Chapter Text
The public was about to witness history in the making.
Crowds gathered en masse at the Minor Circuit, hungry to see the newest fight. The day’s starring attraction: the sudden appearance of a newcomer by the name of Bald Bull, a man planning to climb the ranks just like anyone else.
However, what really drew in the crowd was how quickly he was rising to infamy. Interviews from Turkey had spun tales of his borderline dangerous ways of training. Spectators at his first few fights told of his brutality inside the ring. And the first five opponents he had taken down had been rumored to still be in the hospital.
With stories like that, the crowd assumed someone had to either be very brave or very stupid to ever challenge him to a fight. However, there was one person who was: another up-and-comer by the name of Glass Joe.
While the media was much less focused on Glass Joe for the time being, he was still slowly making his way to becoming a media sensation. After all, the ladies were already swooning over his good looks and French accent. He was also nothing but persistent: he had already been in ten fights despite just barely starting out.
Sure, he lost all those fights, but he had to start somewhere, right?
The crowd watched both fighters enter the ring, each with confidence. Glass Joe was the first to arrive, waving cheerfully to the audience as he walked by. At 25, he looked great for his age. His brown eyes shined with life, alert and eager to see what new challenge he’d be facing today. His red hair shone under the lights of the ring, looking as healthy as he was. Although he was on a bit of the skinny side, he was sure time and experience would help him gain a bit more muscle.
Entering the ring, he waved one last time while the audience erupted with applause.
When Bald Bull arrived, though, the arena grew quiet.
Though only 23 years old, Bald Bull exuded an intimidating presence that even people older than him couldn’t attain. The man had certainly lived up to his name. Not only was his head completely shaved, but his mannerisms were just as animalistic as implied. His eyes were beady, practically seeing red just by looking at his opponent. His nose also seemed to be snorting out smoke, blowing the small mustache he was growing in.
He practically ripped open the ropes of the boxing ring as he entered, causing the referee, the audience, and Glass Joe himself to tremble. This imitation only lasted a moment, though, because Glass Joe quickly regained his senses and punched his two gloves together. The crowd cheered for him.
Just like that, the bell rang and the match officially started.
Glass Joe was the first to make a move, with him throwing two slow hooks at Bald Bull. Thrown off-guard by the lack of speed, the first hit. However, he wised up by the second and blocked it.
Glass Joe still wasn’t done, though. Next came a few jabs, just as slow as the hooks. Bald Bull blocked them, this time without much trouble whatsoever. When that failed, Joe tried a delayed hook or two. Only one went through, with it barely seeming to faze his opponent in the process. Now a bit more impatient, he threw a mix of the two as fast as he could. Yet, no matter what, it didn’t seem like anything was affecting Bull.
With no other choice, Glass Joe moved onto his ultimate attack. His magnum opus. His pièce de résistance.
He stepped back.
The audience leaned in, on the edge of their seats while Bald Bull just watched him, confused about what came next.
Joe raised a fist.
The crowd held their breath, ready for the next strike.
Then he shook it in the air, yelling “Vive La France!”
The audience sat back down.
He lunged forward, ready to strike.
What he didn’t expect, though, was a fist as strong as a wrecking ball punching him straight in the chest.
Suddenly the crowd was a lot more interested.
He staggered back, falling to the ground as the referee began counting. Over his voice, the crowd roared.
“1!”
“2!”
“3!”
Before the match could end as quickly as it started, Glass Joe had gotten back up, jaunting towards his opponent with raised fists and a huge smile.
Now it was Bald Bull’s turn.
First came the uppercut, which came out too fast for Glass Joe to dodge. It hit his chin and sent his body leaning backwards from the force. He could almost feel his bones shattering from impact.
Next, he rolled his fists in a circle, keeping a close eye on Glass Joe as he did this. Glass Joe had wisened up, however, and ducked. Unfortunately for him, it was a bit too soon and he was greeted with a fist to the gut. However, he still stayed on his toes.
Then, Bald Bull leaned off to the right, yelling something in Turkish while pumping his fists up and down. Glass Joe saw the attack and tried to counterpunch, but was too late. The force of a speeding truck seemed to hit him yet again, finally landing him on the mat for a second time.
“1!”
“2!”
“3!”
“4!”
“5!”
“6!”
Despite the delay, Glass Joe managed to get back on his feet yet again. However, instead of being wide-eyed and cocky, now he did so begrudgingly.
With one more knockdown guaranteeing another victory, Bald Bull prepared his biggest attack yet, stepping back and beginning to fume.
The crowd went bezerk with hushed whispers. They had heard about this attack before. Every single opponent Bald Bull had faced always got to this point, and every single time they got a bone-shattering uppercut and a first-class trip to the mat. There had been attempts to stop him, with people trying to block him or jab his head before he could lay waste to them. Yet every single time they had failed.
As far as they were concerned, his Bull Charge truly was the ultimate move.
Bald Bull was growing redder by the second, his eyes filled with hatred for his opponent. Glass Joe, however, stumbled back in fear.
He began revving up his attack, running into place and getting ready to slam his opponent once and for all.
Glass Joe couldn’t bear to watch. All he could do was shut his eyes and try blocking his face.
With one final snort, Bald Bull ran at him with full force.
Glass Joe was terrified. By the time the fight was over, he would probably be arriving back to Paris in a body bag.
So, in one final, desperate attack, Glass Joe swung a blind hook and prayed to God that he wouldn’t die.
Then, things grew silent.
At first, he wasn’t sure if he passed away or not. He felt the same bruises as before, but everything seemed to stop around him.
Finally, he opened his eyes to see just what happened.
And what greeted him was Bald Bull lying on the ground, doubled over in pain, surprise, and anger. The referee began counting.
“1!”
“2!”
“3!”
The crowd was shocked, wondering how a fighter like him went down so quickly.
“4!”
“5!”
“6!”
Glass Joe was frozen in place, his eyes glued on the body he somehow managed to get on the ground.
“7!”
“8!”
Just then, Bald Bull started to get up. Through his pain, only hatred seemed to seep through his eyes. He was ready to tear apart the Frenchman and pay him back for what he just did.
However, the pain was too strong and sent him sprawling back to the floor.
“9!”
“10!”
“Knockout!”
The crowd roared, cheering Glass Joe’s name with excitement. Glass Joe could barely process what just happened, though, until the referee raised his hand. Once he figured it out, he smiled wide, raising his hands in the air in joy.
There it was: his first win. After ten attempts, he had finally done it. He had overthrown a behemoth, one nobody else could ever imagine to battle, all by himself. Through the pain of his wounds seeped confidence. If he could do something like this, then he knew, deep in his heart, that nothing could ever stop him now.