DING!
The opening bell rang through Kōrakuen Hall like a gunshot, and both fighters immediately exploded toward the center of the ring. There was no feeling-out process, no cautious circling—both Jason Ozuma and Ippo charged forward with the confidence of knockout artists who had never met their match.
The crowd held its breath as two of the tournament's most dangerous rookies closed the distance in seconds.
They met in the center like two freight trains colliding.
PAH!
Both fighters threw simultaneous punches—Ozuma's sharp jab meeting Ippo's right cross in a perfect exchange. The sound echoed through the arena as both men immediately stepped back, testing each other's power for the first time.
"His punch has serious weight behind it," Ozuma thought, flexing his left hand as he felt the numbness spread through his knuckles. "This won't be as easy as my previous fights."
"That jab was like getting hit with a steel rod," Ippo observed, rotating his shoulder where he'd partially blocked the shot. "But I can handle this level of power."
In the crowd, Umezawa leaned forward in his seat, gripping the armrest. "Holy crap, did you see that? They're both monsters!"
"Yeah," Takemura replied, his voice tight with nervous excitement. "But Ippo looked like he barely felt that punch."
From his position at ringside, reporter Fujii was already scribbling notes. "Both fighters showing professional-level power from the opening exchange. This isn't going to be a long fight."
Ippo pressed forward immediately, unleashing the aggressive pressure boxing that had become his trademark. His footwork was sharp as he cut off Ozuma's angles, forcing the American into close-range exchanges where his power would be most effective.
Step, step, pivot—
Each movement was to trap Ozuma against the ropes or in the corners where the American's superior reach would be neutralized.
THUD! PAH! THUD!
A rapid three-punch combination crashed into Ozuma's guard—left hook to the body, right cross to the head, finishing with another hook downstairs. Each punch carried enormous force, driving Ozuma backward despite his solid defensive positioning.
"Jesus Christ!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Look at that power!"
In the Kamogawa corner, the old coach watched with satisfaction. "Good. He's implementing the pressure game perfectly."
But Ozuma wasn't just a sitting duck. As Ippo pressed forward with another combination, the American fighter suddenly exploded with his own offense, showcasing the speed that had hospitalized his previous sparring partner.
WHOOSH!
Ozuma's right hook came like lightning—a blur of leather and bad intentions that cut through the air where Ippo's head had been a fraction of a second earlier.
The crowd gasped as Ippo's head movement allowed him to slip the devastating punch by mere millimeters. Sweat flew from Ippo's hair as the hook whistled past his ear.
"Incredible," Ozuma thought, his eyes widening. "That hook should have taken his head off, but he read it perfectly."
From his corner, Ozuma's coach shouted encouragement. "That's it! Keep throwing the hook! He can't avoid them forever!"
But Ippo was already countering. The moment Ozuma's hook missed, Ippo stepped inside the arc of the punch and drove upward with his signature uppercut.
WHOOSH!
Ozuma leaned back just enough for the uppercut to whistle past his chin, the force of the punch generating wind that ruffled his hair.
"Too close," the American thought, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "If that had connected..."
What followed was a breathtaking display of high-level boxing that had the entire arena on its feet. Both fighters exchanged at close range, each punch thrown with knockout intentions, but both men's defensive skills were too advanced to allow clean connections.
WHOOSH! PAH! THUD!
SLIP!
PAH! WHOOSH! THUD!
DUCK!
Ippo's head movement was like smoke—always just out of reach of Ozuma's devastating hooks. His peek-a-boo style, refined through months of training, made him a nearly impossible target.
Counter, pivot, reset—Ozuma's footwork kept him mobile enough to avoid getting completely trapped in Ippo's pressure boxing, but he was clearly being pushed back.
"This is incredible!" Fujii exclaimed to his photographer. "Both of these fighters are operating at a level far beyond typical rookies. This looks like a champ-class bout!"
In the audience, veteran trainers from other gyms were leaning forward, studying every exchange.
"Look at that Japanese kid's defensive positioning," one murmured. "He's slipping hooks by millimeters. That's unreal-level head movement."
"Yeah, but that American's power is no joke either," another replied. "One clean shot and it's over."
As the round progressed, the tactical battle intensified. Ozuma began mixing up his attack patterns, throwing feints and changing angles to try and catch Ippo off-guard.
Feint with the right, step left, throw the hook—
But Ippo read the combination perfectly, slipping under the hook and countering with a vicious body shot that made Ozuma grunt in pain.
THUD!
"Body shot!" Takamura yelled from his ringside seat. "That's how you break down a puncher!"
Ozuma's breathing hitched slightly as he felt the impact radiate through his ribs. The punch had been perfectly placed, targeting the spot just below his guard where maximum damage could be inflicted.
"That body shot... it felt like getting hit with a sledgehammer," Ozuma thought, instinctively protecting his midsection. "His power is even worse than his reputation suggested."
But experience had taught Ozuma not to show weakness. He immediately fired back with a sharp jab that caught Ippo's guard, then followed with a left hook that whistled past Ippo's ducking head.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
"Good recovery!" his corner shouted. "Don't let him settle in!"
