Alex's Dream
Cheering.
Loud. Endless. Like a whole stadium shaking.
Alex opened his eyes — he was suddenly in a ring, under bright lights.
Before he could even breathe, a punch came flying at him.
Fast.
Too fast.
It was like watching lightning explode right in front of him.
The opponent's footwork slid across the canvas so smoothly, it didn't even look human.
Alex tried to lift his hands—
BAM!
He woke up instantly, heart pounding, eyes wide.
He was back in the locker room.
Alex wiped his sweat.
"What… what was that? What did I just see in my dream?"
At Zayn's House
Encinto sprinted to the bathroom like a man escaping death.
Encinto: "Oww—fuck! Why didn't you guys wake me up!?"
From the kitchen, Jogo yelled while flipping something in a pan:
Jogo: "I was busy cooking, man! Come on! Why am I the only one cooking in this house?!"
Zayn, sitting on the sofa like an old king, didn't even look up.
Zayn: "Just shut up, you young man. You're too young to sit and have peace."
Encinto from the toilet:
"THAT'S NOT EVEN RELATED!"
Miguel's Place
Heavy THUD!THUD!THUD! echoed through the training room.
Miguel followed the sound and found Sean hammering the sandbag, sweat dripping, eyes burning.
Sean's punches came harder and harder — he was thinking about every fight he saw Alex fight… every strike… every dodge… every moment he never saw an opening.
He couldn't keep up.
And it made him angry.
Miguel stepped closer.
Miguel: "Hey… son."
Sean stopped, breathing heavily. He didn't turn around.
Sean: "What do you want, Dad?"
Miguel sat on the bench beside him.
Miguel: "Are you scared?"
Sean snapped his head up, glaring.
Sean: "I'm NOT scared."
Miguel placed a firm hand on his son's arm.
Miguel: "Then you're worried, right? Worried that you can't beat that monster? Worried that everything you did to him before was just… the devil in you acting out?"
Sean's eyes widened.
He looked down at the floor, hands trembling slightly.
Then he shouted:
Sean: "YEAH! FUCKING YEAH!"
Miguel didn't react.
He just nodded slowly — accepting the truth for his son.
At the Hotel
John was singing terribly in the shower while Mark was getting ready for Alex's second fight.
Mark: "Hurry up, John! We gotta go see Alex today. He's fighting Manny."
From the shower:
John: "What the hell is 'Manny'? The right pronunciation is 'many,' right? Without double N?"
Mark facepalmed.
Mark: "You idiot. I mean Manny Pacquiao…"
John stopped singing.
John: "Oohhh—like that. Sorry."
A few minutes later, John stepped out, fully dressed, trying to act serious like nothing embarrassing happened.
At the coliseum
Alex wore his casual exercise clothes. He ran around the ancient arena, cutting through the cold wind like a warm knife. After finishing his routine, he headed into the locker room.
He opened the door—
And froze.
Sitting peacefully on the bench, hands folded and smiling kindly…
was Manny Pacquiao.
Manny stood up slightly, giving a small respectful nod.
Manny:
"Hello, young man. I heard many things about you. You work hard. That is good."
Alex blinked, shocked.
"M–Manny Pacquiao…? What do you want?"
Manny chuckled softly.
"No need to worry. I'm not here to bother you. I only want to greet my opponent. It's good to know who we fight, yes?"
Alex stared, confused.
"You're really not the type to come for fun. Why are you here?"
Manny raised his palms—a gentle gesture.
"Respect. Before I fight someone, I want to look at their eyes. It's tradition for me. I like to see their heart. Your heart looks strong."
Alex didn't know whether to feel honored or terrified.
Manny smiled again, warm and humble.
"You're fast. I saw your training earlier. Very fast. Reminds me of my younger days."
Before Alex could respond, the door opened.
Coach Ray walked in, eyebrows raised.
"Manny? What are you doing here?"
Manny laughed politely.
"Ah, Ray. Long time. You look stronger now."
Ray crossed his arms, suspicious.
"You're supposed to be in your own locker room."
Manny bowed his head slightly.
"Sorry. I didn't want trouble. I only wanted to say hello."
Ray sighed.
"Alright. But leave this boy to prepare."
Manny nodded respectfully and stepped toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked at Alex.
Manny:
"Train hard. Fight clean. And no matter who wins, we show respect. Good luck, Alex."
Then he left with the calm dignity of a true champion.
Ray sighed in relief.
"Sorry about that. Manny's a good guy — just… today he's curious about you."
Alex nodded.
"Yeah, I can see that. But I have another plan for him. I don't want to finish the match in one punch. He's fast, and his footwork is crazy."
Ray crossed his arms, listening seriously.
"So what's the plan?"
Alex's expression hardened.
"I'll punch as much as I can. Either I match his speed… or I use my power to slow him down. I want to test myself. I want the fight to be real."
Ray nodded.
"Alright. We'll go with that. Trust your instinct."
He opened the door and stepped out. "Good luck."
Alex continued getting ready. His heart was hot, burning. His eyes fierce.
He didn't want to be just another winner today — he wanted to prove something. Prove who he really is.
