Featherweight Champion and the number 3 pound-for-pound fighter in the world. His expression was calm, his hands resting on his lap as he observed the stage.
Seated near him was David Eagle, the number 4 pound-forpound fighter in the world and the reigning WBC Middleweight Champion, a respected figure in the sport.
Alex smirked slightly. Big names are watching.
The crowd noise faded as the announcer prepared to introduce the final fighter.
"And now, his opponent!"
From the right side of the stage, a man in a white suit with a cross pattern entered with a calm, almost arrogant stride. His curly hair was neatly styled, and he carried himself with the aura of a champion. Standing at 5'8" (173 cm), his presence commanded respect.
Beside him was his coach, a short man in his 40swith a full mustache, slicked-back hair, and glasses—a sharp contrast to the tall, charismatic fighter he trained.
The moment the announcer called his name, the stadium erupted.
"Introducing the reigning, defending, WBC & WBA Lightweight Champion of the World… the Bad Boy of Puerto Rico…
MARCUS ROSARIO!"
The Puerto Rican fans exploded with cheers, chanting his name in unison:
"MARCUS! MARCUS! MARCUS!"
The stadium shook from the sheer intensity of their voices. The love and admiration they had for their homegrown champion was undeniable.
Marcus smirked, taking in the moment before sitting down at the right-side table, facing the crowd.
The press conference was in full swing, the tension thick in the air. Fighters sat at their respective tables, their championship belts gleaming under the bright lights. Cameras from various networks captured every moment, broadcasting the event live worldwide. The crowd, composed of Puerto Rican locals, Japanese supporters, and international boxing fans, was a chaotic mix of cheers and jeers, depending on which fighter they supported.
The announcer took the microphone, his voice booming through the stadium.
"Now, if you have any questions for our fighters, please raise your hand."
A man in his twenties stood up from the audience and was given the microphone. He cleared his throat before asking in English,
"This question is for Marcus."
The cameras immediately panned to Marcus Rosario, the reigning WBC and WBA Lightweight Champion. Seated at his table, his two championship belts were placed in front of him, shining like symbols of dominance. His longtime coach sat beside him, calm and composed.
"What's your opinion on Alex Makunouchi?" the man continued. "The world is touting him as the best and fastest rising star in boxing today. What do you think of him?"
The translator quickly relayed the question to Marcus in Puerto Rican Spanish. Marcus took a deep breath, then leaned forward with a smirk before responding confidently,
"I've fought multiple guys who claimed they would beat me. I've defended my belt five times, and tomorrow night will be no different. Alex is just another title defense for me."
The Puerto Rican crowd erupted into cheers, roaring in approval. Marcus then narrowed his eyes and added with a cocky grin,
"He's like the joker of the lightweight division, and I'm the king."
The translator wasted no time, repeating Marcus' words in both Japanese and English for the audience to hear.
A murmur spread through the crowd. Some Japanese fans didn't take kindly to Marcus' dismissive tone. Others simply waited to see how Alex would respond.
The same reporter then turned his attention to the WBO Lightweight Champion, Alex Makunouchi.
The camera zoomed in on Alex, who sat reclined in his chair, completely relaxed. His WBO belt rested on the table, while his custom black boxing shoes, emblazoned with "Makunouchi Dynasty" in gold letters, were propped up on the edge of the table. The contrast between his nonchalant attitude and Marcus' intense demeanor was striking.
"Alex, Marcus just stated that he is the king of the division, and you're merely the joker. What do you have to say in response?"
Alex, maintaining his confident smirk, adjusted his chair before speaking. He chose to respond in Japanese, ensuring that his people back home could understand.
"I own this city. I own San Juan."
The translator quickly converted his words into Spanish and English. Alex then slowly sat forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes scanning the Puerto Rican crowd.
"I'm sitting up here with my feet on the desk. What's anyone here going to do about it?"
He pointed at the booing audience with a smirk.
"Not a single one of you is going to do anything about it."
The boos grew louder.
Alex then turned back toward Marcus, his gaze sharp.
"So, for him to say he's the king and I'm the joker…" He let out a chuckle before adding in a cold tone, "If this were a different time, I'd invade his favela on horseback and killed out anyone that's not fit to work. But we're in a new era now, so instead, I'll just whoop his ass tomorrow night."