The exchanges continued at a blistering pace. Ippo would pressure forward with combinations, Ozuma would counter with his hooks, and both men would display defensive skills that left the crowd amazed.
PAH! THUD! WHOOSH!
SLIP! COUNTER! MISS!
THUD! PAH! DUCK!
Then, with about ninety seconds left in the round, Ippo decided to attempt something that had been drilled into him during training—the Frazier Torque.
He saw what looked like a perfect opening as Ozuma reset his stance after a missed combination. The American's guard was slightly low, his feet planted, presenting an ideal target for the devastating hook.
"Now's my chance," Ippo thought, setting himself for the technique.
He took the heavy step with his lead foot—STOMP—the sound echoing through the arena as his weight shifted. Then he began winding up his torso like a coiled spring, his entire body rotating as he prepared to unleash the whip-like hook.
But the windup took just a fraction of a second longer than it should have.
Ozuma, with his sharp ring IQ and years of amateur experience, immediately recognized the telltale signs of something devastating coming. His eyes widened as he saw Ippo's body coiling, the way his opponent's weight was shifting.
"He's loading up something huge!" Ozuma realized.
Instead of trying to block or evade, the American fighter made a split-second decision to interrupt the technique. He threw his own right hook at the exact moment when Ippo was most committed to his attack—the point of no return where Ippo couldn't abort the technique or defend himself.
CRACK!
The timing was perfect. Ozuma's hook caught Ippo flush on the temple just as Ippo was releasing his own punch, catching him completely vulnerable with all his weight committed to the attack.
The impact was tremendous. Ippo's partially-thrown hook grazed Ozuma's shoulder, but the American's counter had landed with devastating precision.
Ippo's legs went rubbery immediately, his vision blurring as his equilibrium deserted him. He staggered sideways, his hands dropping as he fought to stay conscious.
"Down he goes!" Ozuma thought with relief.
But what happened next shocked everyone in the arena.
Instead of crashing to the canvas, Ippo somehow managed to stay on his feet. His legs were unsteady, his eyes unfocused, but through sheer force of will and the conditioning that came from Yuto's template, he remained standing.
"Impossible," Ozuma thought, his mouth falling open. "That hook should have put him out cold."
The crowd erupted in amazement. "He's still standing!" someone screamed. "How is he still on his feet?!"
Through the haze of being rocked, Ippo could hear Yuto's voice echoing in his mind: "Getting knocked down isn't losing—staying down is."
But Ozuma wasn't finished. Sensing that Ippo was badly hurt, he pressed forward with killer instinct, throwing a combination designed to finish the fight.
PAH! PAH! WHOOSH!
Jab, cross, hook—each punch thrown with maximum power and precision.
Ippo's head movement, even while hurt, was still functional. He managed to slip the jab and partially block the cross, but the hook found its mark.
CRACK!
This time, there was no staying up. Ozuma's left hook caught Ippo clean on the side of the head, and gravity finally won its battle.
Ippo crashed to the canvas hard, his body hitting the mat with a dull thud that silenced the arena.
THUD!
"Knockdown! Knockdown!" the referee shouted, immediately beginning his count while waving Ozuma to a neutral corner.
"One! Two! Three! Four! Five!"
In the Kamogawa corner, the atmosphere was tense but not panicked. Kamogawa had seen Ippo take punishment before and recover.
"Get up, kid," the old coach muttered. "Or I'll kill you myself damn it."
"Six! Seven!"
Ippo's eyes fluttered open, his vision slowly clearing. The arena ceiling came into focus, then the referee's concerned face looking down at him.
"I'm not done yet," he thought, rolling over onto his hands and knees.
"Eight!"
Ippo pushed himself up, his legs still slightly unsteady but his eyes clear and focused. The knockdown had hurt, but it hadn't broken his spirit.
"Nine!"
"I can continue," he said clearly to the referee, his voice steady despite the punishment he'd absorbed.
The crowd erupted in appreciation. Getting dropped by one of Ozuma's hooks and getting back up showed incredible heart and determination.
"Box!" the referee called, and the action resumed.
But something fundamental had changed in the fight.
Ozuma rushed forward immediately, expecting to find a hurt and confused opponent. What he found instead was a fighter who seemed to have used the knockdown as a learning experience.
WHOOSH!
Ozuma's first hook missed by a wider margin than any punch he'd thrown all fight. Ippo's head movement was sharper, more precise, as if the knockdown had somehow enhanced rather than diminished his abilities.
"What the hell?" Ozuma thought, throwing another hook that missed by an even larger margin.
What followed was a complete reversal of the fight's momentum. Every hook Ozuma threw, Ippo slipped cleanly. Every combination the American launched, Ippo countered perfectly.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Ippo's body shots began landing with increasing frequency and devastating power. Each punch to Ozuma's ribs and solar plexus was delivered with surgical precision, targeting the exact spots that would cause maximum damage.
"What's happening?" Ozuma thought desperately as another crushing body shot nearly doubled him over. "It's like he can read my mind!"
