The Ghost In The Ring

Chapter 22: 

The crowd roared like a wave crashing around the arena as the bell rang for the second round. Jack stood in his corner, body tense, mind... oddly calm. Rico was pacing on the other side of the cage, fists flexing, eyes glued on Jack. The first round had been a test, both of them feeling each other out. But now? Now it was serious. No more playing around.

Jack wiped the sweat from his brow, the cloth cool against his skin. The weight of the moment pressed heavy on his chest. This wasn't just about a belt. It was about closure, about peace, something much bigger than a title. His whole journey had led him here.

"Stay focused," Lena's voice cut through the noise, steady but firm. "Stick to the plan. Defense first, strike when you see the opening. You've got this."

Jack nodded, but his mind wasn't on Lena's words. It was on everything that got him here—Ethan, the loss, the rage, the countless hours in the gym. Every punch, every kick, every frustration, every little win. It all led him to this moment. Facing the man who shattered his world.

The ref called them back to the center. Going over the rules, again. Neither of them really listened. This fight was beyond rules.

Rico's eyes locked on Jack's, his face cold as stone. Dude was like a machine in there—no emotions, just a killer instinct. But Jack wasn't scared anymore. He had fought bigger demons. Rico? He was just another obstacle now.

The bell rang. They moved.

Rico came in hot, like Jack knew he would. Fists flying, looking to corner him quick. Jack slipped the first punch, ducked the second, circling out of Rico's range. He'd spent months preparing for this. Rico was powerful, but he was predictable. Jack's edge was staying cool, not letting the fight turn into a brawl.

Rico pressed, trying to use his strength to pin Jack down. But Jack stayed light on his feet, blocking, slipping punches when he could. A right hook grazed Jack's temple, sent a jolt through him. Pain shot down his skull. He stumbled back a step, but breathed, resetting his stance.

Stay calm. Stay in control.

Lena's voice echoed in his head. He couldn't let Rico dictate the pace. He couldn't let his own emotions get the best of him.

Rico closed in, throwing heavy punches, trying to break him down. Jack took a couple body shots, felt the air knock out of him, but he held on. Slowly, he found his rhythm.

For every punch Rico threw, Jack blocked or dodged, staying just out of reach. He could see it now—Rico was getting frustrated. His punches were harder, more reckless. And then Jack saw it. The opening.

Rico threw a wide left hook, overcommitted. Jack stepped in, quick jab to the ribs, then an elbow to the side of Rico's head. The blows weren't enough to drop him, but they were enough to throw him off balance.

Jack backed off, reset. The crowd faded into the background, just him and Rico now. Jack could feel the momentum shift. His mind flashed back to the lessons, the endless sparring, the inner fight with his grief. This wasn't about beating Rico. Not anymore. It was about proving to himself he could rise above all of it.

But he still wanted to win.

Rico came in again, frustrated. His punches were wild now, full of anger. Jack saw it clear as day—this was his chance. He dodged a hook, countered with a quick one-two to Rico's jaw and body, forcing him back. Rico snarled, but Jack stayed calm, light on his feet, dodging his wild swings.

Time dragged on, the fight felt like it would never end. Both of them were battered, bruised, but neither willing to back down. Jack's body ached, screamed for a break, but his mind stayed clear. Rico had the power, the experience, but Jack had something else—he had will.

Another flurry from Rico, but Jack slipped out of it, landing a clean uppercut. It snapped Rico's head back. The crowd went wild, but Jack barely heard it. Rico was slowing down, breathing heavy. And for the first time, Jack saw it: doubt in Rico's eyes.

Rico swung again, a wild, desperate punch that missed completely. Jack knew this was it. He stepped in, clean combination—jab, cross, hook. Each punch landed perfectly, rocking Rico. The big man staggered, legs wobbling. But still, he wouldn't fall.

The crowd was on their feet, chanting, screaming, but Jack tuned it all out. His focus was locked. He couldn't stop now. Rico was dangerous, even on the edge. Jack pressed, throwing everything he had, each punch more precise, more brutal. His muscles burned, lungs on fire, but he pushed through.

The Crossroads

The crowd's roar had faded, just a low hum now, like it was far away. Time felt like it slowed down. Every second stretched longer than the last. Rico was staggering, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, his body looking broken from everything Jack had thrown at him. The guy who seemed unbeatable was human now. Vulnerable. Beaten.