The translator hesitated slightly before repeating the words.
The entire stadium exploded in a deafening mix of cheers and furious boos.
Among the crowd, two key figures focused intently on Alex—Ricardo Martínez, the number 3 pound-for-pound fighter in the world, and David Eagle, the undisputed WBC middleweight champion. Both men watched without a word, analyzing the young Japanese fighter's attitude.
Marcus, sitting across the table, turned his head slightly to the side, locking his gaze onto Alex with a cold, piercing stare.
The hostility was palpable.
Then, in a flash, Alex casually flipped his middle finger at Marcus.
The Puerto Rican crowd roared in anger, while some Japanese and American fans laughed, enjoying the chaos Alex was stirring.
Marcus clenched his fists before responding in Puerto Rican Spanish, his voice dripping with intensity,
"I am the king of Puerto Rico ."
Once translated, Alex leaned forward, looking Marcus dead in the eyes, and spoke in Japanese so only the translator and a few others could understand at first.
"You're looking at the king of Puerto Rico."
The translator hesitated before relaying the message to Marcus, whose expression darkened further.
Then, without warning, Alex stood up from his seat.
The entire room froze as he casually walked toward Marcus' side of the table.
Before anyone could react, Alex snatched both of Marcus' championship belts off the table.
The crowd erupted into chaos.
Marcus immediately shot up, furious, trying to lunge at Alex, but the announcer in the middle quickly held him back.
Meanwhile, Alex stood with the WBA and WBC belts raised high over his head, facing the thousands of Puerto Rican fans who were booing him relentlessly.
"WHAT YOU GONNA DO?!" Alex shouted. "WHAT YOU GONNA DO?!"
Security rushed onto the stage, but the chaos continued.
Marcus, still being held back, finally swung a punch at Alex.
But Alex, already watching closely, leaned back effortlessly, dodging the strike.
In the same motion, he spotted a water bottle on the table.
Coach Kamogawa's eyes widened as he immediately recognized the dangerous glint in Alex's eyes.
"Alex, stop!" Kamogawa yelled.
But it was too late.
In a lightning-fast motion, Alex grabbed the water bottle and hurled it at Marcus' face.
Marcus, reacting just in time, dodged it, but security immediately swarmed in, pulling both fighters apart.
The entire stadium went insane, with fans screaming, cameras flashing, and the event completely breaking down.
The press conference was immediately shut down.
10 Minutes Later
After the chaos settled, security ensured strict measures for the weigh-in. The press conference was canceled, and both fighters were escorted separately to the weigh-in area.
First up was the co-main event.
Rafael Ruelas stepped onto the scale.
The announcer read out the result:
"134.4 pounds!"
The Mexican crowd cheered as Ruelas stepped off, nodding confidently.
Next, Jorge Páez stepped onto the scale.
"135 pounds!"
The audience clapped as both men squared off respectfully before stepping off the stage.
Then, it was time for the main event.
Alex walked toward the scale, security flanking him on both sides. Marcus was opposite him, glaring.
Alex removed his coat and pants, handing them to Kamogawa.
He then stepped onto the scale, flexing his chiseled abs, and smirked.
"I'M THE KING!" he declared.
The announcer checked the reading.
"135 pounds!"
The boos from the Puerto Rican fans intensified.
Marcus then walked onto the scale, removing his shirt and track pants.
The announcer called out,
"135.5 pounds!"
Alex and Marcus walked toward the center, security standing between them.
Alex smirked and, just before they separated, flipped Marcus off again and muttered,
"Perra."
(Bitch)
Marcus' expression twisted with rage, and he took a step forward, but security immediately stepped in.
Coach Kamogawa sighed and shook his head as he led Alex backstage.
Backstage, the atmosphere was tense. The earlier chaos from the press conference had finally settled, but the intensity lingered in the air. As Alex Makunouchi walked down the hall with Coach Kamogawa, a familiar voice called out to him.
"Alex, do you have a moment for an interview?"
David from Fox News stood there, waiting with a microphone in hand. A translator stood beside him, ready to ensure that Kamogawa understood.
