Under the crowd's roar, Jackie shrugged off his jacket and stepped into the center of the street court. He planted his feet, shoulders squared, and let his voice carry.
"I'm Jackie Welles from Heywood. Who wants to swing with me?"
With that build and that cannon-bass voice, the energy at the edge of the court spiked immediately — fighters' eyes lighting up like they'd been waiting for a reason.
Yeah, Jackie was a hot "legend" around the city right now… but in the ring? He was still a fresh face.
"I'm in."
A fighter stepped out from the other side. He was wearing a bar's boxing kit, shoulders loose, chin tilted like he'd done this a hundred times.
"Beautiful!" The MC bellowed, "Opening bout: Jackie Welles versus Laurence — Black Rye Bar's fighter!"
He spun toward the crowd and grinned.
"Laurence has a name in Santo Domingo. So, Mr. William — owner of Black Rye Bar — feel like sweetening the pot?"
William — a big guy with a beer gut — laughed and slapped his palm down, "Two thousand eddies on Laurence."
Viktor didn't even blink, "We'll match it. Two thousand on Jackie."
With the opening stakes laid down, the pools officially opened.
Spectators dug through pockets and peeled off a few bills, backing whoever they liked.
No fancy odds here. Just one simple, brutal rule:
When the fight ends, the winner takes the whole pot from the loser's side.
Soon the betting was done.
As expected, Jackie's pool was thin compared to Laurence's. Not surprising — Jackie's rep was loud, but he was still a ring rookie, and nobody wanted to bet against "experience."
Misty, not fully catching the street math, leaned toward Viktor, "Vik… hardly anyone's betting on Jack. Does that mean he's gonna lose?"
Viktor smiled, "Boxing isn't about who's bigger." He nodded toward the piles, "And look at it another way: Laurence's pool is fat. If Jack wins, the payout's huge. As for strength — don't worry. I've sparred with Jack. His fists hit like cannons. It hurts like hell."
Vash wasn't worried either. Watching that lovable brute throw hands was nowhere near as interesting as talking to a pretty girl.
He glanced at Judy, "So — how's it feel?"
Judy's eyes tracked the court, "Lively. Raw. It's a vibe Lizzie's doesn't have."
She spent most of her time in an underground studio, but she still went home sometimes. And after enough time at Lizzie's, you learn what bars do best:
Ear-splitting music.
Alcohol that nudges you forward.
Services designed to flip the "in the mood" switch.
Too much of that, and you go numb.
But a street boxing night? No chrome spectacle. No dressing. Just people and hunger.
Vash asked quietly, "Judy… what do you think about cutting a braindance built around boxing?"
Judy froze, "V… you mean…"
"A brand-new boxing BD — like Island of Doom." Vash's voice stayed casual, but his eyes were steady, "I'll be opening a BD Experience shop soon. When it opens, your work will be the main event." He tilted his head, "So what do you say, our chief BD editor?"
Judy couldn't speak for a second.
So Vash still remembered her dream.
She'd been editing BDs for years — she knew every workflow, every trick, every ugly corner of production. And she'd hated that kind of BD… until Island of Doom.
He'd stayed with her through the whole development cycle. And for the first time, she'd stepped toward what she actually wanted to make.
Now he was saying it outright: a shop, a stage, and her name at the top.
The meaning was obvious.
"That's my dream too." Judy said, voice tight with emotion.
"Mhm. Then you're saying yes." Vash smiled, "Chief BD editor."
Judy swallowed, then smiled back, "Okay. I'm in. I'll be your chief BD editor."
The second she said it, Vash knew it was locked.
"No time to waste." he said, "Let's start grabbing footage now."
He pulled out the high-speed camera he'd prepared ages ago — like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
Judy took it like she was taking his hand.
The fight on the court kept rolling.
Before the bell, Jackie and Laurence agreed to go old-school — pure fists, no active chrome, no cyberware tricks. Meat, timing, and grit. The crowd loved it.
Viktor jumped up, yelling, "Jack, that's it! Don't let him breathe — keep him under pressure, stick and move!"
On the court, Jackie and Laurence traded blows.
Jackie cracked an uppercut first, popping the guard open. The moment Laurence's centerline showed, Jackie heard Viktor and went in.
His Gorilla Arms were dialed down to minimum charge on purpose — enough to hurt, enough to drop someone, not enough to turn it into a morgue report.
Jackie stormed him with a short, brutal chain of jabs.
Boom!
Laurence hit the ground.
Jackie, like a proper fighter, didn't follow up.
The MC doubled as ref, crouching down, "Laurence! Ten seconds! Get up and prove you're still in it — can you do it?!"
