THE SWEETEST SCIENCE

09:51 Valenzuela: I’ve just finished setting up shop in the house next door to the café everyone in the barrio whispers about: Betty’s place. My backyard doesn’t grow flowers or grass, no… I’ve built a boxing ring out there, rough but solid, a square of canvas and ropes meant for fists, knees, and blood. This is going to be my hustle: renting the ring to anyone with cash and a reason to fight. 

 

10:41 Valenzuela: Could be two guys who met on MeetFighters.com, could be a couple of session wrestlers looking to put on a show, or maybe just neighbors with a grudge to settle the old-fashioned way. I’ve already hosted a few bouts. Dumb rich studs swinging harder than their heads can think, money in their pockets and something to prove. They bled, they sweated, and one of them hit the canvas so hard it shook the posts. Now I’m out back, mop in hand, scrubbing at the stains before the blood sets into the canvas. The smell of iron still hangs in the humid air, sticky and sharp. When I look up, I see her. Betty. She’s leaning out from the top floor of her café, that shock of red hair bright against the dark window frame. Tattoos ink her arms, a patchwork of stories I don’t know yet, and her stare carries a spark of something wild, something dangerous. The stories about her drift through the neighborhood like smoke — underground fistfights in the back of her café, bruised knuckles traded over coffee and whiskey. If even half of it’s true, then Betty isn’t just some nosy neighbor, she’s competition. My Valenzuela Fight Centre might not be the only fight house on this street. I wring out the mop, eyes still locked with hers, wondering if she’s sizing me up as a threat… or if she’s already picturing what it’d look like if we settled it ourselves, right here under the lights of my ring.

 

11:57 BettyBustsYa: It has been...weird. When I opened this cafe, I opened in the barrio both for the interesting cultural milieu and it was because it was where I could afford. A more mixed use area, I'd been expecting I'd be the one getting complaints about noise once I opened up the backyard area as a outdoor seating area for my shop. Instead I had people coming in complaining of the sounds of what I knew has to be one thing; fighting.

11:59 BettyBustsYa: People who know, know. If you come into my place and order the special, that meant knuckles bruising up your body in the backroom. If you won, you got free drinks for a week. If you lost, you paid up. It happened often enough down here to sate my combative desires; though the competition was lacking.

12:01 BettyBustsYa: I was upstairs, prepping for the day when I looked out the back window and saw it. A old looking makeshift boxing ring. And it's owner, a tough looking Mexican woman I recognized; I'd seen her around the neighborhood and I'm fairly certain she's been in my shop a few times. Older, and bit smaller than me...she spoke to me in that language only combative women speak. The glare.

12:02 BettyBustsYa: I reach down and open the window. "Hey...come by the shop when you're done. Let me by you a cup," I yell down to you.

12:13 Valenzuela: The mop squeaks across the canvas, streaks of crimson smearing into watery pink, my muscles still humming from the last fight I had to clean up after. The air is thick with sweat and iron, but your voice cuts through it sharp as a bell. I glance up, wiping my forearm across my brow. There you are, red hair glowing in the frame of that upstairs window, tattoos crawling like shadows over your arms, and that look, that look, the one I know all too well. The kind of glare that says you’re not just a café owner; you’re a fighter. Your words roll down into my yard: “Hey… come by the shop when you’re done. Let me buy you a cup.” I let the mop clatter against the post, leaning on the ropes, sweat rolling down my cheek, and smirk up at you. “A cup of coffee… or a cup of fists, eh? ’Cause from the way you’re looking at me, mujer, feels like you’re inviting me for both.” Hands resting on the top rope as my dark eyes stay locked on yours. “Alright, Betty… I’ll come by. But don’t be surprised if I order something a little stronger than coffee!.”

12:14 BettyBustsYa: I smirk to you as you say that. "A cup of coffee...for now," I reply. I want to know more about what's going on back there. And how I can get involved. "Ya know what, how about I just bring that cup of coffee right over to you?"

12:16 Valenzuela: Again I stop mopping, and look up at you. "OK Betty, front door is unlocked, so just come in when you're ready!"

12:19 BettyBustsYa: I nod to you, then close the window. I head down to the shop, which is bustling at the moment. I make two iced coffees; I can't imagine you want hot coffee in this heat. I let my two employees know I'll be back in a bit, and make my way out. The way the neighborhood is laid out, I have to circle the block to make it over to your place, even though you're just beside me. I head through the front gate and look around; I take a breath and smells the air; thick with sweat and iron. The vibe in the air is that of competition. Of blood and sweat. "So, this is what's making all this noise and disturbing my customers," I say as I approach you, offering you the iced coffee.

13:12 Valenzuela: I take the cup from your hand, the condensation slick and cool against my palm, a sharp contrast to the sticky heat clinging to my skin. I tip it toward you in a kind of half-toast before taking a long pull, the bitter chill sliding down my throat. It hits just right, cutting through the dust still ghosting the back of my mouth from sweeping and mopping. I look you over more closely now, not from across a yard but a few steps away. About my height, heavier, the kind of body that’s carried more than a few bruises and given them back with interest. I lean against the ropes, one arm draped over the top strand, the other holding your coffee. “So… this is what’s been disturbing your customers, huh?” My grin is crooked, defiant. “Funny… ’cause it sounds to me like maybe it’s what you’ve been missing.” I tap the side of my cup with a finger. “You’ve got your little secret fights in the back of the café… and I’ve got my ring out here where the whole barrio can hear every grunt, every scream, every bone crack. Yours is the whisper… mine is the roar.” "Don't worry about the customers, they'll get used to the noise". My eyes narrow, playful but edged. “So tell me, Betty… are you here to make peace with the noise… or to stake your claim?” "May be a rumble between your club and mine? Don't play coy, I know you box!"

13:21 BettyBustsYa: "Well, I'd been ready to come over and complain, yeah," I reply. "Until I saw what was going on over here. Now, you're right. I want in. I know there are fight houses around this neighborhood, but they don't like letting new people in," I say as I step closer to you, one hand on my hip, the other holding my coffee as I take a drink. "I can close the back patio when you are fighting; but I want in."