Alex glanced at his coach and said, "I'll do the interview first."
Kamogawa exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "Fine, but don't take too long. I'll meet up with the team first."
Alex nodded before turning back to David, who adjusted his mic as the cameraman signaled that they were live.
"Are we speaking in English or Japanese?" David asked.
"I'll talk to you," Alex replied in fluent English, his confidence unwavering.
David chuckled. "Alright then. First question—what happened back there? Why did you throw a water bottle at Marcus's face?"
Alex smirked, tilting his head. "Isn't his nickname 'The Bad Boy of Puerto Rico'? I heard he even carries guns outside. Where is it now?" Alex leaned toward the camera, staring into it with an intense gaze. "Where's the 'bad boy' part? I didn't see it." He then pointed directly at the lens. "Marcus, you'll do fucking nothing."
David cleared his throat, shifting in place. "Ahem… let's change the topic. Have you seen what Rafael Ruelas said about you? I interviewed him a couple of days ago, and he had some strong opinions."
Alex scoffed. "Oh, I saw that." He rolled his shoulders before looking straight into the camera again.
"Rafael Ruelas, before you act ignorant and say you don't understand why the world hypes me up as the best prodigy in boxing, don't act like I'm some nobody who got lucky. You've had 34 fights, and you only challenged for the WBC Junior Lightweight belt once—and you lost. That's why you moved up in weight. You're a certified loser. So don't talk high and mighty.
I've got eight fights and eight knockouts, and I'm the current WBO champion. We are not the same. Don't put my name in your mouth—we are on different levels."
David raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Wow, folks. That's how the WBO champ feels about Rafael Ruelas." He extended his hand to Alex. "Thanks for your time."
Alex shook his hand and smirked. "You're welcome."
The Next Day – 9:00 PM
Juan Ramón Loubriel Stadium, Puerto Rico
The backstage locker room was filled with the rhythmic sound of Alex's fists cutting through the air as he shadowboxed. The television mounted on the wall displayed the final moments of the co-main event. The Kamogawa Gym team—Coach Kamogawa, Coach Shinoda, Assistant Coach Yagi, Takamura, Kimura, Ippo, and Aoki—stood behind Alex, watching intently.
The announcer's voice echoed through the speakers:
"The judges score this fight 115-113 by unanimous decision… Rafael Ruelas!"
The referee raised Ruelas's hand as Jorge Páez lowered his head in disappointment. The crowd erupted in cheers, with Puerto Ricans and Mexicans celebrating the victory.
Ruelas took the mic and spoke in Spanish, his voice filled with confidence.
"Alex, I watched your interview yesterday, and this is what I have to say to you—if we fought right now, you would be battered. My performance speaks for itself."
After the translation, the Mexicans and Puerto Rican fans erupted with cheers, while the Japanese and American spectators in attendance remained silent.
Meanwhile, in the ESPN studio, analysts reacted to Ruelas's bold claim.
John leaned forward, intrigued. "Wow, that's a way to build some hype."
Calvin, ESPN's most vocal Alex critic, scoffed. "Although I still don't like Alex… who does Rafael Ruelas think he is? He won by unanimous decision against the ranked number four. Meanwhile, Alex battered the former rank three, undefeated Tracy Spann, who was 25-0 at the time.
Alex beat him so badly that Spann was forced to retire due to severe injuries—he almost died."
John smirked. "Wait a minute, Calvin. Weren't you Alex's number-one hater?"
Caught off guard, Calvin stammered, "I-I'm just stating the facts!"
The entire ESPN crew burst into laughter.
Back in the locker room, Aoki scoffed, shaking his head. "Rafael Ruelas… what a clown."
Kimura chuckled. "Hey, after you beat Marcus, how about making Ruelas your first title defense?"
Ippo, always the voice of reason, interjected. "No… if Marcus loses, Alex will probably have to fight him again first. Marcus is a dominant champion—he deserves a rematch."
But Alex remained silent, his eyes glued to the screen, deep in thought.
Coach Kamogawa noticed the look in his eyes and walked up to him. "Don't worry about it, Alex. Focus on Marcus."
Just then, a cameraman entered the room.
Alex took a deep breath and sat on the bench as Kamogawa began wrapping his hands. The fight was just minutes away.
