UCC (UMMA) Managers & Fans Forum

Blindfold Tournament Round 2 -

Laura Marano vs Joey King

Fighter Profiles & Tale of the Tape



Laura Marano

• Age: 28 (born November 29, 1995)
• Height: 5'2" (157 cm)
• Weight: 108 lbs (49 kg)
• Reach: 62" (157 cm)
• Background: Actress and singer with deep roots in the UCC. Laura has a chip on her shoulder, born from rivalries and bitter battles — especially against Dove Cameron. She’s been through every type of fight in the league and always comes back smarter, tougher, and meaner.
• Style: Gritty volume puncher. Applies non-stop pressure, throws in bunches, and loves to swarm smaller opponents. Thrives in toe-to-toe wars, fueled by pride and emotion. Laura will throw down with anyone any time and never backs down.

Joey King

• Age: 25 (born July 30, 1999)
• Height: 5'4" (163 cm)
• Weight: 112 lbs (51 kg)
• Reach: 64" (163 cm)
• Background: Emmy-nominated actress who’s proven to be a fierce competitor in the UCC. With her physicality, acting discipline, and surprising athleticism, Joey has rapidly risen through the ranks. She’s also had tense encounters with Laura in the past, creating a layered personal rivalry.
• Style: Technical bruiser. Strong on fundamentals, with tight defense and a punishing jab. She works behind a disciplined guard and doesn’t let emotion dictate pace — unless provoked.

Pre-Fight Odds & Analysis

Odds: Joey King (-110) vs. Laura Marano (+100)

Analysis:

This one’s a toss-up. Joey has the edge in height, reach, and recent momentum. Her jab and physical strength could keep Laura on the outside and force her into awkward angles. If Joey stays patient, she could bank rounds with smart boxing and use her strength to break Laura down.
But Laura’s not a fighter you want in your face. She’ll bring pressure from the opening bell, and her cardio and fury can overwhelm opponents who can’t match her volume. If Laura gets inside consistently, Joey might get dragged into the kind of brawl she usually avoids. The kind  of  fight that Laura  lives for.

The Spark:

These two don’t just know each other — they despise each other. No grudge needs explaining, no insult needs recalling. Every stare, every breath, every motion is drenched in hostility. What starts as a calculated chess match quickly frays at the edges. The moment someone lands clean, emotion takes the wheel. The one who controls their fury… wins the war.

The Reveal:

Both fighters are led into the ring, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. They’re guided closer… and closer… until they can feel the heat radiating from the other’s body, catch the scent of sweat, tension, and adrenaline. The space between them crackles.

The announcer begins the countdown.

When the blindfolds come off—the arena erupts.
Laura’s jaw tightens, eyes locked.

Joey claps her gloves together—CRACK!—and shouts, “YES! YES! YES!” already bouncing on her toes like a coiled spring.

There’s no respect, no restraint. The ref steps between them and begins reading the rules—but it’s wasted breath. Neither woman hears a word. They’re already imagining the first punch, the first scream, the first tear. All that matters now… is the fight.

Round 1:

Venue: UCC Arena, Lights blazing, crowd roaring, and two hated rivals face to face once again.
The bell rings — and they don’t hesitate.

Laura Marano bursts from her corner with uncontained intensity, her body coiled like a spring. She barrels across the canvas, head tucked, gloves up, and throws a stiff jab that grazes Joey King’s temple. Without pause, she follows with a wide right hand that thumps off Joey’s bicep.

Joey blinks, not stunned but clearly caught off-guard by the immediate onslaught. She takes a quick step back, resets her footing, and raises her jab. Her posture is textbook — tight guard, eyes focused, chin tucked. She starts circling, letting Laura’s aggression rush past her like a wave.

But Laura’s pressure is unrelenting. She cuts the cage off sharply and drills a short hook under Joey’s ribs, followed by a glancing overhand right that just misses clean contact. The crowd responds with a sharp roar, already tuned in to the animosity simmering between them.

Joey recalibrates, finding rhythm behind her jab. A stiff double jab catches Laura coming in, and Joey finishes with a crisp straight right that snaps Laura’s head back. It’s a beautiful sequence — all timing and precision — and it halts Laura’s forward surge momentarily.

But only momentarily.

Laura ducks low and fires a looping left to the belly, following it up with a shoulder bump and another clubbing right to the body. Joey counters with a quick left hook that lands flush to Laura’s jaw, but Laura eats it and keeps grinding forward. Step by purposeful step Laura closes ranks.

The midpoint of the round is a battle of pace vs. precision. Joey is trying to stay technical — jabs, angles, controlled movement — but Laura is dragging her into the trenches. At one moment near the ropes, Laura drives her forehead into Joey’s shoulder, pinning her there just long enough to rip a left-right to the body. Joey responds with a short right to the side of Laura’s head before the referee steps in and separates them.

They break — and stare daggers.

“You like that, King?”

With twenty seconds left, Joey uses her footwork, flicking jabs and trying to slow the tempo. Laura, undeterred, times a slip and blasts a straight right to the midsection. Joey grunts and answers with a sharp jab, but Laura smothers her again, throwing in tight, messy punches.

Thirty seconds. The crowd is on their feet.

Laura surges again, letting her hands fly in close quarters. A left hook to Joey’s body lands solidly, followed by a sweeping right that crashes off Joey’s ribs. Joey winces but fires back — a snapping right cross that catches Laura clean on the cheek.

They’re toe-to-toe now, chests heaving, eyes locked, and neither one willing to take a backward step.

Laura ducks under a jab and rips a compact left uppercut that grazes Joey’s jaw. Joey counters with a short hook to the side of the head, then a chopping right hand over the top — both land, but Laura still keeps pressing just bullying Joey back.