13:39 Valenzuela: I smirk, tilting my head as I sip from the iced coffee. “Ok… I guess that’s fair. You want a piece of the action? Fine. I’ll cut you in on the profits. But if we really want to boost business…” I lean forward on the ropes, eyes narrowing on you with a teasing spark. “How does this sound… you and me, right here in the ring. We sell tickets to our clients, pack this place wall to wall, and the winner takes the whole purse.” I pause, letting the words hang heavy in the humid air before flashing you a wolfish grin. “Are you up for a thumping, Betty? ’Cause I’ll tell you… people will pay double to see two women like us throw down for real.” I tap my chest with my hand. “In the long run, it’ll fatten both our pockets.” Then I wink, slow and deliberate, the corner of my mouth curling. “And if I’m honest, I like the idea of having a go at you in the ring… seeing if that glare of yours hits harder when it’s backed by your fists.”

13:41 BettyBustsYa: I eye you slightly as you make your proposal. "That what I meant by wanting in...I want to fight," I say. I take a few steps closer, getting into your personal space. "And if you want to throw down with me, winner take all...well. I'm not one to back down from a challenge."

13:46 Valenzuela: The deal is struck, and once the word goes out, the barrio buzzes like a live wire. By the time fight night comes, my backyard is jammed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and the rumble of voices hungry for bloodsport. The sun is still up for another hour or two, as this is a calm summer's night. The ropes sag slightly under the press of bodies leaning in close, and the canvas beneath my boots hums with the weight of expectation. Betty and I stand in the center of the ring, the crowd’s roar dimming to a hushed murmur as all eyes fix on us. Our gloves hang loose at our sides, but the way we stare into each other’s eyes, it feels like fists are already flying. Her tattoos glisten under the lights, her red hair wild against the night sky, while I square my stance, chin tilted, a slow grin tugging at my lips. It isn’t just a fight anymore… it’s a claim, a challenge, and every single person here knows it.

13:53 BettyBustsYa: It's been a long time since I've been in a fight space that is this electric! I've gotten used to my private encounters in my shops back room. This was real, and my heart was pounding with excitement. Clad in a floral pattenred sports bra and black spandex shorts with black boots, I contrast a bit to your more traditional boxing shorts. I take a short step forward and stand chest to chest with you, a similar smirk crossing my lips. One of us will be knocked out this evening; we both know that. And we both are certain it'll be the other woman. One of us will steak their claim as the best between us, and walk away with money.

13:58 Valenzuela: The crowd is roaring when a heavyset man in a striped shirt slides through the ropes, arms outstretched to part us. His voice cuts through the noise, practiced and loud enough for the whole barrio to hear. “Alright, listen up! This here’s a limitless-round fight, two minutes per round. You fight until someone can’t continue, or until one of you is on the canvas for the count. No running, if I tell you to work, you work. Keep it clean, no rabbit punches, no low blows, and when I say break, you break. Understood?” He looks from Betty to me, waiting for our nods. The crowd surges louder, stamping feet and whistling as the ref points to the corners. “Now touch gloves if you want… and take your corners. Fight starts on the bell.” I hold Betty’s gaze for a moment longer, that smirk tugging at my lips again, before lifting my white gloves and tapping them lightly against hers; more challenge than respect. Then I back into my corner, rolling my shoulders loose, bouncing on the balls of my feet as the murmur of the crowd swells into a fever pitch. The ref raises his hand, glances at both corners, and calls out over the noise. “Seconds out!” The clanging of the bell is seconds away, the promise of violence hanging heavy in the hot summer air.

14:01 BettyBustsYa: I nod to the 'ref' as he lays out the 'rules.' Something tells me they aren't very well enforced here. Then we hold each others gaze as I bring my gloves out and we pound them against each other in a challenging way. I back out to my corner and take a deep breath as I throw some quick combos into the air to keep loose. The bell rings and I bring up my gloves, in a orthodox guard, light on my toes as I come forward. Meeting you in the heat of the summer, I test our guard with a pair of crisp right jabs, one aimed at your face, the other at your stomach. (r1 :10)

14:06 Valenzuela: The bell clangs and the crowd surges with a roar, vibrating through my chest as we step into each other’s air. We meet in the ring centre, knees bent, as I form an orthodox stance too, bobbing from side to side. 

14:06 Valenzuela: You come forward sharp, your gloves snapping out with crisp jabs, one high, one low. I dip my head, feeling the first brush against my guard, leather thumping as it redirects just off my cheek, but the second jab snakes through, smacking against my abs and forcing a grunt from my lips. The sting wakes me up fast, gets my blood moving. I push off my back foot, answering your advance by sliding in close. My gloves rise quick, a short left jab flicking toward your nose, not full power, just enough to test your reactions and distract, while my right shoulder rolls as I try to whip a tight hook toward your ribs, looking to dig under that floral top and test the air in your lungs. My breath rasps hot through the mouthguard as the crowd’s roar sharpens, the night already electric with our opening exchange. (r1 :20)

 

14:10 BettyBustsYa: I'm getting comfortable in this ring quickly as I feel my jab pound into your stomach, enjoying the sound of that grunt. You stay in with me and pop our that left jab, my body shifting to the right as I just slip by it. But you elicit a grunt of your own as that right hook digs into my ribs, forcing a bit of spittle from my mouth as it digs into musceled flesh. I snarl a bit and stay in with you, trying to counter by throwing a quick left uppercut aimed at your chin, looking to catch you before you reset. I follow it up with a right hook aimed at your floating ribs. (r2 :30)

14:15 Valenzuela: Your snarl cuts through the din just before that left uppercut rips upward. I jerk my head back in time, feeling the leather graze my chin but not land clean, the close call sending a hot shiver down my spine. I surge forward to reestablish my footing, and that’s when your right hook slams hard into my floating ribs. The impact is brutal, sharp pain lancing through my side as my body jerks inward with a guttural grunt, air rushing out of me in a hiss. Sweat sprays as I stagger half a step, the crowd roaring at the sound of glove on bone. My guard snaps tighter as I grit down, refusing to back off. I shuffle right to circle, trying to buy a heartbeat, then snap a jab straight at your lips: fast, snappy, meant to to sting and keep you honest. My left foot slides in close as I twist my hips, ripping a short overhand right toward your temple, looking to shake your balance and stop your momentum before you can hammer those ribs again. (r1 :40)

 

14:18 BettyBustsYa: Body work is paying dividends early as my rights smashes in and I see that look of pain as you grunt out loudly, air leaving your body. I push forward as you stagger back as step, looking to keep the pressure on you, only for your jab to catch me right on the lips. It snaps my head back and brings my guard up. Your right comes around and smacks into my gloves, enough power there to knock my red gloves into my face as I deflect a fair amount of the blow. Feeling the pressure a bit I want to step back, reset, so I pump a quick one-two, right jab straight left towards your face to back you off before dancing out of the pocket. 

