Jason Luo's second points-based ranking match began. It was also his ninth bout as an amateur. Determined to preserve his undefeated record, he stepped into the ring with a must-win mindset.
After the routine checks and pre-fight greetings, the referee's command—"BOXING!"—signaled the start.
Right from the opening exchange, Jason Luo threw a series of front-hand punches he had just been practicing, controlling his opponent and keeping the fight at mid-to-long range. He denied Cesca any chance to get close.
Cesca, however, stayed calm. After brushing aside Jason Luo's jabs with minimal defense, he suddenly lunged forward and threw a heavy hook!
Jason Luo was caught off guard. Few fighters attacked this way in real matches. Hooks packed plenty of power, but without setup or cover, their accuracy was low.
He quickly sidestepped, widened the distance to avoid a clinch, and countered with a rear-hand punch.
As the fight settled in, Jason Luo realized Cesca was probably a self-taught fighter—someone who had developed without formal coaching. His stance wasn't standard, his punches lacked discipline, and even his guard only came up to his chest instead of protecting the sides of his head.
But that didn't make him easy to handle. Those irregular punches were hard to read, making it difficult to predict their landing point. Sometimes, Cesca's fists even seemed to curve mid-swing—enough to give anyone a headache.
After several exchanges, Jason Luo found that Cesca's rear heavy punch carried weight, but it was manageable. It wasn't like Silvaliev's sledgehammer blows, which couldn't be absorbed at all.
Having gauged his opponent's level, Jason Luo relaxed a little. If this was all Cesca had, then he wasn't a major threat. The only question now was how to knock him out.
But then—how had Cesca made it into the main event with just this much skill? Could it really have been luck?
Jason Luo kept his guard up just in case.
On the ring, he was gradually taking control. His front-hand punch grew sharper, sometimes disguised with feints to bait Cesca's movement. That opened solid opportunities for his rear-hand shots.
Yet Cesca's durability surprised him. No matter how many clean punches landed, Cesca barely reacted. Could this guy be a tank with endless stamina?
Frustrated at falling behind, Cesca grew impatient. He had wanted to beat Jason Luo cleanly, but the kid's front-hand punch was a constant nuisance. The punches weren't heavy, but they came fast and nonstop, making it nearly impossible to close the distance.
Cesca's expression darkened.
Kid, you're asking for it. Time to teach you a lesson!
He ducked under Jason Luo's jab and, using the force of his rise, crashed forward with a hook aimed at Jason Luo's head.
Jason Luo blocked the strike and started to retreat—but Cesca didn't pull back his parried punch. Instead, he hooked his arm around Jason Luo's neck and yanked him in. Their heads pressed together as Cesca ripped a heavy hook into Jason Luo's midsection.
Jason Luo was stunned. What the hell was this—boxing or wrestling? You miss, so you just drag your opponent back in?
But the referee didn't intervene. With the blow already incoming, Jason Luo had no choice but to deal with it.
He lowered both fists to block. And immediately, he felt the difference: Cesca's punches hit harder in close range. Jason Luo realized this guy was strongest when fighting inside. He'd have to be careful...
Once Cesca forced the clinch, he went wild. Body hooks poured in one after another—diagonal hooks, uppercuts, short combinations—all hammering at Jason Luo's torso.
Jason Luo nearly cursed out loud.
Was the referee blind?
Every time he tried to lift his head to back away, Cesca hooked him again, sometimes even sneaking punches to the back of his head. That was a clear foul! Why wasn't it being called?
In truth, Jason Luo was blaming the wrong person. American amateur boxing differed from Olympic boxing. In Olympic bouts, rules were strict—infractions stopped immediately, and fighters wore protective gear.
But amateur and professional boxing here leaned more toward entertainment. With no headgear and looser enforcement, the goal was to keep fights intense and engaging. Unless the foul was blatant or dangerous, referees generally let things slide.
Not knowing this, Jason Luo felt trapped. Luckily, Cesca's main weapon was his hook. If he had more, things might have been worse.
With the ref staying quiet, Jason Luo's frustration boiled over. Damn it, no one's gonna step in? Then I'll handle it myself!
He stopped fully defending. Letting Cesca pound away wasn't an option. One hand blocked, the other fired back.
Hooks, uppercuts, wild swings—they locked together like bulls, their heads pressed tight as they slugged it out in the clinch.
Seeing Jason Luo trapped, Raúl grew anxious. "Coach, Jason's not used to this kind of clinch. Should we push the referee?"
Pedro shook his head. "No use. Even if the ref separates them, Cesca will just clinch again. Let Jason get used to it. He'll face this often. Finding a completely clean ring is nearly impossible—he has to learn to adapt."
On the ring, the clinch dragged on.
Jason Luo's counters began to land, but with only one hand defending, gaps opened. Two body shots slipped through, slamming into his lower abdomen—dangerously close to vital territory. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Worse still, Cesca kept sneaking shots to the back of his head. That spot was dangerous—too many hits could leave him dazed. The strikes weren't heavy from the front, but the accumulation was taking its toll.
And their heads kept grinding together. The constant rubbing, the sticky sweat—he couldn't even tell whose it was. Disgusting.
Jason Luo snapped. Screw this! If you won't fight fair, then I won't play nice either!
With both fists, he shoved Cesca back hard. Fueled by anger, the push sent Cesca stumbling backward, nearly toppling him.
But that move was a clear foul—absolutely forbidden in the ring.
Cesca, almost knocked down, erupted in protest! He roared at the referee, muffled by his mouthguard, but his outrage was clear.
The referee had no choice but to halt the match. He understood Jason Luo's frustration and even sympathized, but the foul had been too obvious to ignore.
Referees dreaded matches like this. Dirty tactics forced them into a delicate balancing act: maintaining fair play while keeping the fight exciting. Handle it poorly, and it could spark crowd outrage—or even violence.
With a wry smile, the referee stepped in. After a brief pause, he issued Jason Luo a serious warning and deducted one point. Leaning close, he muttered quickly, "Don't shove that hard. Or even I won't be able to cover for you."
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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