Just as the clapper hits the final second, Laura hammers a thudding shot under Joey’s left breast — not quite a knockdown blow, but it stiffens Joey up just before the bell.
 
DING! DING! DING!
They separate slowly, reluctantly. Laura turns and walks to her corner, jaw clenched, chest rising with adrenaline. Joey lingers for a moment then gather herself, wiping a bit of blood from the corner of her mouth before following suit.

In both corners, trainers get to work — ice bags to ribs, quick instructions, measured breathing.

Score: 10-9 Laura Marano (barely)

Round 2:

Between rounds, neither corner is calm. Joey’s trainer is barking for more discipline and footwork. Laura’s team is fanning her like she’s a wildfire that might burn out early if not controlled. Both women are scowling, glaring across the cage.

As the bell rings for Round 2 — boom. They don’t box. They charge with hate and malice in their  eyes.
Joey closes the gap first and cracks Laura with a flush right cross. Laura’s head snaps back, but she answers instantly with a brutal hook to the ribs and a slap of leather to Joey’s ear. The two women tangle in close, throwing furious, hateful shots — breast-to-breast, forehead-to-forehead, trading uppercuts and body blows like they’re in an alley brawl.

The ref tries to separate them as they clinch and grind, but neither listens. Joey shoves Laura back, screaming something unheard over the crowd, and Laura answers by slapping Joey across the face with the back of her glove — an insult more than a strike.

The ref gets between them and warns both. The crowd is on its feet now.

When action resumes, Joey tightens up, landing a stiff jab and then a picture-perfect straight right that rocks Laura’s head. And this one stuns Laura! Laura stumbles back two steps — Joey pursues, tagging her again — but Laura sets her back foot and fires back, digging a left hook to the belly and launching a wild right that clips Joey’s jaw.

The final ten seconds sound, and neither waits. They both launch at each other, gloves flying, tangled in fury as the bell rings. They keep throwing. The ref dives in to stop it, and both women shove him aside and keep fighting until corner crews storm the cage to pull them apart.

The heat is real.

Score: 10-9 Joey King (barely)

Total Score:  19-19  Even

This just became a war.

Round 3:

The tension is volcanic as Round 3 begins. Laura and Joey both refused to sit between rounds. Both were pacing, jawing, pushing their cornermen away. Security lingers cage-side now, just in case. The bad blood is unmistakable.

The bell rings — and this time, they don’t charge blindly. Both fighters come out cautious, but coiled. Joey is light on her feet shuffling and side stepping whl Laura is  flat footed her biceps rippling with held back eneergy.

Joey tries to reestablish her jab, keeping Laura at bay with long pokes and feints. Laura circles, head low, eyes locked on Joey’s torso. She’s calculating — biding her time.

A minute in, Laura explodes forward with a level change and CRACK — she lands a huge overhand right flush on Joey’s chin! Joey staggers back, dazed — Laura pounces.

Body, body, head! The combos are vicious. Joey covers up, but Laura digs a left hook to the liver that visibly freezes Joey in place. Laura shifts her hips, and…

BOOM! A short right uppercut detonates on Joey’s jaw.
Joey's body gives and she collapses, folds, down on one knee — one glove on the mat, the other clutched to her ribs. Her mouth is open, breathing hard. She’s hurt.

The ref starts the count.

“ONE! TWO! THREE!”


Joey’s eyes are clear, but her body’s not ready. At “SEVEN”, she finally pushes herself up, red-faced and furious. She beats the count — but she is still in trouble as her legs are shaky.

Laura’s already pacing, motioning come on. She wants to finish this now. Put her hated rival down for the count.
The final 30 seconds are wild. Laura smothers Joey against the cage with furious hooks, screaming as she punches. Joey fights back, but she’s in survival mode — clinching, ducking, holding on for dear life.

The bell rings and the ref forces separation again but Laura is on a mission and drives punches  deep into Joey's core. “WARNING NUMBER ONE!” Laura throws her hands up. Joey stumbles to her corner, biting down on the pain.

Score: 10-8 Laura Marano

Total Score: 29-27 Laura

Joey’s in trouble. Laura smells blood.

Round 4:
 
The damage is starting to show on both women — bruises blossoming under their eyes, lips split, ribs flushed red from thudding impacts. But neither is backing down. This isn’t strategy anymore. It’s pride. It’s personal.

Laura storms out with bad intentions. She know she has Joey in trouble and isn't about to let up. She’s found success and pounded on Joey core, and now she’s gunning for Joey’s head. Her eyes are locked in like a predator. She starts launching combinations the moment she’s in range — right hooks, straight lefts, looping overhands.


Joey’s guard absorbs some, but not all — a stinging left cross snaps her head back early. It's a clinic as  Laura is mixing it up. Shot to the jaw, an uppercut to the breast, a snap jab to the nose and Joey is guessing and guessing wrong most of the time.

But Joey’s not folding. She tightens up her stance and leans into her strength — body work.

While Laura goes for the knockout, Joey slips inside and begins digging to the ribs. Her punches are short, compact, mean — the kind that sap your will. A right hook under the elbow draws a hiss from Laura. A second one has her backpedaling, arms dropping slightly, elbows tucked into the ribs. Joey presses in, muscles rippling as she buries a left to the solar plexus. Laura groans, visibly hurt.

The round becomes a contrast in styles.

Laura — wild, emotional, throwing bombs up top.

Joey — cold, surgical, punishing the body with every opening.

Blood smears both fighters now — Laura’s nose is leaking, a crimson line dribbling onto her chest. Joey’s left eye is swelling, turning purple from the headhunting barrage.

Midway through the round, Laura rocks Joey again with an overhand right. Joey stumbles, but instinctively clinches. They fight in the clinch like alley cats, heads grinding, shoulders slamming, both grunting with effort and hatred. Even an errant knee to the thigh lands as  both women go all out.
 