14:23 Valenzuela: Your gloves thump against my overhand, but not before my jab snaps your head back, just enough to sting. Then you answer, sharp and fast, a one-two snapping at my face. The right jab clips the tip of my nose, stinging hot and making my eyes water, while the straight left drives harder, smacking flush against my cheekbone and jolting my head sideways. The crowd pops loud, feeding off the sound of leather on flesh, and I taste copper blooming along my tongue. I stumble half a step back, boots dragging on the canvas as you pivot, dancing out to reset. My ribs ache, my jaw throbs, but the fire in my chest only burns hotter. I wipe my glove quick across my mouth, smirking through the sting, then step after you. I push forward, trying to crowd you again, my left shoulder rolling as I dip low and shoot a left straight toward your stomach, meant to fold you down while my right arm cocks tight. With a grunt I try to hammer an uppercut straight for your chin, looking to catch you as you circle, cut your rhythm before it builds. (r1 :60)

14:26 BettyBustsYa: I'm surprised when my little combo snaps your head around as I back out. If I knew I was going to score I would have stayed in the pocket, but I needed the space to regroup. I see you are in pain but then you smirk at me. I like you. I smirk back. You push in and dip down. I tighten the muscles in my stomach and grunt as I feel your punch dig in, bending forward slightly. Your uppercut follows and my eyes widen a bit. I lean back and am just able to avoid the brunt of the blow as it grazes my chin. But it has me on my back foot and getting closer to the ropes. Feeling like you are going to keep being aggressive, I set my feet and throw a sharp right jab out at your mouth, then try to pound that body wit ha left hook. (R1 1:10)

14:37 Valenzuela: I try to press forward, but your jab cracks against my mouth as I press forward, snapping my head back and spraying a mist of spit into the lights. My lips throb instantly, the sting mixing with the taste of iron already pooling on my tongue. Before I can reset, your left hook drills into my side, thumping my ribs with a meaty smack that drives another grunt out of me. The crowd howls, loving the body work, every shot making my midsection burn hotter. I bite down hard on the mouthguard, refusing to give ground. My boots scrape loud on the canvas as I plant and shove forward, trying to pin you into the ropes. My right glove shoots high with a quick jab toward your cheek, snappy, more to blind than break, while my left dips low, twisting hard from the hip as I sling a short hook toward your liver, aiming to sap that fire you’re fighting with. (r1 1:20)

14:45 BettyBustsYa: I'm learning very quickly that space is going to be at a premium here. The ring is not that big and you are seeming to enjoy fighting as the swarmer. You stay in the pocket and I get my gloves up to deflect the jab, but it opens up my lower bow. "UGH" I grunt out, my mouth guard hanging out of my mouth a bit as the follow up catches me around the liver. That one hurt and my face shows it as push forward and wrap my arms up with yours in a clinch. (r1 1:30)

16:24 Valenzuela: Your arms snake in and tie me up, dragging us chest to chest, sweat-slick skin and heaving breath pressing together as the crowd whistles and hollers. I feel the tremor in your body from that liver shot, the way your guard slackened for a moment, it tells me you’re hurting. My ribs ache, jaw sore, but clinch work? That’s where I live. I lower my forehead against your temple, grinding in close, trying to bully you backward into the ropes with short shoves of my shoulders. My arms flex hard as I fight for inside control, seeking to wedge my gloves under your biceps and pin them high so your body stays open. The crowd noise blurs as my instincts sharpen, teeth clenched, pride burning hot. I grunt low through my mouthguard and snap a sneaky right uppercut to your ribs from the clinch, short, compact, meant to dig and sap more of that air . (r1 1:40)

16:27 BettyBustsYa: I clinch up and you quickly show me you like it in close here just as much as in the pocket. You hear me let out a light grunt as I feel your forehead against my temple, a old boxers trick. I start to grind back and push against you, but you have the advantage and dig a hard uppercut into my ribs, making me grunt out in pain. The heat of the day and the heat of our sweaty bodies not really providing relief, I try to push out of the clinch and catch you in the jawline with a quick snappy right hook as we break apart. (R1 1:50)

16:31 Valenzuela: Your push finally forces a sliver of space, but not before I hear the breath rasp out of you from that last uppercut. As we start to peel apart, your right hook whips in fast. I try to pull my head back but it’s too tight a window CRACK! Your glove clips my jawline sharp, snapping my head sideways as spit flicks from my mouth. The sting bites deep, leaving my teeth rattling as I stumble half a step, chest heaving against the hot summer air. The crowd surges, sensing the clash breaking open, half chanting “Betty! Betty!” while my pocket screams back “¡Val! ¡Val!” I bite down on the guard, forcing a crooked grin through the ache, refusing to let you own the break. I surge back into range, trying to answer quick before you reset. My left shoulder dips as I sling a jab at your lips, sharp and stinging, before twisting my hips into a heavy right cross aimed square at your nose, a compact blast meant to shove you back and reclaim the space we just tore open. (r1 1:60)

16:34 BettyBustsYa: The ten second warning bell goes off but I k now that's not going to slow you down. Even as you are sent reeling by my follow up to your jawline, I step to the side to get off the copes and get some space, the crowd cheering us both as we've really slugged it out this round. YOu come in and throw a jab that catches my lips, busting the bottom one open as my head snaps back. I taste the coppery taste of blood but don't have time to think about it. I duck under the cross and am abuot to counter hard when the bell rings to end the round. I straighten up and eye you, breathing heavy as the ref steps in and sends us to our corners. (r1 end)

16:38 Valenzuela: The bell cuts through just as you duck low and I’m left swinging at air, chest heaving as the ref slides between us. My blood’s still pumping, knuckles twitching to throw more, but I let him nudge me back. The crowd is on their feet, half chanting your name, half mine, the noise bouncing off the close walls of the yard like thunder. I stumble back into my corner, and take water and a towel. Sweat rolls heavy down my face, my jaw throbs where your hook clipped me, and my ribs ache like fire from the body work. I spit red into the bucket, grin crookedly through split lips, and nod at the chants of “¡Val! ¡Val!” still carrying from one side of the crowd. Round 1 was a war, tit for tat, neither of us giving ground. But she’s feeling that liver shot… I can tell. I lean back against the corner post, eyes fixed across the ring at you as my chest rises and falls, knowing the next bell means another two minutes of hell. This red haired woman hits hard!

