Unoffical boxing tournament.

One day had passed since the tournament sign-up. Early in the morning, the competitors were gathered to see their matchups, and the tension in the air was palpable. Jamie and Kenjo walked side by side to the main hall, eager to see the lists. In the center of the hall, three massive posters were mounted, labeled Lightweight, Middleweight, and Heavyweight. A large crowd had already formed, some inmates excitedly chattering, others visibly trembling with nerves.

Jamie pushed his way to the front of the Lightweight section. The poster listed all 28 fighters in the bracket, the names and times displayed in meticulous detail. His eyes quickly found his name:

First Event Tomorrow - 13:00

Jamie vs. Vilk

Jamie chuckled to himself, his excitement barely contained. "Looks like I'm up first," he said, grinning widely.

Kenjo hesitated before glancing at the Middleweight category. When his name appeared, his face turned pale.

"Kenjo vs. Elji," the poster read.

Kenjo's knees nearly gave out. "J-Jamie… I'm scared," he stammered.

Jamie, still laughing, clapped Kenjo on the back. "Relax, Kenjo! Middleweight's not so bad. All the real heavy hitters are in the heavyweight category, anyway."

Kenjo managed a shaky smile, reassured by Jamie's confidence. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread as he muttered the name to himself, "Elji… Who the hell is Elji?"

The two moved to the Heavyweight section to see the competition. Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Sixty-two fighters," he muttered. "Well, at least your fight is right before the heavyweights. If you don't get too beat up, we can watch it together."

Kenjo let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, right. Like some random middleweight's gonna beat me up."

Suddenly, the ground seemed to shake with heavy footsteps. The chatter in the hall quieted as a towering figure stepped out of the shadows. A massive man, who looked like he belonged in the Heavyweight category, lumbered toward the Middleweight poster. His eyes scanned the list before stopping at one name.

"Kenjo? Who the hell is Kenjo?" the man rumbled, his deep voice sending shivers through the crowd.

Kenjo froze in terror, his legs buckling beneath him. "T-That can't be… He's a middleweight?" he whispered in disbelief.

Jamie grabbed Kenjo by the arm and dragged him forward. "Come on, don't embarrass yourself," he said, grinning. "Let's introduce you."

The giant turned to face them, his eyes narrowing. "I'm Elji. So you're Kenjo, huh? Best of luck tomorrow."

Kenjo could barely look at him, stuttering out, "G-Good luck…"

After the encounter, Jamie dragged Kenjo back to their cell. Training began immediately. Together, they pushed themselves to their limits: 300 push-ups, 300 sit-ups, 300 squats, and a 10-kilometer run. By the end, Kenjo collapsed onto his bed, completely drained. But Jamie kept going, shadowboxing and refining his technique late into the night. Only when exhaustion finally caught up to him did he lie down to sleep.

The next morning, Jamie woke at 6 a.m., his body already moving before his mind had caught up. While Kenjo went for breakfast, Jamie stayed behind, throwing punches at the air, refining his form. Jab, jab, right hook. Jab, left hook, right cross. Body blow. He practiced each combination relentlessly until the clock struck noon.

By then, the prison yard was packed. Inmates surrounded the makeshift ring, some cheering, others watching in silence. Jamie jogged in place, warming up while his opponent, Vilk, sat calmly in the corner, his body relaxed.

At exactly 1 p.m., the warden stepped forward with a microphone. "The first match of the Lightweight Tournament: Jamie vs. Vilk!"

Jamie overheard a couple of inmates talking amid the crowd.

"Hey, did you hear? Vilk used to be a pro boxer from Russia. Got locked up here for assault."

The crowd roared as Jamie stepped into the ring, adjusting his red headgear. Across from him, Vilk calmly put on his blue gear, his eyes locked on Jamie. Jamie's gaze shifted to the referee, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Dekam?" he blurted.

His old coach stood in the center of the ring, expressionless. Jamie smirked. "Pfft, old man can't even greet his student, huh?"

Dekam ignored him, raising his hand. "Fight!"

The moment Dekam shouted, "Fight!" Vilk sprang into action, throwing a sharp right cross that slammed into Jamie's guard. The force of the punch sent Jamie stumbling backward, and before he could recover, Vilk unleashed a flurry of jabs.