Laurence's supporters screamed themselves hoarse.
"Laurence, get up!!"
"Laurence, you're a warrior!"
"Come on!!"
The chants rose and fell, feeding the heat.
Buck and Viktor were visibly moved by the atmosphere.
William, the Black Rye owner, bellowed too, "Laurence! Black Rye's proud of you!"
But Laurence couldn't stand.
Soon he was carried off, and the cheers swung hard to Jackie.
"So this is old-school boxing?"
"I'm gonna cry — I haven't seen this in years!"
"It's Arasaka's fault with those dumb robot boxing shows!"
"This is real!"
A city's soul isn't in glass towers and City Center. It's in back alleys and street corners.
Jackie's opener was clean. He didn't just win — he made Rancho Coronado remember.
After a while, it was finally Vash's turn.
He stepped up and spoke slowly, letting the crowd settle.
"My brother just put on a beautiful bout." Vash's eyes swept the sidelines, "But I know Santo Domingo's got more warriors than that. Who's next?"
The basketball court erupted again.
Then, over the noise, an engine's snarl rolled in — growing louder, closer.
Heads turned.
A gold-colored Alvarado V4FC 580 Playboy came roaring up and parked by the court. The door swung open and a man stepped out, dripping gold jewelry like he'd robbed a display case.
"Mind if I join the fun?" he called.
Vash glanced down from the ring, "Be my guest."
The crowd went feral.
"My god — César!"
"Golden César — rumor says he's obsessed with gold!"
"It's him! Heywood's toughest brawler king!"
Night City's six districts are each their own beast, but legends travel. Make a name in one neighborhood and you'll get fans in the next.
César had plenty of believers even out here in Rancho Coronado.
He climbed into the ring and stared at Vash, "I know you, V. Night City's hottest rising legend. Your strength is real…" He cracked his neck, "…but boxing's a different language. So I came from Heywood to challenge you myself."
{T/N: Santo Domingo is old Heywood, so they are connected and within the same culture.}
By 2077, the Net was basically a bloodstream. The news that Vash and Jackie were running a fight night in Santo Domingo had already spread across nearby zones.
That was exactly what Vash wanted.
"César." Vash said, "I accept. Old-school or underground — pick."
César rolled his shoulders, warming up, "Only trash uses tricks like mantis blades. A real man fights fist to flesh."
The MC sounded like this was the peak moment of their entire career.
"Looks like tonight's 'unknown' boxing match just hit maximum hype!" the host howled, "Night City's rising legend V versus Heywood's brawler king — El César! Who's stronger? Tell me with the chips in your hands!"
People at the edge were practically shaking, ready to throw money in.
Soon, the pools for Vash and César took shape.
With Jackie's win already on the board, Vash's support jumped — but César's popularity still crushed it.
Before the bell, César lifted a hand, "I'll add a personal stake." He smiled, showing teeth, "If I lose, my money and my car are yours." His eyes gleamed, "But if you lose… you call me 'Brother César' three times."
In Night City, rep is currency.
Vash nodded once, "Deal. Let's start."
On the ring, Vash and César's clash was about to explode.
César bounced lightly, showing off sharp footwork.
In boxing, your fists have to be steady, accurate, and mean — but footwork matters just as much. It closes distance, steals angles, and buys air when you're on the back foot.
Compared to César's movement, Vash barely shifted — still as a monk in meditation.
César was on him in a blink. Footwork plus pressure — fast entries, continuous punching — that was his style. Those two weapons were how he'd stayed on top in Heywood.
He turned the right side of his body, selling a heavy straight or an uppercut.
Everyone read it as the right hand coming — but César's left flashed out like lightning, snapping toward Vash's face.
His signature: feint boxing.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
His hands were fast. Take even one clean hit and you'd get dragged into his rhythm.
Vash finally moved.
He slid back several steps, letting the jabs bite air…
Then he countered!
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T/N: Comment, give me Power Stones, like and favorite, it all supports me and makes me go foward with this. Appreciate my other stories as well, I guarantee the good work!
If you want 20 chapters ahead, smut chapters or spicy images of this novel for just $5, or enjoy a large catalog of good novels with excellent translations (free or starting at $1.5): MrBlackWing (you know where to search)
I'm currently translating another project (for $10) where the character goes to the world of Cyberpunk 2077, but!... mixed with Cyberpunk Edgerunners too! And he has the Roronoa Zoro Template, so expect a lot of sword slashes and girls in the bed! (Lucy has already "fallen"...)
That's it and happy reading! (-‿◦)