16:41 BettyBustsYa: I head back to my corner and sit down, hearing as the crowd is chatting 'Betty! betty!' over and over along with your name. Celebrating two women who went to war. I take a seat as my second removes my mouth guard and checks on my slipt lip. I'm breathing heavy, slow, getting my breath back. That liver shot hurt, and made me show submissiveness with that clinch. You were a tough bitch; you liked to slug it out. I do too...but I know I'm going to need to fight smarter if I'm going to have the best chance of beating you. Defense. Counters. That's what I need to focus on.

16:47 Valenzuela: I rise off my stool, wiping my mouth with the back of my glove, the copper taste of blood still thick on my tongue. My jaw aches, ribs throb, but my legs answer when I bounce on them, heavy but ready. Across the ring you stand tall, red hair plastered damp against your skin, lip swollen but your eyes burning sharp. The chants split the night, half crying “Betty! Betty!” while my side answers with “¡Val! ¡Val!”, the noise rattling the ropes before we’ve even touched gloves again. I lift my guard high, circling left, keeping my chin tucked this time. My breath rasps through the mouthpiece as I step in, jabbing once toward your face, testing. My right shoulder rolls, coiled, waiting for your answer. (r2 :10)

16:50 BettyBustsYa: Seconds out is called and I stand up. I feel the soreness in my body still, my legs heavy, dripping with seat, but eyeing you with determination as I'm ready for round two. The bell rings and my guard comes up high, chin tucked as we circle. You jab out and I slap it back with my gloves, defense holding. I step in and feint, my right flashing forward only to pull back at the last second, the jab not extending towards your face. My left instead comes out hard, a shovel hook aimed for your right flank.

16:50 BettyBustsYa: (r2 :20)

16:57 Valenzuela: Your feint has my eyes twitching up toward that right hand, my guard twitching higher. That’s when the real danger comes, your left shovel hook ripping into my flank. THUD! I grunt loud through my mouthpiece, body jolting sideways as the pain tears across my ribs, already tender from the earlier round. It’s a deep, mean shot, and it bites down into my lungs, stealing some of my breath. I stagger half a step, sucking in air sharp and fast, but I don’t back away. I lean in on you, forehead nearly pressing into your red hair, trying to smother your space and keep you from winding up again. My gloves dig for inside position, shoving at your arms, and I growl low as I rip a short right uppercut aimed at your sternum, trying to fold you down. Immediately I follow with a left hook towards your jaw, a brawler’s answer: dirty, close-range violence meant to break your rhythm before you can capitalize on landing the shove hook. R2 :30

17:01 BettyBustsYa: I bite down on my mouthpiece with determination as you are staggered briefly but the shot to your body. A rough, mean shot meant to hurt, which it clearly does. "UGH" I grunt out as your uppercut comes in quickly and digs into my sturnum, knocking some air from my lungs as I fold forward a bit. I anticipate the follow up though, my guard coming up thigh and your hook smacking into my forearms. Fighting back, I fire a hard straight left towards your solar plexus, looking to take some of your wind as I straigthen back up and fire a follow up up right hook to your nose.

17:01 BettyBustsYa: (r2 :40)

17:05 Valenzuela: Your straight left spears in before I can shift—WHUMP! It slams flush into my solar plexus, folding me forward with a strangled gasp, the air blasted out of my lungs. White heat explodes through my chest, my body convulsing, legs trembling as I double over. My mouthguard squeaks between clenched teeth, spit spraying as I stagger helplessly into the path of your follow-up. CRACK! Your right hook smashes across my eye instead of my nose, the mistimed guard leaving me wide open. My head whips violently to the side, vision bursting white, knees buckling as the canvas suddenly rushes up to meet me. I hit the mat flat on my ass, legs splayed, gloves heavy in my lap as the crowd detonates in cheers and gasps. The sting in my eye throbs, tears streaming down from the swelling already rising. I blink through the haze, clutching at the ropes as the ref’s voice slices the chaos: “ONE!… TWO!…” My chest heaves, lungs still screaming for air from that solar plexus shot, but my pride burns hotter. I can’t stay down… not to her, not here in front of this barrio. I plant one glove against the canvas, trying to force a knee under me, every muscle shaking from the effort as the count rolls on. (r2 :50 knockdown)

 

17:06 BettyBustsYa: I'm surprised as I see you go down after that combo, and I let out a roar and raise my right clove eup as the ref pushes me back to the neutral corner. I lean back against it, taking in slow, deep breaths as I see you laid out on the canvas, the ref in your face giving you acount. I can tell by your face you're going to get up. Too much pride; and I don't think you're close to done yet.

17:11 Valenzuela: The ref’s count echoes in my skull “FOUR!… FIVE!…”as I blink through the haze, sweat and blood dripping into my eye. My ribs scream, my chest still on fire from that solar plexus shot, and the swelling over my left eye makes the lights blur. Every part of me begs to stay down. NO FUCKING WAY! But the crowd’s roar cuts through the fog. Half the barrio screaming “Betty! Betty!”, but my side rising up with “¡Val! ¡Val!”, stomping the floorboards, urging me to stand. I dig my glove into the mat, shoving with trembling legs, dragging one knee under me. “SEVEN!…” I grunt, forcing air back into my lungs, one shaky hand clutching the ropes as I haul myself upright. My chest heaves, sweat pouring, but I shove my gloves back up before the ref finishes. Bloodied, bruised, eye swelling, but I’m not done. I nod hard at the ref, mouthguard clenched, and bark out through grit: “¡Listo!”