The round ends with Laura winging a desperate right hook that glances off Joey’s temple just before the bell.
They stare each other down, bloody and breathing hard.

“You want some more, Marano?”

“Bring it chubs, bring it!”

Score: 10-9 Joey King

Total Score: 38-37 Laura

Both are hurting. But Joey’s investment to the body is starting to pay off and the tide has turned.
 
Round 5:
 
Both corners worked furiously between rounds, trying to patch up the growing wreckage. Laura’s nose is still trickling blood. Joey’s left eye is swelling grotesquely, pulsing red and blue under a thin sheen of Vaseline. But when the bell rings, both charge out like they’re chasing revenge.

Joey wastes no time. She’s heard enough from Laura’s mouth between rounds, and now she’s done playing nice. She ducks under Laura’s opening jab, steps in tight, and drills a short left hook into the meat of Laura’s right side — just beneath the ribs. Laura’s body jolts, her lips part in a strangled yelp, and she instinctively folds inward.

Joey smells blood.

She stays close, head on Laura’s shoulder, and PUMMELS her midsection with both hands. Left-right-left, right, and left again, digging into the liver, gut, spleen, and  those tender pink abs. Laura’s gloves drop and her knees buckle. She tries to clinch — can’t.

THWACK! A savage right uppercut under the breasts lands clean.

Laura’s mouth opens in a guttural gasp. Her legs give out. OMG! OMG! Laura drops hard to her knees, then topples onto her side, clutching her ravished core with both gloves, curled in pain like she’s been gut-shot. Her face contorts, eyes clenched, spittle hanging from her mouth as the ref begins to count.

“ONE… TWO…”

Joey paces in a slow circle, glaring down at Laura, her own chest heaving, blood dripping from her busted lip.  She looks down at her hated rival and raises her hands and lets out a guttural scream.

“Get up! Get your ass up you weakling!”

“…FOUR… FIVE…”

“Get up! Get your ass up!” shouts Joey.

Laura’s corner is screaming for her to breathe, to get up. She rolls to her hands and knees, trembling, and is barely moving at 6. Joey raises her hands and heads to her corner confident that Laura is down for the count.

“Seven . . . . . Eight . . . .
 
The refs count is more measured, more deliberate giving Laura a fair shot at beating the count.
Laura gasps,  Sucks in some air and pulls herself up, barely beating the count at nine, Her face twisted in agony. The crowd roars, half stunned she’s up at all.

The ref gives her a hard look…
 
“You sure you want to do this?”

Laura gives the ref a shove as Joey's corner stop her celebration and wipe the blood from her face.

The refs shakes Laura's  gloves and satisfied with some resistance waves them back in. Joey snarls, “Next time, you don’t get up.”

Joey drives forward like a train throwing everything at her stunned opponent but Laura takes some clean open shots but survives the final seconds by clinching for dear life.

Score: 10-8 Joey King

Total Score: 47-46 Joey

That body shot should’ve ended it. Laura’s toughness just kept this fight alive — but barely.

Laura is slow to her corner who frantically clean her up and let her know in no uncertain terms that she needs to be dominant in the final round but her body language tell a different story. Her head hangs low and she can't seem to catch her breath. The referee is in The Awesome Aries corner and it look like this fight might be called as Laura is unresponsive. Smelling salts are needed and Laura's head shoot up and she looks at the ref.

“Get the f^ck out of my face!?

The referee backs off and will let the fight continue but Laura will be on  a very short leash.

Joey's eye is almost closed but she has her legs under her and knows that is she drops Laura again then the fight is hers.
 
“Take the big mouth out. Go to the body then uppercut, uppercut, uppercut. Joey nods and is off her stool early heading straight towards Laura who is still on her stool, eyes vacant as the finish icing her down.

ROUND 6: Final Round

The sixth and final round opens with the momentum clearly on Joey King’s side. Her knockdown in the previous round has put her in a commanding position, both in terms of scorecards and confidence. Laura Marano body is on fire and she knows she’s behind and needs something big to turn this around.

As the bell sounds, Laura wastes no time.

She comes forward aggressively, throwing a crisp jab to establish distance, then follows with a quick right cross that clips Joey on the chin. Joey raises her guard and backs a step and is clearly not prepared for Laura's fast start. Joey backpedals but Laura keeps the pressure on. She angles slightly to her left and fires a compact left hook, slamming into Joey’s left breast and drawing a grunt.

Joey circles out, trying to reset, but Laura isn’t giving her the space. You wouldn't know that she was the smaller fighter as she out-muscles Joey pushing her with her mitts and using her shoulder to control the shocked Princess.

Laura throws an overhand right, aiming to catch Joey high on the temple — a potential fight-finisher — but Joey reads it. She ducks under cleanly and counters with a tight left shovel hook that lands flush just above Laura’s waistband, directly into the solar plexus.

The effect is immediate as the crushing blow stops Laura in her tracks.

Laura exhales hard and doubles over slightly, her mouthguard slipping from her lips and landing on the mat with a soft bounce. She grimaces trying her best to keep her balance but drops to one knee, both gloves on the canvas as she struggles to regain her breath. It’s not a clean knockout — it’s a perfectly placed punch that shuts down her diaphragm.

The referee steps in and starts the count.

“One… two… three…”

Laura’s corner is on its feet, slapping the canvas and yelling for her to rise. She’s breathing shallow and fast, her face tight with pain. But she nods at the ref and pushes herself upright slowly.

“Eight!”

She’s on her feet. Laura is somehow on her feet.

The referee gives her a close look — eyes steady, gloves raised, knees stable. After a brief check, the fight is allowed to continue.

Joey comes forward cautiously, sensing an opportunity to finish, but Laura adjusts her stance defensively. Joey throws a quick left jab, but Laura slips it, then catches Joey with a compact hook to the ribs. The sound is dull and heavy — a clean body shot.

