The Boxing System: I Became the King of the Ring-Chapter 39: Eighteen

Tommy’s hand shook Javier’s shoulder in the gray morning light. Most of the dormitory was still asleep, breathing soft and even under their thin blankets.

"Happy birthday, old man." Tommy’s voice came out thick and raspy, but he was grinning through the fading bruises on his face.

Javier sat up slow, touching his stitches without thinking. The habit was getting automatic. "Doesn’t feel different."

"Give it time. Eighteen’s supposed to be a big deal."

Through the thin curtains on the window, Brooklyn was waking up. Cars, buses and delivery trucks rumbling past, the distant hum of the subway carrying people to work.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Mrs. Rodriguez appeared in the doorway holding a plate that actually looked like food instead of cafeteria punishment.

"Birthday boy gets real breakfast," she said, setting down the plate. "Made them myself."

Pancakes. Actual pancakes with syrup that wasn’t corn syrup pretending to be maple. The smell filled the corner of the dormitory.

"Thanks, Mrs. Rodriguez." Javier’s voice came out quieter than he intended.

She squeezed his shoulder. "Eighteen years. That’s something special."

**************

The dining room had a banner strung between two chairs. "Happy 18th" written in marker on poster board, obviously homemade. Kids trickled in rubbing sleep from their eyes, mumbling birthday wishes between yawns.

Carlos sat across from him, pushing eggs around his plate like they’d done something wrong. "Eighteen. That’s crazy, man."

David dropped into the seat next to Carlos. "Now you’re officially old."

"Can you vote now?" Kevin asked, loading his pancake with too much syrup.

"Yeah, I guess." Javier cut into his pancakes. They tasted better than anything he’d eaten in months.

Tommy moved slow getting his breakfast, still dealing with headaches that came and went. He picked at his food instead of eating it. "Doc said I might be cleared by next week. Depends on how I feel."

The optimism in his voice sounded forced. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

Grey appeared with his morning coffee and a manila envelope that looked official. "Happy birthday, kid. This came for you yesterday."

The return address said City of New York. Adult stuff starting already.

**************

Dr. Vasquez’s office felt different today. More formal somehow. Multiple folders spread across her desk like she was preparing for a business meeting instead of talking to a group home kid.

"Eighteen means legal adulthood," she said, settling into her chair. "We need to discuss your options."

She slid a form across the desk. Extended Care Application printed in official letters at the top.

"You can stay until you finish high school if you want. No pressure, but the option’s there."

Javier picked up the form, scanning words that looked important but didn’t make much sense. "What’s the catch?"

"No catch. But you’ll have more responsibilities. Part-time work requirement. Stricter curfews. You’re setting an example for younger kids."

The weight of that settled on his shoulders. Being looked up to when he still felt like he was figuring everything out.

"About the boxing," Dr. Vasquez continued. "I talked to Danny yesterday."

Javier’s stomach dropped. "What did he say?"

"Apparently turning eighteen changes which division you compete in. Something about age limits."

She reached for her phone. "Let me call him. Better to hear this directly."

**************

Danny’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. "Happy birthday, kid. Got some news for you."

The tone made Javier’s chest tighten.

"USA Boxing has age divisions. Under eighteen is youth amateur. Eighteen and over is elite amateur."

"What’s the difference?" Javier asked.

"Elite division assumes you’ve been boxing competitively for years. The guys you’d fight have way more experience."

Dr. Vasquez leaned forward. "How much more experience?"

"Some of these kids have been competing since they were ten. Fifty, sixty amateur fights on their record. National championships. Olympic development programs."

The room went quiet except for the heating system clicking on.

"But here’s the thing," Danny continued. "You technically count as ’novice’ because your official record is only one and one. Problem is, there’s no eighteen-year-old novice division."

"What does that mean?" Dr. Vasquez asked.

"Means he either fights elite competition or doesn’t fight at all."

The words hung in the air like smoke. All those months of training, all that progress, and now the system itself was working against him.

**************

Carlos burst through the door without knocking, papers clutched in his hand.

"Sorry, but I need to tell you something. Real Madrid moved up my flight. I leave March 10th now instead of March 15th."

Dr. Vasquez looked up from her notes. "That’s only five days earlier than planned."

"I know, but I was counting on those extra days to say goodbye properly." Carlos’s excitement was obvious, but nervousness lurked underneath like a shadow.

"March 10th?" Javier said. "That’s still over a month away."

"Feels like tomorrow though. Isabella said they want me there for spring training prep."

Dr. Vasquez gestured toward the chair beside Javier. "Have you finished all your paperwork?"

Carlos sat down, organizing the papers in his lap. "Most of it. Just need to get my birth certificate notarized and finish the visa application."