17:13 BettyBustsYa: You get back to your feet and I glare in as the ref checks you and clears you to fight. I bring my gloves up and come forward. Knowing a wounded animal is the most dangerous, I keep you at reach for the moment, throwing a part of shrap jabs at that swelling eye as I look to see how much is still there. (R2 1:00)

17:33 Valenzuela: The moment the ref waves us back in, shame and fire surge hotter than the pain. You put me on my ass in front of my own people. My pride howls, and I won’t let the barrio see me cower. Your sharp jabs lash out at my swollen eye, but I keep my gloves up. I grunt, but instead of retreating, I snarl and charge straight through the leather storm. My boots pound the canvas as I bull forward, reckless, chest heaving, blood spraying from my nose. I swing wide and wild, my right hand ripping an overhand hook toward your temple, my left already following with a savage shovel hook toward your ribs. No finesse, no patience, just raw fury, trying to drag you into my kind of fight. (R2 1:10)

17:39 BettyBustsYa: You swat away my jab and come back at me hard. The wide swing makes it a little easier to avoid and I mange to duck under that hook. But as I look to counter the follow up rips into my ribs. "AAUGAH" I groan out, mouth piece hanging in my mouth for a moment as that one hurts, leaving me flatfooted. Hurt and vulnerable in the moment I pump a defensive straight right at your bleeding nose, trying to halt any continued assault as I try back off a few steps.

17:46 Valenzuela: You weave low and go under my hook, but I connect the follow up to your ribs with a nasty BANG!. A straight right snaps out, as you backup, and I lean back from it, allowing the punch to fall short. I’m now feeling the strain, and the pain, but my pride wants me to win this fight, so I charge forward, sending a 1-2….jab/right straight at your forehead, and then a left shovel hook towards your liver as I try to back you into the ropes.

 

17:49 BettyBustsYa: My punch misses bit it does give me a bit of space that I need to get myself reset. My guard stays low at the moemnt, and that leaves me open as you pop my head back with the two punches, scrambling my brain a bit as my vision blurs. I turn and bend, taking your left hook on my arm rather than my liver. I come back and fire a right uppercut towards your lower belly, then fire that right back up a second time aimed for your chin, trying to battle in the pocket and make you pay for every step. (r2 1:40)

17:57 Valenzuela: My simple 1-2 combo does the trick, and makes your head bobble back and forth, but you drop your left so my shovel hook only hits your arm. With my left down, you have an opening to drive a right uppercut just below my navel, bending me forward, into a right uppercut that connects with my chin, I bite down hard on my mouth guard, spit spraying out of my mouth, and I fly backwards into the ropes, trying to figure out what just happened as the 10 second warning buzzer fires off......what a wicked combo....(r2 1:50)

17:59 BettyBustsYa: Breathing heavy through my nostrils, I watch as my uppercut nails you in the chin and sends you back into the ropes. Willing myself forard while you are looking off kilter, I square up and fire off a hard right towards your stomach, and follow it with a blistering left hook to the jawline, trying to keep mixing you up and taking an opening you give me. (R2 2:00 )

18:04 Valenzuela: The buzzer’s still echoing when your right hand pistons into my stomach. THUMP! My abs fold under the blow, a ragged grunt bursting from my lips as spit flies. The pain blossoms sharp, dragging the air right out of me. Before I can suck in a breath, your left hook crashes across my jawline, CRACK! My head whips sideways, sweat and blood spraying into the lights. My legs go rubbery, the ropes biting into my back as I sag against them, gloves half-raised but shaky. The crowd explodes, half of them screaming for you to finish it, the others desperate for me to hold on. My pride howls through the haze. I cling to the ropes, chest heaving, jaw aching, the world spinning around me. I can’t go down again, not with everyone watching. I paw my gloves forward, trying to clinch, my eyes locked on yours....but then DING!.....the bell sounds.....and i drop, gloves, letting them dangle loose at my sides, hoping I can recover some in the next 60 seconds....

18:07 BettyBustsYa: The knock out punch is loaded and ready to fly when the bell rings. "Lucky puta..." I hiss at you as I bang my shoulder aginst yours and make my way back to the stool. I'm hurting. My head is pounding from that combo to my forehead and my left side is bruising and feeling sore. I take in deep breaths. We've slugged it out hard for two rounds, no ground given. Not a techincal fight. I'd had the better of it so far. And I watch you as you look to recover, curious how much is still there.

19:14 Valenzuela: I feel relief at the sound of the bell, your gloved fist is cocked and ready to go, but that bell saves me. I drop heavy onto the stool, sweat streaming down my face, my swollen left eye half-shut and throbbing.

19:16 Valenzuela: My ribs scream every time I breathe, and that solar plexus shot still burns like fire in my chest. My jaw feels like it’s been split in two from that last hook. Dios mío… she put me on my ass, had me sagging on the ropes and is whopping my ass in this brawl. My second splashes water over my head, ice pressing against my eye, and I suck in ragged breaths through the mouthguard. My pride’s louder than the pain. If I keep trading head shots, I’m done. She’s sharper, cleaner, hitting me first every time. But I’ve felt her grunt when I’ve dug into her ribs, saw her mouthpiece hanging after that liver shot. That’s the way. Break her down piece by piece. I need to bury leather in her body until her legs stop dancing and her guard drops. Make it ugly, clinch her, smother her, drown her in my kind of fight. I spit blood into the bucket and glare across the ring, chest still heaving but fire burning in my gut. If I can survive this storm, if I can keep walking forward, her body will give before mine does. The 10 second warning buzzes, and then I’m up.