Joey shifts back, and Laura presses.

She strings together a sharp one-two — the jab catching Joey high on the nose, the cross landing squarely on her lips. Joey’s head snaps slightly, but she stays upright. Laura follows with a short left hook to the body, then a looping right hand over the top that glances off Joey’s shoulder.

Joey fires back.

She lands a right cross that connects with Laura’s jaw, followed by a left hook that grazes the cheekbone. Laura counters instantly — a tight hook to the jaw that lands clean, turning Joey’s head. Neither woman is backing down now.

They find themselves at close range — inside each other’s reach — and the exchanges turn brutal.

Joey lands a stiff left-right combo to Laura’s face, then steps in with an uppercut that drives Laura’s head back. Laura responds with a quick straight right that snaps Joey’s nose. Blood sprays lightly from the contact. Joey’s eyes squint, and her breathing audibly changes.

Her footwork falters for a moment, and she throws a wild left that Laura ducks easily.

Laura stays compact, arms tucked in tight, legs slightly bent. Laura pivots to the left, ducks under a right then gets inside, and fires a clean right hook to Joey’s floating ribs. Joey winces visibly.

Laura follows up with an uppercut to the chin, then changes levels with a short, tight punch aimed just below Joey’s belly button. The shot lands with surgical precision and Laura holds it for an extra second.

Joey’s reaction is immediate and involuntary. Her knees buckle.

She folds forward, arms dropping, her breathing choked.

And then she sinks down, first to one knee, then both, hands barely catching her fall.

The referee’s count reaches “Nine…!” and Joey King forces herself upright. Her shoulders tremble, abdomen fluttering with shallow, rapid breaths, but her gloves come up and her eyes stay clear enough to convince the official. He wipes her gloves, steps aside, and signals them in.

Laura Marano advances immediately, wary but determined. Joey, sucking air through a bloody mouth-guard, waves her forward in a defiant come-on gesture that draws a roar from the crowd. Both corners shout conflicting commands—Laura’s urging a finish, Joey’s begging for movement—but inside the cage the fighters listen only to each other’s heartbeat.

They meet at mid-range, neither giving an inch. Laura probes with a jab that snaps Joey’s head back, then Joey answers with a right cross that grazes Laura’s cheek. The impact is enough to remind Laura not to get careless. She changes elevation, feints a hook upstairs, then digs a short right into Joey’s ribs. The thud echoes; Joey’s back foot skids half a step, but she immediately drills a compact left hook into the soft tissue under Laura’s right breast, drawing a sharp yelp.

For fifteen furious seconds they trade at pocket-knife distance—shoulders brushing, gloves blurring in tight arcs. Laura lands a quick four-punch combination: jab-cross, left uppercut to the sternum, short right to the jaw. Joey soaks it up and counters with a textbook shoulder roll, whipping a hook across Laura’s ribs that rattles the brunette’s frame. Both women’s torsos are blotched with purple bruises; each exhale is a growl.

Joey’s corner is frantic now. “Back off! Use the clock!” But pride overrides tactics. Joey plants her lead foot, doubles her jab, and steps in with a looping right intended for Laura’s temple. Laura sees the shoulder twitch and slips inside the arc, rolling under and to Joey’s left. In that half beat of exposure, she fires a tight uppercut straight into Joey’s right breast—tucked in deep into the tender underside,. It's  sharp, clean and brutal. Joey’s face contorts; a strangled cry escapes as she staggers.

Laura presses the advantage, driving a left hook into the body just above the liver, then repeating it a shade lower. Joey grits her teeth and returns fire with an overhand right that clips the crown of Laura’s head, but Laura’s momentum carries her forward. She digs another right hook into Joey’s ribs, forcing a deeper bend at the waist.
 
The crowd senses a turning tide. Laura is punching first and last in every exchange, and Joey’s counters are a beat late. Laura keeps her elbows tucked, hips rotating efficiently, minimizing wasted motion. She works behind short combinations—two, sometimes three shots—before resetting her feet to avoid Joey’s return.

One minute remains. The timekeeper’s clap against the ring post echoes like a starter pistol.

Joey knows she can coast to a decision if she survives, but survival isn’t in her blood tonight. She hates Laura and everything she stands for.  Joey plants her feet and invites the firefight. Gloves near her temples, she crowds


Laura and unloads: left hook to the jaw, right hook to the ribs, left uppercut that barely misses the tip of Laura’s chin. Laura answers with a textbook cross-hook-cross sequence, finishing with a rippling right hand that splits Joey’s lip anew.

Sweat and blood mist the air. Their foreheads nearly collide as they reset. The arena noise fades into a dull roar in Laura’s ears; her world narrows to a set of bruised ribs, a heaving chest, and the faint hitch in Joey’s breathing.

Laura dips to her right, torso coiled like a spring. Joey anticipates a body hook and starts to drop her elbow—but Laura fires a blistering straight left upstairs, checking Joey’s head in place. Pop. Joey’s eyes flash. In the same heartbeat, Laura torques her hips and unleashes a left hook aimed an inch above Joey’s waistline—the exact location of the liver.

Contact.

Everything in Joey’s frame seizes. Her torso locks, mouth gaping in silent agony. The crowd’s roar becomes one long gasp. Joey’s gloves droop, elbows floating nowhere. Laura sees the freeze and, almost on autopilot, pivots and snaps a compact right hook that lands flush on the side of Joey’s ear. The equilibrium shot finishes what the liver punch started.

Joey’s knees unhinge. Her body tilts forward, momentum gone, and she collapses face-first grabbing onto Laura as she falls forward. Laura instinctively wraps her arms around Joey but the dead weight is too heavy and Laura lets go letting Joey's limp body slide down her chest. Joey hits the canvas face first. The impact is heavy, final. Laura backs to a neutral corner, leaning against the ropes, chest pumping like a bellows while the referee begins the second count of the round.