The tunnel was dimly lit, casting long shadows as the heavy beat of Tupac's "Governer's Taxin'"echoed throughout the stadium. The energy in the air was electric, the anticipation palpable.
Suddenly, a bright spotlight illuminated Alex Makunouchi as he confidently made his way toward the ring. His arms swung loosely at his sides, his movements smooth and deliberate—the unmistakable swagger of a man who owned the moment.
Behind him, Coach Kamogawa walked with a focused gaze, proudly raising Alex's WBO championship belt high in the air. To his side, Coach Shinoda held the Japanese flag, waving it for the world to see.
The Puerto Rican crowd booed heavily, their voices drowning the stadium in hostility. But amidst the jeers, Japanese and American fans erupted in chants:
"ALEX! ALEX! THE GREAT! THE GREAT!"
ESPN Commentary Booth
John leaned forward, his voice filled with excitement. "Well, folks, we're witnessing it now—Alex's strut walk!"
Calvin smirked. "The Billionaire Walk, in short."
John chuckled. "Funny you mention that, Calvin. Did you know that Alex Makunouchi is already a multi-millionaire at the age of 19? Nineteen! I'll say it again for the people in the back! I did my research—his estimated net worth is around 63 million dollars!"
Calvin scoffed. "I heard his Makunouchi Dynasty boxing shoes are selling like crazy, especially in the U.S. Ever since his fight in Philadelphia, people have been going crazy for him."
John smirked mischievously. "You know… an anonymous source told me you bought a pair. And apparently, you even have an Alex poster in your house!"
Calvin's eyes widened as he pointed at John defensively. "Don't believe this guy, folks! He's spreading lies!"
The ESPN crew burst into laughter as Calvin shook his head in disbelief.
Alex entered the ring, rolling his shoulders as he scanned the sea of spectators. The arena was a battlefield, filled with a mix of cheers and boos, but he didn't care. He thrived in this atmosphere.
The lights dimmed again, and a Puerto Rican anthem blared through the speakers.
From the tunnel, Marcus Rosario emerged, dressed like an assassin, his hood up and his gaze locked straight ahead. Behind him, his coach hoisted the WBC&WBA Lightweight Title into the air, while his assistant coach waved the Puerto Rican flag proudly.
The stadium erupted in deafening cheers, Puerto Rican fans chanting:
"MARCUS! MARCUS!"
Some fans yelled insults toward Alex:
"HUMBLE ALEX!"
"BATTER HIS FACE, MARCUS!"
Marcus moved with a predator's grace, stepping into the ring as the music faded. The energy was at its peak.
In the center of the ring, the legendary announcer Michael Buffer stood tall, his voice booming across the arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen… LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!"
The crowd exploded with excitement.
Buffer turned to Alex.
"Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner! Representing Kamogawa Gym, from Tokyo, Japan! He is the reigning, defending WBO Lightweight Champion of the world weighing in at 135 pounds...With a perfect record of 8 wins, 8 knockouts… ALEX 'THE GREAT' MAKUNOUCHI!"
A mix of cheers and boos filled the stadium, but Alex remained composed, standing tall with an unwavering expression.
Buffer then turned to Marcus.
"And his opponent, fighting out of the red corner! Representing Puerto Rico weighing in at 135.5 pounds...
He has a professional record of 27 wins, 2 losses, and 3 draws (20 KOs)… the reigning WBC Lightweight Champion… MARCUS 'THE BAD BOY OF PUERTO RICO' ROSARIO!"
The Puerto Rican crowd erupted in cheers, chanting Marcus's name in unison.
Both men stepped forward, their gazes locked as the referee stood between them.
"Touch gloves if you wish to," the referee instructed.
Alex didn't even look at Marcus—he simply turned and walked back to his corner.
The referee glanced at Marcus, who scoffed before turning away as well.
Then—
DING! DING! DING!
Alex's POV
I raised my gloves, assuming my Hitman stance, and sent out a few flicker jabs to test Marcus's reaction.
He blocked them with his high guard, showing tight defense before slipping inside.
I saw it coming. I threw a right uppercut.
But at the same time—
BAM!
Marcus's right overhand connected with my face.