12:20 BettyBustsYa: You're hurt, but determined. Full or pride; the fuel of fools. But I get it. We're both clearly prideful women, tough, strong. My second cleans up the cut no my lips and tosses some water over my head as well, clearing the sweat a bit. The warning goes off and I stand up, feeling the sorness in my body as the muscles get back to the work of holding me up. Protect the body, counter, make her pay. It's worked so far, no reason it won't still. The bell rings to start the thrid round, the rough crowd in a frenzy as my guard comes up and I come out of my corner. I keep you at length, or at least try too, snapping out two sharp left jabs at that swollen eye as soon as you wade into my range. (R3 :10)

13:08 Valenzuela: I feel a bit better after the 60 second break, still aching, but ready for more of this unarmed combat....a competition between two determined women, neither of who will be back down. In spite of her freaky appearance with the flaming red hair and heavily tattooed body, I like this feisty Gringa. You pump out a couple of jabs towards my face, but these are easily dispatched with my guard. As if they will keep me at a distance.....NOT! I keep circling to my right, keeping my guard up, then push off my trailing back foot, to lunge at you, extending my left leg towards you, even pushing it between your legs to unblance your stance, I swing a right and left hook combo towards your jawline....hoping to twist that pretty face left and then right....

13:08 Valenzuela: (R3 :20)

13:11 BettyBustsYa: You won't be denied as you push in and are practically between my legs. Retreat is not an option right awy as ighr right smacks my head to the side, spreaying sweat into the air. My guard comes up in time to block the left hook with my right glove, deflecting it. I turn my hip and fire a hard shovel hook into towards your solar plexus as you are in close, then try to shove you back hard to get space.

13:17 Valenzuela: I land a big right hook on that jaw line of bouncing Betty, but she stops my left hook on her right guard, and then snaps a shovel hook back into my solar plexus, I tighten my core to mitigate some of the impact, but mouth still opens as a wave of pain spreads through my core....but I wanna stay in close, but suddenly your gloves send me stumbling back a few steps from a rough shove, too up close and personal? I give you a grin and reform my guard....(R3 :30)

13:20 BettyBustsYa: I give you a snarl as you give me a grin. You're a bully, trying to make me fight your fight. Normally I'm down to brawl in tight but that's not what's been winning me this fight. A some swelling and brusing is starting to form on the left side of my face from that hook. I wade back in, but this time I push in, getting in close as my shoulder dips, feinting a body shot before my right fist powers upwards attempting to split your guard and catch you with an uppercut to the chin. (R3 :40)

13:25 Valenzuela: I bounce lightly on my feet, maybe showing off a little, letting the crowd admire the flick of my footwork… gloves raised high, chin tucked. Then your shoulder dips—just enough to spark alarm. My mind flashes body shot, and I don’t want to taste another plexus punch. I bite on the feint, dropping a glove to shield my ribs… and that’s when you explode. Your uppercut rips straight between my guard, BAM! My chin detonates, head snapping skyward, vision flashing white. My legs betray me, stumbling backward in jerky steps until gravity wins, I drop hard onto my ass in the centre of the ring, dazed, mouthguard clenched, the roar of the crowd crashing over me.

 

13:28 BettyBustsYa: It was a classic play and basic boxing strategy, but it works. Take the body, open the head. I feel your sweat and a bit of blow spray on my body as you go down hard. I stand over you for a moment the back off to my corner, breathing heavy, feeling throbbing on the side of my head as the referee comes over to start counting you out.

13:32 Valenzuela: I shake my head, surprised I bought such an obvious feint, but then everything is obvious after the fact. The ref starts his count.....and I decide to take full advantage of the 10 seconds afforded, so at the count of eight, I start to rise, and just before 10, I'm on my feet, shaken, but not stirred as...hehe....the ref checks my gloves, and then backs away as he waves us together and shouts "BOX"....I wobble a little on my feet, and smirk at you....hoping you will come at me hard and fast (R3 1:10)

13:36 BettyBustsYa: I shake out my arms and take in deep breaths as I see you look more surprised that hurt. Well...at least as for why you are on the ground. You milk the count and I'm not exactly sad about that as it lets me get my breath back. I see that smirk as my guard comes back up and I wade back in. You want me to come in hard but I refuse to play your game, instead keeping you at range with a left jab to the eye and a straight right to the plexus, mixing you up and testing just where you are. (R3 1:20)

13:41 Valenzuela: Your jab flicks out, sharp at my eye, but I’m ready, as I twist my head just enough, feeling the leather brush my cheek instead of snapping flush. Then your straight shoots for my plexus, but I dip my elbow down and roll my torso back, letting it thud against forearm and ribs instead of sinking deep into me. A hot sting, yes, but nothing that folds me over. And that’s my moment. My boots screech on the canvas as I surge forward, hips snapping. My right hook arcs in tight toward your temple, aiming to shake your balance. Even before it finishes, my left digs low for your ribs, short and mean, wanting it to hurt bad if I can connect it. Then I rip a straight right, lightening-fast, up the middle for your chin, teeth gritted, spit flying as I growl through the mouthguard. The crowd roars as I sell out on this flurry, wanting to see if my grit and timing can flip the round on its head, maybe take you by surprise as I burn through my energy fast. (R3 1:30)

13:44 BettyBustsYa: My punches don't really give me much and I see that look in your eye and I try to brace myself. Your hook comes in and I get my left arm enough to defelct it, but then your elft digs into my ribs. I let out a groan as the pain quakes through my body, opening my guard. The right then smashes into my chin. My head snaps back, bloody sweaty and spittle flying into the air as I stagger back a step and fall on my ass on the canvas, groaning.

13:50 Valenzuela: The sight of you crumpling down lights a fire in my chest, even as my lungs burn and my ribs ache. My knuckles sting from the crack of that last right hand, but it’s a sweet pain, the kind I’d take all night for this payoff. I stagger a half step forward, chest heaving, blood dripping from my nose, watching you on your ass with that groan spilling out. The crowd’s roar swells, some for me, most in shock that the momentum just flipped. I’ve done this little trick before…..making my opponent think I’m finished, and then surging forward with a burst of energy and brutal counter punching. I don’t lift my gloves high, don’t strut, she can still get up, I think, maybe. Just bare my teeth in a crimson grin, spitting blood to the side. “C’mon, niña…” I growl through the mouthguard, voice ragged. “Get up.” My stance resets, boots screeching on canvas, guard twitching. I’m still hurt, still tired, but the message is clear: I’ve got enough in me to finish if you give me the chance. The ref pushes me to a white corner, and begins to count ONE….TWO…..THREE! R3 1:40