“ONE… TWO…”

Joey’s fingers claw at the mat, trying to drag herself toward the nearest strand.

“THREE… FOUR…”


She reaches the lower rope, but her arms shake violently.

“FIVE…”

Joey plants a glove, starts to push—and the limb gives out. She slips, her full breasts pressing to the canvas once more mushrooming out nearly breaking free from her top.

“SIX… SEVEN…”

Laura watches, eyes wide, almost unwilling to believe.

“EIGHT… NINE…”

Joey’s corner has gone silent, realization settling in.

“TEN! JOEY IS OUT!”

The referee waves his arms. Knockout victory—Laura Marano. There are only twenty seconds left on the clock when the bout is officially halted.

Laura body gives out as she slumps to her knees in equal parts exhaustion and relief, gloves resting on her thighs. The arena erupts—half ecstatic, half stunned—while medical staff rush to Joey, who is now on her back, eyes blinking but consciousness intact. Laura’s corner floods the cage, lifting her to her feet, arms around her shoulders. A battered smile splits Laura’s blood-smeared face as the announcer’s voice booms overhead:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner by knockout, at two minutes, forty seconds of Round Six… LAAAUURA
MARAAANO!”

Post-Fight: After the War:

Laura Marano winced as her gloves were peeled away, each knuckle aching, her ribs sore with every breath. Sweat clung to her skin, her top soaked and stained with the aftermath of battle, and the bruising across her torso already beginning to darken. Her nose bled slowly, and one eye was starting to swell. But none of it mattered — not right now. She had done it. She not only beat Joey, she knocked  her out.

She raised a trembling fist to the crowd, who erupted in response. Her corner team lifted her arms, yelling with pride, hugging her tightly despite her obvious pain. Laura smiled through the exhaustion, tears of relief forming in her eyes. She could barely stand straight, but she walked around the ring slowly, hand over her heart, thanking her fans.

She had been down. Beaten to the point of blacking out. But she never quit. Giving in was never part of the equation for Laura.
 
Across the cage, Joey King sat on her stool, head bowed, chest rising and falling as she tried to slow her breathing. Her body hurt everywhere — the liver shot still throbbed like an open wound, and her ear rang from the final hook that floored her. Her team knelt beside her, trying to console her, but she barely responded as she tried to focus with her one good eye. The pain wasn’t just physical.

She knew. She had the fight won. She could feel it in the rhythm, in the corner’s confidence between rounds. She was twenty seconds from victory. But she’d stood her ground and traded. Pride had taken the wheel — and now she was staring at the canvas, listening to the crowd cheer for Laura.

Eventually, she looked up. Across the cage, Laura caught her gaze and gave a solemn nod. A mutual respect. A silent acknowledgment of a fight that neither would forget.

Joey looked down again, shaking her head softly. It had been hers — and in  her mind she let it slip.

Inside the Locker Room – Laura Marano Interview

The scene inside Laura Marano’s locker room was equal parts chaos and recovery. Trainers hovered around her, checking her ribs, wiping blood from her nose, and dabbing a swollen eye with an ice pack. Laura sat hunched forward on a bench, arms draped over her thighs, a towel over her shoulders, her chest still rising and falling from the war she'd just survived.

The door swung open. The interviewer stepped in—camera crew behind her—and didn’t waste any time.

Interviewer: “Laura, congratulations on the win. But let’s be honest—you were losing. Badly. Did you really think you were coming back? Because from the outside, it didn’t look good as Joey seemed to have your number tonight.”

Laura blinked, clearly still in pain, but leaned forward and met the question head-on.

Laura: “Did I think I was coming back? I knew I wasn’t done. That’s the difference. You don’t stop believing in yourself just because you’re down. You fight. You drag yourself up and you keep fighting.”

Interviewer: “But Joey was dominating. A lot of people had her ahead, way ahead and basically all she had to do was keep out of range and the fight was hers. Who won this fight in your eyes? Was it you—or Joey?”
Laura’s nostrils flared. The towel slipped off her shoulder.

Laura: “Well you know what? I won. You saw it. She was on the canvas. Face down. Not moving. I knocked her out. What more do you want?”

Interviewer: “Were you surprised you got her to brawl with you? All she had to do was stay clear and she would’ve walked out with the win.”

Laura (cutting in): “I didn’t sucker Joey into anything. This is a f^cking boxing match. You don’t run away, you stand and fight. That’s what we’re here to do and to be honest I give her credit. She could have been a puzzy and danced away and would have had to live with it but she put her gloves up and the better woman won.”

Interviewer: “But she had the fight. She had you beat…”

Laura (furious now): “Listen. It was a close fight and I won. I knocked that smug little grin off her lips. Knocked her the b!tch out. I won. Now drop it. She didn’t win. She got dropped and stayed down. That’s what happened.”

Interviewer: “Would you give her a rematch?”

Laura: “Hell yes. We’ve met in the ring twice. I’ll make it three in a row anytime she wants it.”

Interviewer: “You’re headed to the finals now. Are you physically ready for another six-round war?”
Laura stood slowly, wincing but proud. She peeled the ice pack from her eye and stared straight into the lens.

Laura: “I’ve been in worse shape than this and fought better fighters. I’ll be just fine. Trust me, I'll  be fine!”
She took a breath, then added coldly:

Laura: “Now leave me alone… unless you’ve got any more stupid questions.”
And with that, she turned her back, her team moving in to finish the job of putting their champion back together.

Inside Joey King’s Locker Room – Post-Fight Interview

The mood in Joey King’s locker room was a sharp contrast to the victorious energy across the hall. Quiet, heavy, and raw. Joey sat hunched on a stool, a towel draped over her shoulders, head down, her face swollen and flushed with both effort and heartbreak. Her chest rose and fell slowly, each breath a reminder of what had just happened.