And deep inside, the one thing replaying in his mind was:
Sean.
He still remembered the promise he made to himself.
He would beat Sean. No matter what.
the match
Commentator:
"Now, on my left — a boy who came out of nowhere with unbelievable talent! And on my right — a champion, a legend… MANNYYYYYYYY PACQUIAAAAAAO! With his footwork, his blazing-fast fists… he can beat anyone! So now, it beginnnnnnnnns!"
The spectators roared, the whole coliseum vibrating. They could feel the energy, the chaos, the entertainment about to explode.
Round One
Manny started with a storm — a rapid-fire chain of punches.
Twenty punches.
Non-stop.
But Alex dodged every single one.
Yet Alex didn't counter. Not even once.
In Manny's mind:
Why? Why isn't he punching back? Where's the kid who knocked out Mayweather?
Manny circled him, smooth footwork gliding like water on ice, searching for another angle. Then he noticed something:
Alex was using the peek-a-boo shell, the same method Mike Tyson used.
Manny kept jabbing, adding uppercuts, but Alex's guard didn't break.
His defense was like a wall.
RINGGGGGG!!
End of round one.
Rest Time
Ray wiped the sweat from Alex's face.
"Hey, listen. Just punch. Don't overthink it. Don't care if it lands clean or not — just punch."
Round Two
DING!
The bell rang.
Alex rushed in like a bullet, charging straight into Manny's territory.
BAM!
A straight punch cracked across Manny's face with a brutal snap.
Manny staggered but stayed standing.
This boy… is really something.
Alex didn't stop. He moved like flowing water — fast, aggressive, unpredictable.
Then he shifted into a Dempsey Roll, swaying left and right.
If I do it like this… can he keep up with my speed? Alex thought.
Manny darted around him, eyes sharp, hunting for a weakness.
Then he saw it — a tiny opening near the temple.
BAM!
A left hook crushed into Alex's temple.
Alex nearly fell.
Almost.
But he forced his legs to hold, planting all his weight onto his feet, refusing to drop.
RINGGGGG!!
End of round two.
Rest Time
Ray handed him water, his face serious this time.
"Listen, Alex. Before this, I didn't come into the ring because I knew you could beat Mayweather.
But this time… it's Manny."
Ray leaned closer.
"You can beat him. You just need more power and more speed.
Be like lightning… and smash through him."
Alex nodded, his eyes burning with fire.
Third Round
RINGGGGGG!!!
Alex stepped forward, relaxing his body. He tried to clear the tension in his mind.
I have to finish it. This round… I end this.
He shifted his footing, using both hands now, changing rhythm so Manny couldn't predict his next move.
Manny circled around him, still using his smooth footwork, still searching for that one perfect opening.
Alex suddenly exploded forward.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut.
He slipped to the side like Mike Tyson, shifting low, and then—
Dempsey Roll.
Hook. Hook. Hook. Hook. Hook.
Ten hooks in a row.
Manny finally fell.
The entire stadium erupted. The cheers shook the air. Alex, breathing hard, raised his hand even though his legs were trembling.
Commentator shouted, voice cracking:
"UNBELIEVABLE!!! The boy handled the legend! This is INSANE!! ENTERTAINING!!!!!!"
After the Match
Alex sat quietly in the locker room, trying to steady his breathing. His nerves were shaking after such a brutal fight.
The door opened slowly.
Zayn, Ray, Mark, John, Encinto, and Jogo all stormed in with huge smiles.
Everyone:
"CONGRATS, ALEX!!!"
Mark laughed.
"Bro, you're a monster! Seriously."
John added,
"You're amazing, Alex. I swear you can beat Sean."
Zayn raised a brow.
"Alright, alright. Stop crowding him. Let this boy breathe. He looks tired… and too happy for his own good."
Everyone burst out laughing.
That night, Alex left the coliseum to buy a drink.
At the counter, a man with sunglasses approached him.
"Hey. Long time no see, Alex."
Alex froze. His mind raced.
Who is this guy? How does he know my name?
But before he could ask anything, the man walked away and disappeared into the crowd.
Alex returned to his room. When he opened the door—
Manny Pacquiao was sitting on the bench, waiting.
Alex straightened his posture.
"How surprising. The legend Manny Pacquiao… coming to see me. For what purpose?"
Manny smiled softly.
"Nothing."
He stood, offering his hand.
"It's an honor to meet Alex Hunter. You're talented, respectful… a good kid."
Alex shook his hand nervously.
Manny continued,
"I came because of your father. I was his friend. He asked me to teach you some things… after this event."
Alex's heart nearly stopped.
"M-my dad? How did he know this event would happen?"
Manny lowered his voice.
"I don't have much time. But he told me that one day… his son would meet me. As an opponent, or as a friend."
He stepped away, preparing to leave.
"He wanted me to teach you something after the tournament. When we meet again, I'll explain more. Not now."
Before Alex could ask anything else, Manny slipped out the door, leaving him alone with a hundred new questions.
Who is he really?
How did he know my dad?
How long has this been planned?
But Alex pushed the thoughts aside.
If he kept thinking, he would lose focus.
Tomorrow was the semi-final.
He had to win.