Stafford leaned out of the way of the second jab and popped Vega right back with his own, fast and clean.
Faye leaned forward, eyes wide. “He’s fast.”
Dylan’s focus stayed locked on the cage. “He’s sharp. He’s not wasting anything.”
Vega rushed in after that, throwing bigger punches, swinging for power. Stafford didn’t stand there and trade hits. He took a quick step out, reset his feet, then kicked Vega low in the leg.
The sound of it cut through the crowd.
Faye winced. “Jesus.”
Dylan spoke without looking away. “Those add up. It’ll slow him down.”
Vega fired back and stepped in hard, and Stafford threw a straight punch with his right hand and caught Vega clean in the face. Vega’s head jerked back, but he kept advancing. He dropped low and grabbed at Stafford’s legs, trying to take him down to the mat.
Faye’s voice jumped. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s trying to wrestle,” Dylan answered, still calm. “Get him on the ground.”
Stafford sprawled fast, shooting his legs back and dropping his weight onto Vega’s shoulders to stop the takedown. Vega stayed locked to his legs anyway and kept driving forward, head down. Stafford planted one hand on the mat to steady himself, then used his forearm to push Vega’s head to the side and throw off his grip. Vega still shoved him backward and forced him toward the fence, but Stafford turned his hips, yanked one leg free, and circled away before Vega could lock his hands and finish the takedown.
Faye blinked. “That’s allowed?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s not like boxing. It’s a little bit of everything.”
Vega came forward again and ate another quick jab, then another, and suddenly, Vega looked like he was working harder to get close.
Then the bell ended the first round.
Faye’s eyes flicked to the cage. “What happens now?”
“They sit,” I answered. “Their coaches rush in, give them water, wipe them down, yell instructions, then they shove them back out there.”
Her mouth twisted. “That’s insane.”
“It’s a choice,” I replied. “A choice I don’t understand.”
Dylan’s lips twitched. “You play sports for a living too. Don’t act superior.”
“Baseball doesn’t involve someone trying to choke me,” I shot back.
The minute went fast, then the second round started.
Vega came out aggressively, trying to swarm early. Stafford stayed calm, kept his hands tight, then snapped a quick one-two, one straight punch, then the other, and it landed clean enough that Vega had to stop and reset, blinking hard as blood started to bead at his nose. Faye’s fingers curled around the edge of her seat. “Oh.”
Dylan leaned forward more. “There it is. Timing.”
Stafford kicked Vega’s leg low again. Vega’s stance changed after that. He tried to hide it, but his movement gave him away.
Vega rushed again, more desperate now, and Stafford slipped to the side and cracked him with a right hand that froze Vega for half a beat.
Faye gasped. “Is he going to knock him out?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
Vega dropped low again for another takedown, slower this time. Stafford read it, threw his hips back to stop it, then spun around behind Vega when his momentum carried him forward.
Dylan’s voice dropped. “This is bad for Vega.”