The first body shot had landed just below Ozuma's left elbow, perfectly timed as the American dropped his guard to throw a hook. The impact radiated through his ribs like a shockwave.
THUD!
The second caught him in the solar plexus as he tried to clinch, driving the air from his lungs in a painful whoosh.
THUD!
The third was a picture-perfect liver shot that made Ozuma's legs wobble and his face contort in agony.
From ringside, the change was obvious to everyone watching.
"My God," Fujii whispered to his photographer, his pen frozen over his notepad. "It's like watching two different fights. The Japanese kid has completely figured him out."
"Look at the body language," a veteran trainer observed from a few rows back. "The American is starting to panic. He can't land anything clean anymore."
In the crowd, Umezawa was on his feet, screaming encouragement. "That's it, Ippo! Show him what real power looks like!"
The American fighter's hooks, which had been his most dangerous weapons, were now missing by larger and larger margins. Ippo seemed to know exactly where each punch was going before Ozuma even thought about throwing it.
"This isn't the same fighter who got knocked down," Ozuma realized with growing panic. "He's completely different now. It's like that knockdown made him stronger instead of weaker!"
THUD!
Another devastating body shot, this one perfectly placed between Ozuma's ribs, made the American grunt in pain and take a step backward. His breathing was becoming labored, his famous hand speed noticeably slower.
THUD!
A hook to the liver sent shockwaves through Ozuma's entire nervous system. His legs went rubbery for a moment, and he had to grab the ropes to stay upright.
"He's breaking him down!" Takamura roared from ringside. "One more clean shot and it's over!"
THUD!
The accumulation of body shots was taking its toll. Ozuma's guard was dropping, his footwork was becoming sloppy, and his confidence was completely shattered.
Ippo seemed to sense it too. He stepped back for just a moment, studying Ozuma's defensive posture with the calculating gaze of a predator who had found his prey's weakness.
The American's left side was compromised from the liver shots, his breathing was erratic from the solar plexus punches, and his ribs were clearly damaged from the sustained body attack.
"One more clean shot to the body and this fight is over," Kamogawa observed from the corner, his experienced eyes reading the damage that had been inflicted. "The American is breaking down completely."
In Ozuma's corner, his coach was shouting desperate instructions. "Move! Don't let him pin you down! Use your reach!"
But it was too late. Ozuma's confidence was shattered, his body was compromised, and his opponent had evolved beyond recognition.
DING!
The first round ended with Ozuma looking shaken and confused, his chest heaving as he tried to process what had just happened. Meanwhile, Ippo walked to his corner with quiet confidence, showing no effects from the knockdown that had floored him just minutes earlier.
In the Kamogawa corner, the atmosphere was focused and analytical. Ippo sat on his stool, his breathing controlled despite the intense pace of the round.
"How do you feel?" Kamogawa asked, checking Ippo's eyes for signs of serious damage from the knockdown.
Ippo's response was delivered in a calm tone that surprised everyone in the corner. The humble, uncertain fighter had been replaced by someone who spoke with confidence like a switch had been flipped.
"I've got him read coach," he said simply, as if he were stating a fact rather than describing a fight.
Kamogawa blinked in surprise. This wasn't the usual Ippo—this was the voice of someone who had completely dissected his opponent and found him wanting.
"His hooks follow predictable patterns," Ippo continued matter-of-factly, his voice carrying none of its usual uncertainty. "Right hook tends to follow his jab by 0.8 seconds. Left hook comes when he pivots off his back foot. Both telegraphed by a slight shoulder dip before release."
The breakdown was delivered with the precision of someone analyzing data rather than describing a brutal fight.
"And his body?" Kamogawa asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"His solar plexus was compromised by second impact. Left rib cage showing weakness." Ippo paused, then added with certainty: "Next clean body shot to any compromised area and it's over."
Across the ring, Ozuma was slumped on his stool, his breathing labored and his confidence completely shattered. His corner was working frantically, applying ice to his ribs and trying to restore his fighting spirit.
"You hurt him bad with those body shots," his coach was saying desperately. "But you've got the power to end this! One good hook and he's done!"
But Ozuma wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on Ippo across the ring, studying the fighter who had somehow transformed from victim to predator in the span of a single round.
"I've never been dominated like this," Ozuma thought, touching his ribs gingerly. "Those body shots... if the next one lands clean, I'm finished. How did he figure me out so completely?"
The fighter who had entered the ring believing he would cruise to victory was now facing the reality that he might be completely outclassed.
In the crowd, the buzz was electric. Veterans and novices alike could sense they were witnessing something special—the emergence of a truly dangerous fighter.
"Did you see that transformation?" Fujii was asking his photographer excitedly. "That knockdown didn't hurt him—it's like he understood something!"
As the one-minute rest period drew to a close, both fighters prepared for what everyone knew would be a dramatically different second round.
Ozuma looked nervous, his confidence shaken by the beatdown.
Ippo looked calm, and utterly certain of what was about to happen.
The stage was set for a devastating conclusion........FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DRAGON BALL Z