"Damn it!" Jamie gritted his teeth, trying to step in closer, but Vilk's reach and precision kept him at bay. Another jab landed flush on Jamie's forehead, snapping his head back. Then another, and another. The crowd buzzed with excitement as Vilk began to dominate, controlling the pace of the fight.

Jamie tried to close the distance, lunging forward with a jab of his own. It missed entirely, sailing through empty air as Vilk shuffled out of range. A hard right cross from Vilk punished Jamie's failed attempt, connecting cleanly with his cheek.

"Stay focused, Jamie," he muttered to himself, his frustration growing. He charged again, trying to bullrush Vilk into a corner, but his opponent sidestepped with ease, landing a glancing jab on Jamie's temple.

Vilk's strategy became painfully clear—maintain distance, chip away with precise punches, and avoid getting drawn into a brawl. Jamie felt like he was chasing a shadow, his punches either grazing Vilk or missing entirely. Sweat poured down his face as he pressed forward again.

This time, he ducked under Vilk's jab and launched a right hook aimed at his opponent's stomach. The punch connected, but the distance muted its power. Vilk staggered back slightly, giving Jamie a glimmer of hope. Seizing the opportunity, Jamie surged forward, aiming a heavy blow at Vilk's head.

But Vilk's composure held. He slipped the punch at the last second and countered with a stiff jab that struck Jamie square in the face. Jamie stumbled back, his vision briefly blurring as he shook his head to clear it.

The crowd roared with excitement as Vilk began to press his advantage, landing another jab that rocked Jamie. Then a quick left cross followed, snapping Jamie's head to the side. His legs wobbled as he retreated to the ropes, trying to catch his breath.

Suddenly, Vilk stepped in, aiming to deliver a finishing blow. Jamie ducked low, narrowly avoiding a punishing right cross. He swung blindly, his right hook glancing off Vilk's ribs but failing to deter him. Vilk resumed his strategy, jabbing and circling, staying just out of Jamie's reach.

As the seconds ticked by, Jamie felt his legs grow heavy. His arms sagged, and his punches lost their snap. A final jab from Vilk landed flush, sending Jamie collapsing to the canvas. The crowd erupted in cheers and jeers as Dekam stepped in to begin the count.

"One… two… three…"

Jamie clenched his fists, gasping for air. The punch wasn't even that hard... What's wrong with me? he thought, his mind racing. No. Shut up, Jamie. Stand up. Stand up!

"Four… five… six…"

Jamie planted one glove on the canvas, his legs trembling as he pushed himself to one knee.

"Seven… eight…"

With a grunt, Jamie rose to his feet just as Dekam called, "Nine!"

The referee leaned in, checking Jamie's condition. Satisfied, he waved his arms. "Fight!"

Jamie's legs still wobbled as he returned to the center of the ring, his breath labored. Vilk grinned confidently, bouncing lightly on his feet. The larger fighter moved in, firing a quick jab that snapped Jamie's head back yet again. Vilk followed with another jab, setting up a powerful cross.

Before the punch could land, the bell rang.

"DING DING!"

The first round was over. Jamie staggered back to his corner, drenched in sweat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His vision was blurry, and his body felt drained, but his mind was sharper than ever. Across the ring, Vilk stood tall. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

As Jamie slumped onto the stool, he clenched his fists and muttered under his breath, "This isn't over."

The bell rang, and Jamie shot forward with reckless abandon. His sudden charge stunned the crowd into silence, the roar of their voices dropping to murmurs.

"What's he doing? Is he insane?" one inmate whispered, while others stood frozen, unsure whether to cheer or hold their breath.

Vilk, unfazed by the seemingly suicidal dash, readied his jab. A sharp, precise strike lashed out, snapping Jamie's head back. The crowd gasped. But Jamie didn't falter—he pushed forward, his feet pounding the ring floor like a storm.

Vilk fired another jab, his accuracy as deadly as before. Jamie ducked low, the punch grazing the top of his headgear. He switched his stance to southpaw mid-dash and unleashed a devastating left overhand. The punch landed squarely on Vilk's temple, sending the taller fighter stumbling.