I felt the impact, but I knew he felt mine too. We both landed clean.
Then, without hesitation—
We started trading blows.
I threw a left hook—he countered with a right hook.
I landed a straight right—and he returned with a body shot.
We exchanged, neither backing down. The crowd roared with every landed punch.
From my corner, Coach Kamogawa's voice cut through the chaos:
"Alex! Stay outside! Keep your distance! Don't trade punches!"
I could also hear Marcus's coach shouting in Spanish, urging him forward.
I took a step back, trying to reset, but—
Marcus didn't let me.
He rushed forward, forcing me to exchange again.
ESPN Commentary Booth
John: "WOW! We're seeing an intense back-and-forth battle in the very first round!"
Calvin: "It looks like they're evenly matched in skill. This fight might go to the judges!"
John stroked his chin. "Yeah… they seem to have the same skillset."
Marcus's POV
I saw Alex trying to create distance.
I wouldn't let him.
I stepped in and threw another right overhand—
But suddenly—
BAM!
One of my knees touched the canvas.
For a brief moment, the entire stadium fell silent.
What…?
I didn't even feelthe punch nor see it.
I heard People in the crowd murmured:
"It was a short left hook!"
The referee was already in front of me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I took a deep breath and got up. "Yes."
The referee nodded. "Fight!"
I immediately raised my guard, feeling a sudden wave of caution.
But before I could push forward—
DING! DING!
The round had ended.
I walked back to my corner, sitting down as my coach looked at me seriously.
"You took a knee at the last second. It was a short hook. Keep that in mind. Don't rush recklessly. Keep him guessing. This might go to the decision."
I exhaled, nodding. "Understood."
After taking a sip of water, I stood back up.
The bell rang.
ESPN Commentary Booth
"This is a close round," Calvin said, reviewing his scorecard. "I'll give it 10-9 for Alex."
John nodded, still focused on the action. "I might argue with you on that, but Marcus did take a knee earlier in this round. That has to count for something."
Alex's POV
I took the center of the ring just like I always do. Marcus lowered his guard and switched to his mastered stance—southpaw.
Is this a joke? I thought to myself. Doesn't Marcus know that my flicker jab is too fast for him to handle unless he's in an orthodox stance? That was the only way he could counter it with his right hand.
But then Marcus did something unexpected. He casually walked toward me, his eyes locked onto mine. Suddenly, he sprinted forward—a burst of speed that caught me off guard.
I reacted on instinct, throwing a left hook.
Marcus ducked the punch, smoothly switching to orthodox in mid-motion, and fired a right hook at the same time.
CRACK!
His fist slammed into my temple. My vision blurred for a second. My legs trembled, forcing me to take a step back.
But Marcus didn't let up.
He kept pushing forward, unleashing a flurry of punches. His combinations were relentless, forcing me to cover up. I gritted my teeth. Screw it. If he wants a war, I'll give him one.
I matched his energy, firing back with my explosive combinations.
We traded blow for blow, our fists colliding in a brutal exchange. The crowd roared as we stood toe-to-toe, foreheads nearly touching. Marcus slammed a right hook into my ribs. I countered instantly, ripping a left uppercut up the middle.
Coach Kamogawa's POV
This kid... Why isn't he following our game plan?!
I clenched my fists as I watched from the corner.
Alex was brawling with Marcus—going blow for blow instead of maintaining distance.
We had worked on keeping Marcus wary, using Alex's speed and technique to control the pace of the fight. But right now, he was fighting like a man possessed.
There's something wrong with him. This isn't how he fights.
Backstage
The four of them stood in the locker room, eyes glued to the screen on the wall.
Ippo's brows furrowed. "Why is Alex changing his style?" he asked. "This isn't like him at all."
Kimura shook his head. "Shit… If he keeps this up, the fight might go to decision."
Aoki groaned, rubbing his head in frustration. "And we're in Puerto Rico. The judges might be biased. Damn it."
Takamura exhaled sharply. "I think I know why Alex is fighting like this."
All three turned to him, their eyes intense.
Takamura leaned forward. "This started back when Alex fought Tracy…"
Aoki cut him off. "That was a long time ago! Get to the point."