Jack's muscles burned, every breath he took felt heavy, but he had Rico right there, on the ropes. One more punch, one final hit, and it'd be over. He could end it right now. After everything—the pain, the anger, all the hours in the gym—he could finish it.

But then... he paused.

His fist was raised, ready to deliver that last blow, but his mind drifted. He saw Ethan's face flash before him. His brother, smiling, laughing. Those days when Ethan would pat him on the back after a training session, telling him he was doing good. Then, the memory shifted. That night—Ethan lying there in the ring, not moving. The ref panicking, calling for help. And Rico, walking away, like nothing had happened. Like it hadn't mattered.

The anger rose up again, the kind that had kept Jack going all this time. Rico never paid for what he did. He walked away, still the champ, still untouched, while Jack's whole world fell apart. This moment, this fight—it was supposed to be Jack's chance to make him pay. He'd pictured it over and over again—the moment he'd finally make Rico feel the pain his family had felt.

But now, standing over him, Jack didn't feel the triumph he thought he would. Instead, he felt... torn. Something inside him was asking, "What's the point?"

He looked down at Rico, who was slumped against the cage, barely able to stand. Jack saw something in his eyes he didn't expect—fear. Not just fear of losing. It was deeper. Rico knew, just like Jack did, this fight wasn't just for a title. This fight was about everything that came before it. And for the first time, Jack saw it—Rico understood what he had done, what he was responsible for.

Jack's heart pounded harder, but not from the fight. This moment wasn't just the end of the match—it was bigger than that. He could finish this, beat Rico, win for real, in the most brutal way. But would that fix anything? Would it bring him peace?

He glanced out at the crowd. Thousands of people, all waiting to see the fight end in a knockout, in blood and victory. But they didn't know the truth. They didn't know what Jack had been fighting for this whole time. They saw a fight, but Jack? He was fighting something else entirely.

His eyes drifted to Lena. She was watching, like she always did. She taught him how to fight, but more than that, she taught him how to control the storm inside. She was asking the question without saying a word: What kind of fighter are you gonna be? What kind of man?

Jack thought back to the long hours training with her, the talks they had about finding peace, about not letting anger be the only thing driving him. She'd warned him—if he fought for revenge, he'd never be free. He'd never escape the anger that had already taken so much from him.

Then Ethan popped back into his mind.

Ethan wouldn't want this. Jack knew it, clear as day. His brother fought for love of the sport, for the challenge, for pushing himself. He never fought out of hate, never out of revenge. If Jack went through with this, if he gave in to that rage, he'd be dishonoring everything Ethan stood for.

Jack's arm shook, and slowly, he lowered his fist. The energy drained out of him, and suddenly, it all clicked. This wasn't about Rico anymore. It was about him. Jack. About who he wanted to be. About finally letting go of the anger that had been eating him up for so long.

He took a step back, his fists dropping. Rico, barely standing, looked up at him confused, like he couldn't believe what was happening. The crowd went silent, like they didn't know what to make of it either.

Jack walked away from Rico, taking deep breaths. His heart was pounding, but not from the fight—it was from the decision he'd just made. Lena's voice echoed in his head: The real fight is within. And Jack finally understood. He'd won that fight.

The ref, noticing Jack's hesitation, stepped in, stopping the match for a moment. Rico's team rushed to him, the medics followed, but Jack wasn't watching anymore. His mind was far away, focused on what he'd just done.

Then the crowd caught on to what had happened. Some cheered, but others... they booed. They wanted a show, a brutal ending, and Jack hadn't given it to them. But he didn't care. He came here looking for justice, for some kind of closure. But now, standing here, he realized it wasn't about hurting Rico. It was about letting go.

He made his way back to his corner, every step feeling heavy, but at the same time, lighter than he'd felt in years. Lena gave him a small nod, her eyes full of pride. She knew what he'd done, even if nobody else understood.

The fight was over. Jack hadn't knocked Rico out, but in a way, he'd won something way more important. He chose peace. He let go of the revenge that had fueled him for so long, and in doing that, he honored Ethan's memory the way his brother would've wanted.

The ref raised Jack's hand, calling the win by decision. Jack didn't even hear the crowd anymore. The boos, the cheers... none of it mattered. What mattered was that, for the first time since Ethan's death, Jack felt something like peace. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't everything. But it was a start.

And for now, that was enough.