A cutwoman gently dabbed at her busted lip. Another trainer wrapped ice in a towel and pressed it to her ribs. Around her, teammates murmured words of comfort, but nothing could reach her right now. She wasn’t just in pain—she was consumed by it.

The interviewer entered slowly, the cameraman hesitant. Joey didn’t look up.

Interviewer: “Joey… tough loss tonight. You had the fight on points. You were ahead. Why did you stand toe-to-toe with Laura when you didn’t need to?”

Joey looked up slowly, her eyes red and glassy. She wasn’t crying, but she was damn close.

Joey: “Listen… I hate Laura. Everybody knows that. If I ran from her? If I coasted through the final minute? She’d be on social media before the sweat dried calling me a puzzy. And I’m not a puzzy.”

She spat into a bucket beside her, wincing as the pain in her ribs reminded her what standing her ground had cost.

Interviewer: “She went after your chest hard. That seemed to really set you off. Was that deliberate on her part?”

Joey gave a bitter, dry laugh.

Joey: “What do you think? Of course it was. Laura loves working the breasts. We all remember what she did to Olivia Rodrigo. That was one of the worst breast beatings in history. So yeah… I knew she was gonna go there. I just wasn’t ready for how bad it would hurt.”

Interviewer: “But did it break your composure?”

Joey’s eyes darkened, jaw tight.

Joey: “Of course it did. It pissed me off. That’s what she wanted. She wanted me angry. And I gave it to her.”

Interviewer: “Final sequence. Was it the liver shot or the hook to the belly that ended it?”

She leaned back slightly, letting the ice rest on her ribs as she thought about it. Her voice dropped, almost a whisper.

Joey: “Both of us were hurting—bad. But that last shot? It was borderline. Close to a low blow, but probably legal. She caught me wide open and buried it. I mean… it was like my body shut off. I wanted to get up. I really did. I tried. I  gave  it everything I had but I couldn’t get my legs under me. My hands wouldn’t grip the ropes. It was over.”

She paused. Her voice crackkeed just slightly.

Joey: “She won. Yeah. She won. I let it slip away. And I’ll live with that until the day we meet again.”

Interviewer: “If you meet again will you change your strategy and maybe keep from going toe to toe with on of the fiercest brawlers in the UCC?”

Joey: “Listen, I hate the b!tches guts but I know who she is and how she fights. She is tough as they come and everyone in the UCC knows that to beat Laura you have to knock her clean out. If you don't she's getting back up and coming straight at you. I thought I had her a couple of times, probably should have won especially in the fifth when the count slowed down but that's on me. I had her in trouble and let her off. Next time we meet this isn't happening and that isn't a threat, it's a promise.”

Joey pulled the towel over her face and slumped forward. Her trainer stepped between her and the camera.

Trainer: “That’s enough. Everybody OUT!”

The interviewer nodded quietly and stepped back. The door closed behind them as the room faded into silence, the only sound Joey’s quiet breathing beneath the towel, carrying the weight of a fight that was hers—until it wasn’t.

Written by the Badass Barbies

Sin City Slugfest VI
Blind Fold Match
Dakota Fanning vs Sydney Sweeney



Fighter Profiles & Tale of the Tape

Dakota Fanning

• Age: 30 (born February 23, 1994)
• Height: 5'4" (163 cm)
• Weight: 121 lbs (50 kg)
• Reach: 65" (163 cm)
• Background: Dakota is an accomplished actress known for her roles in various films and series. While not publicly known for athletic pursuits, her dedication to kick boxing suggest a strong work ethic and mental fortitude.
• Style: Likely to rely on agility and strategic movement, using her reach to maintain distance and capitalize on counterattacks.

Sydney Sweeney

• Age: 27 (born September 12, 1997)
• Height: 5'3.5" (161 cm)
• Weight: 119 lbs (54 kg)
• Reach: 62" (160 cm)
• Background: Sydney has a background in combat sports, including boxing and MMA training, which she has pursued for roles and personal fitness.
• Style: Aggressive and powerful, utilizing her combat training to deliver strong punches and maintain pressure on her opponent.

Pre-Fight Odds & Analysis
 
Odds: Sydney Sweeney (-120) vs. Dakota Fanning (+115)

Analysis: Sydney's combat sports background and physical strength give her a very slight edge in this matchup. Dakota's reach,  speed, agility and strategic mindset could counter Sydney's aggression if she effectively manages distance and timing.

Strategic Considerations

• Dakota's Approach: She should focus on maintaining distance, using her reach advantage to land counterpunches and avoid close exchanges.
• Sydney's Approach: Utilize her strength and combat training to close the distance quickly, applying pressure and aiming for powerful body shots to wear down Dakota.

Round 1:

The bell rang — and the crowd held its breath. The blindfolds had only come off seconds earlier, and when Sydney Sweeney and Dakota Fanning locked eyes for the first time in the center of the ring, the realization hit both women like a thunderclap. They immediately knew that they were from  rival stables and without any encouragement they each knew what was  expected of them. Completely destroy the other woman. No words were exchanged. No smirks. No glares. Just pure, focused fury — the kind that can only simmer beneath the surface until it explodes in a slugfest.

And Sydney exploded first. With a grunt, she launched herself forward like a bullet from a gun, her gloves snapping up in front of her face, her movement crisp and deliberate. Dakota, caught slightly flat-footed, managed to get her guard up in time, but Sydney was already in her face, cutting the ring in half, walking her down with utter confidence.