Takamura shot him an annoyed glare. "Listen. Back in Philadelphia, in the penthouse, I saw Alex looking at himself in the mirror. He asked me… if I ever killed someone."
Takamura continued, his tone serious. "I asked him why, and he said he almost killed Tracy in the ring. His hands were shaking while he was saying that."
I shrugged, trying to ease the tension with a smirk. "Eh, maybe you're just overthinking it. You'll get past it, no big deal."
But deep down, Takamura couldn't shake the feeling that Alex hadn't moved on, like he'd hoped.
Aoki ran a hand through his hair, looking pale. "That's bad… really bad… With Alex's current mindset, he might lose this fight."
Kimura crossed his arms. "Let's just trust that Alex will win this fight. There's still a lot of time."
Marcus's POV
I looked at Alex as we reset our positions.
He still hasn't found a way to deal with my stance-switching.
I grinned. This is my chance.
I rushed in, reading his movement. He threw a right cross, and I immediately switched to southpaw, stepping outside his punch.
I saw his face change.
He knows what's coming.
But it's too late.
His right hand was overextended, his chin was completely exposed. I unloaded a right crossstraight into his jaw.
BANG!
Alex's head snapped to the side, his body following. His legs buckled, and he dropped to the canvas.
The crowd erupted.
"ALEX IS DOWN!"
The referee began counting.
Alex's POV
Shit…
I stared up at the lights, feeling the cold canvas under me.
The referee's voice cut through the noise.
"TWO! THREE!"
I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up.
My head was spinning, but I forced my body to respond. I raised my gloves. "I'm good!"
But the referee kept counting.
"FIVE! SIX!"
My eyes widened. What the hell?
This ref is paid off!
The realization hit me like another punch. I should've seen it sooner.
Then I noticed something—the crowd was staring at the ref suspiciously.
He hesitated for a moment. His expression shifted, realizing he was being watched.
Finally, he signaled. "Fight!"
I exhaled sharply, raising my guard.
But something was wrong.
My punches felt… off.
I was landing clean shots, but Marcus was absorbing them. My timing was gone. My power wasn't there.
What the hell is happening?
The fight continued, but I was barely keeping up. My movements felt sluggish, my reactions delayed rounds passed And now, the 11th round just ended.
Now, as I sat in my corner before the final round, I could feel it—the weight on my shoulders.
ESPN Commentary Booth
John's voice was electric. "This is a match made in boxing heaven! We've seen both fighters go toe-to-toe in an all-out war, and now… we've reached the final round!"
Calvin nodded. "It's so close, but the judges might favor Marcus if this goes the distance."
John frowned. "Yeah, unless Alex knocks him out, this will probably end in a split decision."
Calvin sighed. "No doubt about it. The championship round is here.
Alex's POV
I sat in my corner, breathing heavily while Coach Kamogawa knelt in front of me. Assistant Coach Yagi held the water bottle as I took slow sips, my body exhausted from the grueling eleven rounds. Coach Kamogawa's piercing eyes locked onto mine.
"Alex, listen to me," he said firmly. "Your game is off today. I know you're not feeling like yourself, but…" He exhaled sharply, gripping my shoulders. "Gas your tank out in this last round. Let it all out. Don't hold back, kid. Even if you lose and get knocked out, it's better than losing by decision."
I nodded silently, swallowing hard. Then, in my mind, I whispered:
System.
A familiar screen materialized before my eyes, its presence something I hadn't seen in a long time.
[System Panel]
Name: Alex Makunouchi
Template: Anime Version of Gaolang Wongsawat(Unlocked: 85%)
Skill: Crazy Mode, Flash
Effect: Restores all stats to peak condition and boosts them by 10%.Duration: 5 minutes.Side Effect: After activation, stamina will be fully depleted, requiring time to recover.
Peak Stats:
Strength: 82
Speed: 84
Power: 87
Defense: 85
Stamina: 90
Current State:
Power: 62
Speed: 66
Defense: 60
Stamina: 58
I clenched my fists as I glanced across the ring at Marcus, who stood in his corner, grinning confidently while talking to his coach. My blood boiled.
"I'm ready to kill this guy."
I bit down on my mouthguard and rose to my feet. The bell rang,in my mind i said.
