The Seventh Round - Written by : Chestfield Lucket

The bell rang, signaling the end of the sixth round. Sweat poured down the boxer’s face as he stumbled back to his corner. His legs felt like concrete, and his ribs screamed with every breath. The crowd roared with anticipation, but it sounded distant, as if underwater.In his corner, his coach—a grizzled old man with silver hair and wrinkles carved deep from years in the game—looked at him with sharp eyes.

 The coach knew his fighter was up against the ropes, losing. But that wasn’t the end."You gotta get it together, son. You hear me?" the coach said, wrapping fresh tape around his bleeding knuckles.

The boxer nodded, though his vision blurred. His opponent, a hulking beast of a man, seemed untouchable. Every punch he threw felt like a brick hitting a wall."You got one more round in you. This is it. This is your moment," the old man’s voice dropped to a whisper, and then he added, “Your baby boy’s here. 

Right there in the stands with your wife. They’re watching.”That single sentence pierced through the fog of exhaustion. The boxer’s eyes shot up. His heart pounded, but for a different reason now.He turned his head toward the stands, squinting through the lights, and there they were—his wife and son.

 His boy’s tiny hands waved wildly, oblivious to the brutal sport around him. His wife’s face, however, told the story. She believed in him, even when he was on the verge of breaking.The coach leaned in closer. “They’re counting on you.

 You gonna let them see you fall? You gonna let him see his dad quit?”The words hit like a jolt of electricity. He felt his legs come alive again. The pain in his ribs dulled.

 A deep breath filled his lungs, and a burning fire sparked in his chest. The seventh round began. His opponent charged forward, fists blazing, but this time it was different. The boxer bobbed and weaved, slipping punches that had wrecked him just moments ago. His movements became sharper, faster. The crowd felt the shift in momentum, and their roars rose in pitch.

Left. Right. Another left. His gloves snapped against his opponent’s jaw with speed and precision. His opponent staggered back, wide-eyed, as if he had seen a ghost.With one final burst, the boxer launched an uppercut that sent his opponent crashing to the canvas. Time slowed. 

The crowd erupted in chaos. But for the boxer, there was only silence—except for the sound of his son’s cheering, echoing in his mind.The referee counted to ten.The boxer didn’t celebrate. He simply turned and looked toward the stands, locking eyes with his wife and son.

 They were smiling, his boy bouncing with excitement.Victory wasn't in the knockout—it was in that moment, knowing he hadn’t let them down.