13:57 BettyBustsYa: I roll over on to all fours, my mouthguard falling out on the dirty mat as I struggle to get in some air and shake my head to clear it. That fucking hurt and, like I did to you...body to head. I breath heavy, hard, sweat dripping as the count creeps up. I grab my mouthpiece out of the puddle of bloody spittle and put it back in my mouth. By the count of 6, I'm up on one knee. I milk the rest of the seconds I get and push back up at nine. My guard comes up, I glare in at you. My breath raspy, my brain throbing, but fighters instinct on full. I'm ready to fight. (R3 1:50)

14:04 Valenzuela: I watch you crawl, mouthpiece dripping blood, then force yourself back up at nine. That glare, that stubborn lift of your guard, it makes my lips curl into a crooked grin, even as my lungs burn. You’re alive, but a little shaky. The ref checks you and then waves us together, "BOX!!!!" I know I don't have much time, so want to try to put you away for good this time, take advantage of any disorientation you might have after the knockdown. I roll my shoulders, bouncing light, and throw a lazy left jab toward your guard, just a tester, no meat behind it, just to make your eyes twitch. A heartbeat later I fake a dip at your ribs, selling it with my shoulder, daring you to bite. Then I snap back up, gloves flashing. A stiff right cross straight aimed at your nose, then a left hook arcing low at your ribs to remind you of the body. And keep up the pressure as I twist my hips and rip another right hook, compact and mean, aimed square at your jawline. My breath bursts out in a snarl, spit spraying as I throw the combo tight and fast, wanting so desperately to see your legs crumble all over again. (R3 2:00)

14:08 BettyBustsYa: My guard is tight as I parry away that lazy jab. I see that dip and I try to give myself my best chance. I bring my guard down but also duck, turtling up. Your right sails over my head and your follow up left hits my forearm. I straighen up only to get met with a right hook to my jawline that snap smy head. I stumble flat footed as the bell rings, feeling my back on the ropes. The ref comes in and steps between us, and sends us both to our corners.

14:13 Valenzuela: The bell saves you… but I can feel it, BARISTA, you were on the edge of going down again. My last hook still tingles in my knuckles, the memory of your jaw snapping under it. I spit blood into the bucket as I sink onto the stool, chest heaving, sweat streaking down my bruised ribs. My corner fans me, presses the ice pack to my face, barking advice I barely hear. My one good eye stays locked on you across the ring, slumped on your stool, shoulders rising and falling heavy. “You survived the round,” I mutter through the mouthguard, half to myself, half to you. My grin is crooked, swollen lips split. “But I can see your legs are trembling.” I tap my gloves together, forcing myself upright again as the ref calls “Seconds out!” My lungs burn, my nose still bleeds, but grit’s all I need now. When that bell rings, I’m gonna seriously fuck you up. In spite of my damage, I feel charged up, knowing I won round 3. If I can keep you boxing by my game plan..... DING!

14:16 BettyBustsYa: I slump onto the stool and my corner goes to work on me. They quickly are able to defog my brain as I spit blood into bucket and then take in some water. I feel my corner man fan me and bring the swelling down on my jaw and eye. The bruising on my ribs more obvious now, some light swelling on my right eye. But my conditioning may be paying off here, as my breath regulates over the course of the minute break. I can see you mouthing off to me, and I just give you a grim glare of determination. You got me down once, I've knocked you down twice. I'm determined to finish the job. I stand up as seconds out is called, my guard coming up.

14:17 BettyBustsYa: The bell rings and I come forward, this time more aggressively than before. I'm betting you expect me to be scared, hurting. And I'm hurting, yea, but not scared. I know I can beat you. I get in to range and dip, throwing a meek right hook towards your ribs, trying to sucker you in before my body turns and twist into a overhand left aimed at that swollen eye. (R4 :10)

14:23 Valenzuela: You storm forward, no hesitation, and I brace, thinking maybe you’re bluffing. A meek right hook dips toward my ribs, and I don’t buy it clean, but I still bring my elbow down to meet it, grunting as leather thuds off bone. It’s the second shot that’s the danger… your body twists, that overhand left arcing high and meant for my swollen eye. My guard twitches up late, and I feel the thump of leather slapping across glove and brow as I try to deflect upwards, still, the sting rips through me, that eye flashing white for a heartbeat. Snarling, I bite down on my mouthguard and fire back, trying to make you pay for stepping close. My left jab snaps toward your lips, quick and short, hoping I can snap your head back. Almost before it’s finished, I sling a right uppercut from low, aiming to split your guard and fucking rock your chin. And if you’re still in front of me, I twist into a left hook low to the body, testing whether those ribs I worked over last round are still tender. My lungs burn as they take in air, my face throbs, but I push forward on grit, banking my future on a three-punch counter (R4 :20)

14:25 BettyBustsYa: My left connects, but I can tell not as well as I wanted. It has me in mind of your counter. My head snaps as you reopen my cut lips with that jab. I manage to side step the uppercut though, just getting out of the way the blow comes up. I look to counter hard, my left gloves flying as I twist into a vicious hook to the temple, hoping to catch you with it before you can properly fire that thrid punch. (R4 :30 )

14:31 Valenzuela: Your hook lashes out fast, and I see the blur of your left glove streaking for my temple. I try to roll with it, but BAM!!!!!! it still fucking clips me sharp, my head snapping sideways, sweat and spit spraying. My knees dip, canvas tilting for a beat, but I plant my boots hard, snarl tearing from my throat as I refuse to go down. My ribs are still screaming for attention, my eye still throbs, but I tough it out and answer back. with a short right hand straight down the pipe, aimed at your nose, sharp and mean, then twist my hips and rip a left uppercut, trying to bury it deep into your solar plexus before you can reset from that hook. My breath bursts out with a ragged growl, and I press chest-forward, hoping i can bully you into retreat towards the ropes, this BARISTA is fucking tough I tell myself! I feel an almost outer body experience as I stand toe to toe with you. (R4 :40)

14:35 BettyBustsYa: My hook hits and you roll with it but it still snaps your head soild. I see your knees dip and you wobble, but you don't go down. This chica is fucking tough. You come right back and nails me right in the nose with a sharp right that blurs my vision and has my nose bleeding. I back up instinctively and avoid that uppercut as I blink to clear my vision. I sense the ropes getting close. You press forward and I feint high then dip down, ducking, side stepping, and snapping a hard right hook towards your liver, trying to both get you hard in the body and circle back to open ring. (R4 :50)