System, activate Crazy Mode.
A sudden surge of energy erupted through my body. Every muscle tightened. My vision sharpened. My body felt light—too light.
[Crazy Mode Activated – 5 Minutes Remaining]
Current Stats:
Strength: 82 → 92
Speed: 84 → 94
Power: 87 → 97
Defense: 85 → 95
Stamina: 90 → 100
Marcus' POV
I stepped into the center of the ring, my guard raised, my eyes locked onto Alex.
But something was wrong.
His expression… That creepy smile… It sent a shiver down my spine. Before I could react, he lunged at me.
"Damn, he's fast!"
I threw a right uppercut with all my strength—BAM!—it connected flush!
For a brief moment, I thought he was done.
But then…
THWACK!
A left cross exploded against my face! My head snapped back as I stumbled. What the hell!? How does he still have this much power?!
I barely had time to think before—BOOM!
A vicious right hook to my ribs sent a sharp pain through my body. I grunted, trying to counter, but he weaved effortlessly and—
CRACK!
A devastating right overhand smashed into my chin.
THUD!
I hit the canvas.
The arena fell silent.
Flat on my back, I stared at the ceiling lights, dazed. My ears were ringing, the referee's voice distant.
"What… just happened?"
"ONE!"
I groaned, forcing my body to move.
"TWO!"
I pressed my gloves against the canvas, trying to push myself up.
Alex's POV
I watched the referee, my fists clenched.
"Why is he counting so slow?"
An intrusive thought crossed my mind.
"Should I punch the referee?"
I shook my head violently. What the hell am I thinking? Was this a side effect of Crazy Mode?
Then I saw Marcus getting up.
I glanced at the timer. Thirty seconds left.
"I need to end this now!"
The referee stepped aside.
"FIGHT!"
I exploded toward Marcus, throwing an onslaughtof punches.
ESPN Commentary BoothJohn shouted, "He's killing him! Look at Marcus' face—his nose is broken, and it's pouring blood like a fountain!"
Calvin, wide-eyed, added, "There are only ten seconds left! Can Marcus survive this round?"
"TEN… NINE… EIGHT…"
Marcus' vision blurred. His body swayed.
"SEVEN… SIX… FIVE…"
I threw a left hook, then a right straight—BOOM!Blood splattered from his nose.
"FOUR… THREE…"
Marcus wobbled.
"TWO…"
I stepped in, coiling my body like a spring.
"ONE…"
"ZERO"
BOOM!
A devastating right uppercut connected just as the final bell rang.
Marcus' head snapped back. His body collapsed.
Silence.
Then—
"ALEX! ALEX! ALEX!"
Both the Japanese and American crowds erupted in unison, chanting my name.
The referee waved his arms.
"IT'S OVER!"
Marcus Rosario is unconscious!
I stood there, chest rising and falling, as the realization hit me.
I did it.
I had knocked out Marcus Rosario.
Third person Pov
The moment Marcus hit the canvas, Coach Kamogawa rushed into the ring, wrapping Alex in a tight hug. Assistant Coach Yagi and Coach Shinoda joined in, their excitement overflowing. Alex stood there, grinning despite his exhaustion, soaking in the energy from the roaring crowd. The arena was electric, with thousands of fans on their feet, chanting his name.
"ALEX! ALEX! ALEX!"
But as the celebration continued, something felt… off.
In the commissioner's section, a group of officials engaged in a heated discussion reviewing the last second footage. The Puerto Rican Boxing Commissioner, an older man in his 60s, shook his head before leaning toward a staff member.
"Tell Michael Buffer that this fight will go to a decision."
Inside the ring, legendary announcer Michael Buffer raised his microphone, his deep voice commanding the attention of the arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please settle down for a moment… Unfortunately, we have some bad news."
The excited cheers faded into murmurs as confusion spread among the crowd. Alex and Coach Kamogawa turned toward Michael Buffer, puzzled.
Buffer continued, his tone somber.
"After an official review of Alex Makunouchi's final punch—the right uppercut—it has been determined that the punch landed after the final bell had rung."
A stunned silence filled the arena.
Then—BOOOOOOOOOO!
The crowd erupted in anger. Fans threw their hands up, shouting in frustration.