Before Vilk could recover, Jamie shifted back to orthodox and delivered a thunderous right hook. The impact echoed through the yard, and Vilk's legs gave out. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

The crowd erupted in shock, their earlier doubts replaced by cheers and chants. Jamie moved to the neutral corner as Dekam started the count.

"One… two… three…"

Vilk groaned, his arms twitching as he fought to push himself up. His body betrayed him, trembling with each attempt to rise. By the count of six, he managed to get to his knees. At eight, he wobbled to his feet, his gloves barely raised in defense.

Dekam glanced at Vilk, then at Jamie. He raised his hand. "Fight!"

The second the command left Dekam's mouth, Jamie exploded forward again, his footwork sharp and precise this time. Vilk, more cautious now, tried to create distance, relying on feints and well-timed jabs. Jamie weaved through them, studying his opponent like a predator sizing up its prey.

Vilk threw another jab, but Jamie timed it perfectly. He ducked under the punch and stepped in close, switching to southpaw. His right hand smashed into Vilk's extended arm, disrupting the jab, before his left fist crashed into Vilk's jaw with a sickening thud.

The blow sent Vilk reeling, his body jerking back as he tried to maintain his balance. Jamie didn't give him the chance. He switched back to orthodox and delivered a crushing right hook, this time directly to Vilk's face. Blood sprayed from Vilk's nose as he crumpled to the canvas, unmoving.

Dekam immediately moved in, shouting, "Neutral corner!" Jamie stepped back, his chest heaving as he watched the scene unfold.

"One… two… three…"

Vilk's limbs twitched as he desperately tried to move, his fingers clawing at the mat. The crowd was on their feet, shouting and screaming with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

"Four… five… six…"

Vilk managed to lift his head, his face battered and swollen. He groaned, pushing himself up. He had stood up once again. Dekam looked and reassessed the fighters' condition. They kept fighting, both going at it. Vilk had activated his last trump card, going all out. He dashed full speed at Jamie, putting massive strain on his legs. After successfully reaching the infighting range, he kept smashing his gloves into Jamie, maintaining his assault.

Jamie jumped back with no luck, and Vilk instantly got into infighting again. His relentless brawling had Jamie stumbling, his legs almost giving out. He kept smashing Jamie's body; the blows weren't normal—they felt like straight iron getting hammered into his side. Jamie endured and looked at the clock: 2:50. Ten seconds left. His mind began to race. Dammit, ten seconds! I have to end this. If this goes into another round, I will lose for sure. This guy—I don't know what he is, but somehow his willpower keeps him standing. If I let him rest, I'm truly done for. This is all or nothing.

Jamie began to fight back, abandoning his defense. He fought back with all his might, smashing his gloves into Vilk's body as well. The infighting sounded like straight gunshots as their punches smashed into each other's bodies. They kept going, the clock ticking, and then it rang. Jamie struggled to even stand, his legs wobbling, his body in burning pain.

"That's it, I'm done," Jamie said with desperation. Then suddenly, as Vilk headed toward the corner, he crashed onto the canvas. Dekam ran toward Vilk, assessing his condition. He hadn't fainted, but his legs had given up. Dekam started the count.

"One… two… three…"

Vilk tried standing but couldn't get up.

"Four… five… six…"

He just barely stood, slightly before his arms gave out, and he collapsed face-first onto the canvas again.

"Seven… eight… nine…"

By the count of ten, it was clear he wasn't getting up. Dekam waved his arms and turned to Jamie. "Winner: Jamie!"

Round: 3

Time: 0:00

Result: Jamie wins by TKO.

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers as Jamie raised his gloves high, sweat dripping from his face. His first match in the lightweight tournament was over, and he had won 

As Jamie stepped out of the ring, his focus shifted to the next fight. He spotted Elji stepping into the ring, his massive frame drawing gasps from the spectators. But Kenjo was nowhere to be seen.

Dekam started the disqualification countdown, the tension rising with every passing second. Just as it seemed all hope was lost, a shout rang out.

Kenjo came sprinting toward the ring at full speed, leaping through the ropes at the very last second. The crowd roared as he landed, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with panic. Elji raised an eyebrow as Kenjo grabbed his headgear. Both fighters moved to their corners, and Dekam barked the command.

"Fight!"