14:44 Valenzuela: Your feint flickers high and I twitch my guard, but you dip low, circling sharp, and then, THUD! Your hook slams into my side, just at the fucking  liver, the boxing sweet spot. “NGhhhuuhhh!” The sound rips out of me anyway, my whole body jolting as if someone tore the breath from my lungs. My guard drops, knees buckling as I double over, gagging behind the mouthpiece, vision flashing white. I stagger back half-turned, boots scraping loud against the canvas as I retreat in ragged steps. My right glove clamps across my ribs, the left hangs out in front, trembling a little. My face twists in pain, sweat and blood streaking down, swollen eye blinking through the blur. The crowd roars, sensing I’m on the edge, but pride won’t let me fall. I keep backing away along the ropes, chest heaving, desperate for a few seconds to suck in air and steady my legs. You hit the "off" boxing that every boxer dreams of hitting (R4 1:00)

14:46 BettyBustsYa: That was it, that was the blow I needed to open you up. I bite down on my mouth guard as I give you a determined glare. I stride in with some caution, but I know a pained groan when I hear it. My right fist streaks out with a hard hook aimed for the jawline. My right follows quickly, an uppercut aimed for the stomach. Then I complete the three piece with powerful straight left aimed at the cetner fo your face. (R4 1:10)

14:49 Valenzuela: I hear the roar of the crowd swell, my own breath ragged in my ears, and then your shadow looms in close. That hook tears across, CRACK! smashing my jawline. My head whips, spit and sweat spraying in an arc, knees trembling as I stagger into the ropes. The uppercut to my gut drives in right after, folding me over with a wet grunt, the air ripped from my chest, blood dribbling from my lips. My ribs flare, my abs quiver, and I can barely keep my gloves tight. Then your straight left pistons through, slamming dead into my face. My head snaps back, pain detonating through nose and eye, blood spraying out in a mist. I sprawl against the strands, legs shaky, my body slumped and trembling. Somehow, I dig my glove into the rope to steady myself, refusing to fold, even as my whole body screams. My pride clings on, battered and humiliated, trying to survive your storm (R4 1:20)

14:52 BettyBustsYa: Breathing heavy with effort, my arms feeling heavy as I lay into you. Blood and spittle and sweat flying with each shot, covering us both. You cling to the rope and I turn my hips into a vicious left shove hook aimed at that liver, then follow it with a right uppercut to the chin, tapping in to energy reserves to push real knock out power into the blows. (R4 1:30)

14:56 Valenzuela: Your shove hook drives in low again, THUMP!, just above my liver, and even though it isn’t the cleanest, the shock still rips a broken groan from my chest. My whole body jolts, folding sideways, spit and blood spilling from my lips as the crowd howls for more. Before I can even breathe, your uppercut tears up through the middle. CRACK! My chin snaps skyward, my swollen face stretching with the blow, a spray of sweat bursting into the lights. My arms fling wide for a heartbeat, guard shattered, and I slump into the ropes, gasping like a beaten woman. I can feel every ounce of that youth and weight behind your fists. At twenty-five and twenty pounds heavier, you hit like a sledgehammer compared to me, and my thirty-three-year-old body just can’t answer back now. My pride burns as hot as the pain, but it’s humiliation now, being bullied, overwhelmed, outboxed and made into a spectacle IN MY RING!. The crowd isn’t cheering for my grit anymore; they’re chanting for you to finish me. My gloves twitch at my sides, trembling, trying to rise, but my legs wobble under me. I cling to the rope, chest heaving, blood dripping off my chin onto my cleavage, knowing I’m just seconds from being torn down completely. (R4 1:40)

14:59 BettyBustsYa: Breathing heavier, seeing you sag there, only you pride holding you up as the crowd goes crazy, only a small few cheering for a possible come back. Most see the writing on the wall. I lean in, my glove on your shoulder. "Rematch...anytime...puta..." I his sin your face before my right glove comes up and aims a hammering uppercut towards your solar plexus, looking to rob the last of your air from your body. I then take a step back and launch a power packed left cross to your jawline. (R4 1:50).

15:03 Valenzuela: Your glove presses down on my shoulder, the word puta hissing into my face like acid, and I can’t even summon a snarl back. My mouthpiece is slick with blood, my swollen lips trembling as I wheeze through ragged breaths. Then you explode. WHUUMP! Your uppercut caves into my solar plexus like a wrecking ball. My body jerks forward violently, all the air sucked from my lungs in a single choking groan. My mouthpiece nearly flies out with the cough that rips up my throat, spittle and blood spraying down my chest. My arms fling wide and useless, gloves dangling, ribs burning like fire as my knees knock together. For a second I’m just hanging there, a broken doll on the ropes, tits heaving in my soaked sports bra, my face slack. And then....CRRAACK! Your left cross detonates on my jawline, twisting my head brutally sideways. Spit, sweat, and blood burst into the lights as my body shuts off. My legs fold, arms falling limp, and I topple forward and then curve around from the impact, like a sack of meat, crashing flat on my back with a sickening smack of flesh against canvas. I sprawl spread-eagle tits pointing towards the heavens, under the fading sun, gloves flopped out wide, legs bent awkward and splayed open. My chest rises once, twice, then heaves shallowly, the blood running from my mouth pooling on my cleavage as my eyes flutter back. The crowd erupts in a frenzy, chanting “BETTY! BETTY! BETTY!” as the ref doesn’t even bother to count. He waves his arms over me. I’m fucking done, humiliated, utterly broken. The last thing my fogged brain registers before it shuts down is the sound of your fans screaming and my own pride splintering apart, knowing I didn’t just lose… I was dismantled, claimed, and left for the whole world to see.

15:06 BettyBustsYa: I look down at you with a grin on my face as you hit the mat. The ref steps in and just waves you off and I back off and bring both my hands up. My body is bruised and bloodied. I'm in a lot of pain. But i'm standing tall over you in your own backyard. And crowd chants my name, welcoming me to the backyard fight community here in the barrio. More than just a barista now!