Vash's retreat was measured like it had been calculated ahead of time, and every one of César's rapid jabs bit nothing but air.
At the edge of the court, Viktor — one of the few people here who actually understood what they were seeing — slapped his thigh so hard it stung. His last bit of worry evaporated on the spot.
Vash wasn't some rookie throwing punches for the first time. He was moving like a seasoned vet: the moment the opponent shifted, he was already reading center of gravity, range, and punch timing, then stepping just far enough to make it miss.
That kind of reaction speed felt like top-shelf reflex chrome — Sandevistan-tier on the surface — but Viktor knew the truth: Vash didn't have a single implant.
After slipping the jabs, Vash didn't keep backing up. He surged forward and threw a heavy punch in one smooth motion.
César wasn't helpless — he snapped his elbow up to block.
Vash's bare fist slammed into an arm with hardened skin, and even through the guard the force still carried. One punch didn't finish it — Vash fired another heavy shot, then another.
César's scalp went numb as he absorbed the impacts. How the hell was this guy keeping jab-speed while throwing heavyweight power at the same time?
Bang! Bang! Bang!
After blocking more than ten punches in a row, César tried to create distance.
He hopped back — only to see Vash glide with him, matching the retreat like a shadow. The moment their steps synchronized, Vash poured on another storm of heavy punches.
"Damn it…" César's thoughts spiraled.
Vash was rewriting everything he thought he knew about boxing.
When he realized he couldn't shake those fists, César stopped trying to play it clean. He took a heavy punch to the face on purpose — then abandoned defense entirely.
The two of them went at it like beasts.
This kind of style — throwing away guard and going all-in on offense — wasn't "technique". It was a straight test of punching power and durability. Blow for blow, they drove fists into each other's bodies like they were trying to break steel.
Dull, muffled impacts thudded again and again.
Hearing those raw hits land, the crowd's blood boiled. Nothing was more addictive than a clash that looked even.
In the blink of an eye, more than ten exchanges passed.
César's power and speed began to drop. His face swelled into a pig head, and his stamina was scraping bottom.
The moment César slowed, Vash stepped in and threw a plain, straightforward punch right into his face.
César collapsed stiffly.
At the edge of the court, Jackie, Viktor, Misty — even Judy — were cheering.
The MC rushed in and started the ten-count. At "seven", César forced himself back to his feet, "Heywood's brawler king" wasn't just a nickname — it was the stubbornness holding him up.
Vash couldn't help respecting him a little more. In this old-school match, he'd been fighting by real boxing rules — holding back, not trying to kill. Even so, taking that many hits and still standing up was impressive.
"Again!!" César roared, hot-blooded.
He couldn't bounce on his feet anymore, but he still raised his guard, stubborn as a street dog.
Vash answered with another heavy punch—
This one nearly smashed straight through the defense.
César's gut turned cold. How was this guy still that fast, still that heavy, this deep into the fight? Did he not get tired at all?
Vash's fists were savage. With nothing but bare hands, he'd hammered a body-modded brawler like César to the brink.
Somewhere in the haze, Vash had already stepped inside. César had fought bravely — but Vash wanted to end it clean.
No fancy angles. No trick feints. Just a straight punch, head-on.
Bang!
Vash tore a gap in César's guard. The force carried through the elbow like a sledgehammer and smashed him in the face.
"Gah—!"
Pain detonated behind César's eyes. His mind went blank. He hit the ground and blacked out.
From César stepping up to César collapsing unconscious, it took no longer than three songs.
Heywood's brawler king — down on a basketball court in Santo Domingo.
That defeat also killed the other locals' appetite to challenge Vash. Who wanted to climb in just to get humiliated?
Once the match ended, almost every bar owner pushed in to talk "cooperation".
Vash and Jackie — one fight each — had made a name in Santo Domingo. With their identities, running underground fights long-term wasn't realistic, so cooperation had to take other forms: licensing and promoting "The V" and "The Jackie Welles", and playing recordings of tonight's bouts inside their venues as a draw.
{T/N: Santo Domingo is divided into Rancho Coronado, where the fights took place and where people live, and Arroyo, which is almost entirely industrial. That's why their fame spread through the whole district, even though they only fought in one zone.}
All the street-facing talks were handed to Jackie.
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Over the next few days, Vash and Jackie repeated the same play across other districts.
They set up matches zone by zone — one fight night after another — taking street after street. The "Beat the Brats" circuit wasn't just a rumor anymore; it had become a real thing.
While they made money from fights, they also signed deals with local bars to sell "The V" and "The Jackie Welles". Rinse, repeat, and the capital piled up fast.
With seed money secured, it was time to build something real — assets you could point to. Corps had their supply chains and proprietary tech. Gangs had their gray markets: vice, protection, and cashflow.
Vash's model was different.
He claimed an empty plot near Sunshine Estate and raised a scaled-down skyscraper from the ground up.
This place would integrate everything he'd gathered so far — resources, connections, and leverage — into one hub.
First came Viktor's Clinic and Misty's Esoterica, plus a bar to keep the lights warm and the eddies flowing.
Next was the motorcycle club Jackie insisted on, and an "Otherworld Cuisine" restaurant led by Vash.
And finally: a brand-new Braindance Experience club, with Judy as the lead editor.
With enough eddies and Night City's ridiculous industrial integration, the building went up in record time.
That day, Vash was killing time in Judy's brand-new studio when a special call came in.
「Incoming call: Xiaohan Ling」
"…V, my dad came back to Night City last night. I showed him that scrap metal."
Vash asked, "And? What'd he say?"
Xiaohan's voice sounded half-proud, half-exasperated, "What do you think? He got so excited he was practically bouncing. He ran straight to the lab and pulled an all-nighter. Today he wants to book Spice & Pepper again and treat you to dinner."
Vash kept the joy off his face, "If your father wants to see me, I won't be late."
Xiaohan pouted, "Did you plan this from the start? I've never seen my dad react like that. I feel like I'm just being used as a tool…"
Vash laughed a little awkwardly, "You're overthinking it. How about this — at dinner tonight, I'll show you a skill."
"Fine. At least you've got some conscience. Later."
The call ended.
Judy, still editing a BD, glanced up, "Who was that? You look happy."
"The treasured daughter of Kang Tao's Night City director." Vash said.
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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! (-‿◦)