Hooks to the ribs, uppercuts into the solar plexus, and a short overhand right that clipped Dakota on the ear and made her stumble back two steps. Sydney was bullying her — plain and simple. Dakota tried circling, tried keeping distance, but the busty juggernaut kept her grounded with relentless body work. Her gloves thudded into Dakota’s sides like a drumline.

Dakota’s jab flicked out in retreat — not meaningless, but not enough to slow Sydney’s charge. A couple landed flush, but they were range-finders, not damage dealers. Sydney kept slipping them, ducking low and digging to the body. Two minutes in, it looked like Dakota was already getting overwhelmed.

Laura Marano was in Dakota's corner and shouting instructions — “Stick and move! Circle out! Don’t trade inside!” — but Sydney was pressing, pounding, punishing.

Then, with under a minute to go, everything changed. Sydney stepped in with another right to the ribs — but she over committed. She leaned just a little too far forward, her weight coming off balance. Dakota, retreating, paused — and let fly.

A lightning-fast straight left. It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t even part of a combo. It was a desperate, instinctive, textbook-perfect counter punch. Sydney’s eyes widened as it landed square on her chin right on the button. Sydney's head jolted back. Her knees buckled. Her arms froze. And just like that, the unstoppable force collapsed.

Sydney fell straight to her backside, blinking at the lights overhead, mouth slightly open in shock, her legs splayed as if someone had yanked the power cord. The arena exploded in disbelief. Dakota stood frozen, eyes wide, staring down at the woman she had barely been surviving against for most of the round.Sydney blinked, shook her head, and slapped the canvas once before pushing herself up to her knees. The ref was counting. 

“Four... Five...”

“Six... Seven...”

She took a breath, then stood at Eight — arms up, jaw clenched, nodding to the official.

“I’m good,” she growled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

The ref gave her a hard look, then waved the fight back on. Dakota surged forward, her corner screaming at her, “SUGAR T!TS IS DONE! FINISH HER!”

But Sydney wasn’t out of it — not by a long shot.

She circled, gloves tight, footwork firm, and weathered Dakota’s last push. Dakota, trying to close the gap, didn’t have the speed or power to capitalize. She let her hands go, but Sydney covered up, clinched, tied her up, and burned the clock as Dakota pounded away with everything she had until the bell rang. Dakota raised her arms and Sydney took a step back her left leg almost collapsing still reeling from the after effects knock down.

The crowd was split — some screaming for Dakota’s miracle punch, others in awe of Sydney’s early destruction. Both corners were frenzied. Dakota’s team shouted with glee, slapping her shoulders, yelling about how she just stole the round. Sydney’s crew got ice on her neck, barked about staying composed, and reminded her she had nearly knocked Dakota out for two full minutes.

Back in their stools, both women stared across the ring — breathless, bruised, and now very aware of exactly who they were up against. This was far from over.

Score: 10-8 Dakota Fanning (with knockdown)

Damage: Dakota — swelling left cheek, sore ribs starting; Sydney —  still groggy after the knockdown


Round 2:

The bell rings and Dakota Fanning, still energized from the unexpected knockdown she delivered in the first, looks to build on the momentum. She bounces lightly on her toes, gloves up, trying to keep Sydney Sweeney at bay with a flurry of fast combinations.

Dakota lands a couple of crisp jabs that snap Sydney’s head back, drawing gasps from the crowd. She seems to be finding a rhythm—in and out, circling left, popping the jab. But Sydney is done playing games. She narrows her eyes, keeps her chin tucked, and absorbs the shots with minimal reaction. Then, like a loaded spring finally releasing, she explodes forward.

A brutal right cross detonates on Dakota’s cheek, rocking her back on her heels. The blonde’s head snaps violently to the side, and her knees wobble. The crowd roars. Before Dakota can retreat, Sydney is already inside, punishing her midsection with a thudding left hook that buries itself into Dakota’s ribs.

Dakota grunts, mouthpiece flashing as she doubles over slightly. Her gloves drop. Sydney doesn’t hesitate. She steps in and fires a savage right uppercut, launching Dakota’s head backward. The punch lifts Dakota’s feet an inch off the canvas before she crashes to the mat on her back, her limbs sprawled, blinking up at the lights. The crowd is on its feet.

The ref is immediately down, counting.

"One! Two! Three!"

Dakota blinks, eyes fluttering. She rolls to her side, then to her knees. She grabs the middle rope and pulls herself upright by the count of eight, but she’s clearly dazed. Her ribs are heaving. Her cheek is swelling.

The referee looks at her closely, asks her to raise her gloves. She does—barely. The ref waves the fight back on, and Sydney storms forward again. But Dakota, to her credit, survives. She backpedals, clinches when necessary, and throws just enough counter jabs to keep the ref from stepping in. Still, the round is all Sydney. The bell finally rings, saving Dakota from further punishment.

Back in their corners, Dakota’s team scrambles to work on her ribs and cheek, shouting encouragement while applying ice and checking her vision. Meanwhile, Sydney’s corner is calm and confident, pouring water over her back.

Damage: Dakota — bruised cheek, sore ribs, heavy breathing; Sydney — slight redness on jaw.

Score: 10-8 Sydney  Total  18-18


Round 3:

The bell echoes through the arena, and surprisingly, Dakota Fanning comes out looking sharp. The earlier knockdown doesn’t seem to have broken her spirit. With her guard tight and feet light, she establishes distance and begins working her jab slipping back and staying just out of range. Fast, clean, and accurate. Sydney backs away. Takes in a long deep breath then resets.

Dakota flicks two stiff jabs into Sydney’s face, both landing cleanly and snapping the blonde’s head back. Sydney blinks, and suddenly the faint mouse under under her left eye begins to swell. The crowd reacts with appreciative murmurs—this was not what they expected. Not what Sydney expected. 

