Brad could feel his feet sliding back back slightly as he tried to stand his ground against the barrage of punches. He didn't know how long he would be able to hold his own. Round's only lasted for three minutes, but he felt as though he had been fighting for an eternity. His arms were heavy, his breathing was rough, and his legs felt like they would give out at any moment. But he knew he had to persevere.
Before the match had begun, before the tournament as a whole, Brad had spent a straight year training. He had wanted to be able to prove himself. He wanted to push himself beyond his limits, and he had done that. He couldn't remember the number of times his knuckles had bled, and he'd kept punching. The training was intense, and his coach never held back, but that was what he had asked for. This was his dream. He was the rookie, and he had made it to the champion round.
Now he just had to win.
The bell rang just a moment before the champ landed a solid blow right in his face. He could see the fist stop barely an inch before his nose and retract. Without a word, both fighters returned to their corners. He felt the water splash against his face, could hear his coach telling him what to do, but he wasn't processing any of it. His mind was going blank. Bare moments seemed to pass before the bell rang again, and his body stood up as if on its own. The champ approached him, a few bruises starting to form from the early blows Brad had managed to land, his face flat and ready to go as it had been every round before.
Brad knew the crowd was cheering. But in that moment, watching the champ come at him again, everything in his mind seemed to go silent. He knew that one solid blow would take him out, so he couldn't let that happen. As soon as the bell rang to start the round, he saw a fist coming straight for him.
He didn't know if it was adrenaline, or something that came from being so close to defeat, but in that moment it was as if everything moved more slowly. He could see where the punch was coming from, what it left open, what weaknesses it had. He felt his feet shift automatically, felt the wind made by the punch whiff by his head, and the impact of his own fist slamming right into the champ's ribs. And then suddenly the sound was back, and he heard the audience gasp and cheer as the champ stumbled back in surprise.
He knew he couldn't let this moment go. Brad leapt forward, and saw the champ's eyes look up at him just before his fist covered them. The champ fell to the ground, and Brad went down after him. His fists rained down, one after the other, pummeling away at his face. His arm froze, just as it rose to swing down again, when he heard the ref start to count. He sat on the champ's chest, waiting, watching for him to try to resist, but one of his eyes seemed unable to open.
The sound of ten and a bell rang out, and Brad fell to the side, his body unable to hold him. A few moment's later, he felt his coach's arms wrap around his waist and lift him to his feet. He looked around at the audience standing, screaming his name. He couldn't believe it.
He'd won.
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