Real adult stuff. Legal documents and international travel. Carlos was stepping into a world none of them had ever touched.

**************

School felt different now. Kids still stared at his stitches, but the attention felt more distant. Like they were looking at someone who was already halfway out the door.

Ms. Peterson caught him after English class, her expression softer than usual.

"I heard it’s your birthday. Eighteen’s a big milestone."

"Yeah, everyone keeps saying that."

"Are you planning to finish high school here?"

"That’s the plan."

She nodded, gathering her papers from the desk. "Good. You’ve been doing better this semester. Don’t let other activities derail your education."

The warning was gentle but clear. She’d noticed the injuries, heard the rumors. Teachers talked to each other about students.

**************

The recreation center felt quiet without Tommy. Miguel was working with a group of younger kids on basic footwork, calling out instructions in Spanish and English.

"How’s the birthday boy feeling?" Miguel asked when he noticed Javier.

"Confused. Danny called with news about amateur divisions."

"Yeah, he mentioned that might be an issue. Eighteen changes things."

Miguel walked over to where Javier stood by the heavy bags. The leather was scarred from years of fists hitting the same spots over and over.

"Look, kid, I’ve been training fighters for fifteen years. Most eighteen-year-olds who are any good have been competing since they were twelve."

"So I’m screwed?"

"Not screwed. Just facing reality." Miguel’s voice stayed steady, honest. "You started late, but you’ve got heart. Sometimes that’s enough."

He gestured toward the kids working on footwork. "See those boys? They’ve been coming here since they were eight. By the time they’re eighteen, they’ll have forgotten more about boxing than most people ever learn."

The truth stung, but it felt better than being lied to.

**************

Carlos had taken over the common room table with his paperwork. Visa documents, medical forms, Real Madrid contracts - everything organized in neat piles like he was preparing for the most important test of his life.

Tommy sat nearby despite his headache, helping organize papers and making sure nothing got lost.

"You got everything you need?" Tommy asked, squinting at a form written in Spanish.

"Think so. Real Madrid provides all equipment."

David looked up from his comic book. "What about your soccer cleats?"

"They’ll give me new ones. Professional gear."

The idea of having everything provided seemed impossible to kids who’d grown up making do with whatever was available.

"You nervous about March?" Javier asked.

Carlos stopped organizing and looked up. For the first time since getting the news, his excitement faded.

"Every day," he said quietly.

**************

Mrs. Rodriguez had outdone herself for dinner. Chicken that wasn’t dry, vegetables that tasted like they remembered being plants, mashed potatoes made from actual potatoes instead of powder.

The younger kids presented their birthday cards with pride. David’s showed a stick figure with boxing gloves. Kevin’s said "Happy Birthday Javi" in purple marker that had bled through the construction paper.

Grey stood up with his coffee cup raised. "To Javier. Eighteen years old and still hasn’t burned the place down."

Everyone laughed. Even Tommy managed a grin through his lingering headache.

The attention felt good and overwhelming at the same time. These kids were his family, but families changed. People left. Life moved forward whether you were ready or not.

**************

Late that night, Javier lay in bed listening to the familiar sounds of the group home settling down. Someone coughing, heating pipes creaking, distant traffic humming through thin walls.

He pulled up his system window, the faint blue glow illuminating his face in the darkness.

[ BOXING SYSTEM PROFILE ]

Name: Javier Restrepo

Age: 18

Weight Class: Welterweight (157 lbs)

Style: Swarmer

Record: 1-1-0 (Amateur)

STRENGTH: 68/100 (Level 1)

SPEED: 72/100 (Level 1)

ENDURANCE: 71/100 (Level 1)

TECHNIQUE: 64/100 (Level 1)

POWER: 61/100 (Level 1)

RING IQ: 46/100 (Level 1)

CONDITION: Good

READY FOR COMPETITION: Yes

The numbers showed progress from the Bronx fights, but he was still Level 1. Still learning. Still had a long way to go to compete with kids who’d been doing this for years.

Movement by the window caught his eye. Vicente appeared briefly, more solid than before but still translucent. The ghost watched him quietly, then faded back into shadow without speaking.

Eighteen was supposed to feel like a milestone. Some definitive moment when everything became clear. Instead, it just meant more complicated choices and fewer obvious answers.

Tomorrow Carlos would continue packing for Madrid. Tommy might get medical clearance to start training again. And Javier had to figure out what it meant to be an eighteen-year-old novice boxer in a sport that assumed he should have started years ago.

But tonight, he was just another group home kid trying to fall asleep, same as always.

He closed his eyes and let the familiar sounds of home carry him toward whatever came next.