Coach Kamogawa's face darkened, his fists clenched. "That's bullshit! The punch landed exactly when the clock hit zero!"
ESPN Commentary Booth
Calvin slammed his hands on the desk. "This is daylight robbery, folks! They're taking away Alex's knockout win!"
John, shaking his head, responded, "It might not be over yet. Two of the judges are from Australia; they may score the fight fairly."
Michael Buffer took center stage, holding the official scorecards in his hands.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we now go to the judges' scorecards for the official decision."
The crowd booed loudly, chanting Alex's name in defiance.
On the other side of the ring, Marcus had just regained consciousness, sitting on his stool with his coach pressing a towel to his bloody nose. He groggily got to his feet, his expression unreadable.
The referee called both fighters to the center of the ring. Alex exhaled, stepping forward. Marcus followed, wiping the blood from his face.
Buffer looked at the scorecards, then spoke.
"Judge #1 scores the fight… 116-114, in favor of Marcus Rosario."
"BOOOOOOOO!"
Alex looked puzzled. Even Marcus looked a little surprised.
Coach Kamogawa cursed under his breath. "They're trying to steal this fight."
Buffer continued.
"Two Judges scores the fight… 115-113."
Alex stared at him intently, his heart pounding.
The crowd fell into complete silence. The Puerto Rican fans, who had hoped for Marcus to win, held their breath.
Buffer took a deep breath.
"By split decision…"
"AND NEW… WBC AND WBA LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD…"
He stretched his arm toward Alex.
"ALEX 'THE GREAT' MAKUNOUCHI!"
The arena EXPLODED!
The referee, visibly frustrated, reluctantly raised Alex's hand in victory. His vision blurred slightly—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer weight of what had just happened.
Marcus stood motionless, staring at the canvas. His jaw tightened before he muttered under his breath.
"I'll get my revenge."
Coach Kamogawa, Coach Shinoda, and Yagi jumped for joy, wrapping Alex in another embrace.
In the locker room, Ippo, Aoki, and Kimuraerupted in excitement, hugging each other.
"HE DID IT!" Aoki shouted.
Kimura grinned. "Alex is the undisputed lightweight king!"
Takamura leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Hmph. That should've been a knockout. They tainted Alex's record."
The three nodded in unison.
At ringside, David Eagle, the reigning WBC Middleweight Champion, sat back in his chair, watching as Coach Kamogawa placed the WBA and WBC belts on Alex's shoulders and the WBO belt around his waist.Eagle smirked. "That was a fight worth watching."
Beside him, Ricardo Martínez, the WBA Featherweight Champion and the #3 pound-for-pound boxer in the world, spoke in Spanish.
"Espero ver la revancha."
(I hope to see the rematch.)
ESPN Commentary Booth
Calvin sighed. "Even though they robbed Alex of a knockout win, he still took the victory by split decision. And let's not forget—he just beat the #2 pound-for-pound boxer in the world."
John grinned. "And now, Alex Makunouchi is the WBA, WBO, and WBC Champion. He's officially the undisputed king of the lightweight division. What an honor to witness history tonight!"
The crowd continued chanting Alex's name as Buffer handed him the microphone. He took a deep breath before speaking in Japanese.
"To my people back home… I did it."
The Japanese audience in attendance roared in approval.
"To the fans who were disappointed that I didn't fight in Japan—don't worry. Because I have the belts now, my next fight will be in Tokyo, Japan, on my own soil!"
The Japanese fans clapped and shouted even louder.
"ALEX! ALEX! ALEX!"
As Alex walked backstage, escorted by Coach Kamogawa, Assistant Coach Yagi, and Coach Shinoda, he could finally breathe.
The moment they stepped into the locker room, Ippo, Aoki, and Kimura rushed at him, pulling him into a hug.
"Calm down," Alex groaned. "My body still hurts."
The three quickly stepped back. "Sorry!" they said in unison.
He exhaled, sitting on the bench. His entire body ached. Every muscle screamed in pain.
Then—
Takamura stepped forward, arms crossed. "Congrats, Alex."
Alex looked up at him.
Before he could even respond… darkness consumed him.
He had fallen asleep, completely drained from the battle.