For the first thirty seconds, Dakota controls the range. She steps to her right, peppering Sydney with jabs and the occasional straight right. It’s not fight-ending power, but it’s effective and controlled and  she is scoring in bunches. Sydney resets, narrowing her eyes, lets out a feral groan and starts closing the distance. 

Then it shifts.

With a sharp feint, Sydney gets Dakota to freeze just enough to step inside and dig a brutal left hook to the body. The sound echoes—a meaty thud against soft flesh. Dakota’s mouth opens in a silent gasp. She tries to move, but Sydney throws her against the ropes. A right hook to the ribs. A left to the liver. An uppercut splits Dakota’s guard and jolts her head back. Now she’s covering up, leaning back, trying to spin away—but Sydney is in predator mode.

A left hook crashes under Dakota’s left arm then an uppercut  to the chin sends sweat and spit flying. Her knees buckle, but she stays up. Sydney drills a right into Dakota’s stomach, forcing a wheeze from her lungs. Then a left to the temple. A hook to the body. A cross to the nose. Dakota’s defense quickly begin to unravel.

Sydney has her pinned in the corner, and with each shot she throws, Dakota seems to shrink a little more. The crowd roars as Sydney pours on the pressure—a 5-punch combo: hook to the ribs, cross to the cheek, uppercut to the solar plexus, jab to the nose, hook to the right breast. Dakota finally clinches, but even there, Sydney is punishing. Short rabbit punches to the ribs. A sneaky uppercut to the chin and a left  cross to the side of the boobs. Laura is screaming foul as he ref steps in to separate them. Dakota stumbles slightly as they part.

With less than thirty seconds to go, Sydney barrels in again, throwing punches in bunches. A looping right cross lands flush and turns Dakota’s head violently. Another uppercut follows, and for a moment it looks like she might go down again—but somehow, Dakota holds.

The bell rings, mercifully and Dakota staggers back to her corner, ribs heaving, face red and puffy. Sydney returns to her side with a satisfied nod.

Score: 10-8 Sydney Sweeney

Damage: Dakota — swelling eye, bruised ribs, starting to limp slightly; Sydney — minor swelling jaw – swelling  under her left eye.
 
Total:28-26 Sydney


Round 4:

The bell rings and there’s fire in Sydney Sweeney’s eyes. She’s found her rhythm now, and Dakota Fanning knows it. Dakota emerges from her corner looking unsteady—her body aching and sore, still heaving for air after the brutal punishment she took in Round 3. Sydney wastes no time. She launches forward like a predator, gloves up, chin tucked, feet gliding smoothly as she cuts off the ring. Dakota tries to stay long, flicking out a desperate jab, but Sydney parries it with ease.

Then the real punishment begins. A deep, sickening thud echoes through the arena as Sydney buries a left hook into Dakota’s ribs, just under her bra line. Dakota gasps, her knees buckling slightly. She tries to retreat, but Sydney is relentless. Another hook—this one lower—slams into her right side, folding her over. Sydney drives a straight right into the pit of Dakota’s stomach, just above the waistband. It lands flush. Dakota throws an overhand right but Sydney duck and buries an uppercut under Dakota's right armpit then drives a hook into her navel.


THUD.

Air blasts out of Dakota’s lungs. Her mouthpiece flies out like a cork from a bottle, bouncing across the canvas. Her jaw hangs open as her hands instinctively cradle her belly, eyes wide with pain. Sydney backs her into the ropes and leans in, her chin brushing Dakota’s shoulder, her body weight pinning her there. Then she starts chugging away—left, right, left, right—fists pounding the same spot on Dakota’s midsection again and again. This isn’t boxing. This is pure punishment.

Dakota’s arms drop. Her legs lock. Her body sags.


“Break!” Laura Marano screams from the Aries’ corner, her voice cracking with desperation. “F&cking Break, dammit!”

The referee finally steps in, eyes scanning Dakota. She isn’t defending. She’s barely upright. He waves Sydney off and begins the standing eight count.

1… 2… 3…

Dakota leans heavily on the ropes, arms still wrapped around her stomach, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Sweat drips from her chin. Her knees threaten to give.

4… 5… 6…

She nods that she wants to continue, but there’s no fire in her eyes.

7… 8…

The referee gives her a final long look. Dakota raises her gloves—weakly.

“You good?”

She nods.

“Fight!”

Sydney doesn’t hesitate. She presses Dakota into the ropes again and unleashes another savage barrage: looping hooks to the ribs, short uppercuts to the abs, and a crushing left to the liver. Dakota’s legs buckle. She crashes to the mat, curling into a fetal position, arms once again wrapped around her midsection.

The referee starts another count.

1… 2… 3…

Laura is screaming from the corner. “Get your ass up! Awesome Aries NEVER QUIT!”

4… 5… 6…

Dakota remains on her side, her face twisted in agony.

7… 8…

She groans, then plants her gloves on the canvas.

9…

Somehow, she stands. She’s swaying, trembling—but standing. The crowd explodes with cheers. The referee walks over to the timekeeper, glancing at Laura, clearly about to wave the fight off.

“Your girl is done,” he mouths.

“NO SHE’S NOT!” Laura roars, leaping onto the apron. “Give her a second!”

The delay buys Dakota precious time. Her legs are still shaky, but there’s a flicker—just a flicker—of fire back in her eyes. When the referee shouts “FIGHT!” again, she’s ready enough with her gloves up in a high guard.

But Sydney rushes in too fast, too eager to finish. Dakota sidesteps and, with pure instinct, drives a tomahawk right into the back of Sydney’s head as she stumbles past into the ropes.

“FOUL!” the ref screams, leaping between them.

Official Warning: Illegal Blow – Dakota Fanning

Sydney’s face twists in fury. The shot wasn’t devastating, but it was deliberate—and that made it unforgivable.

“That’s how you want to play it?” she growls.


When they reset, Sydney explodes. A hook smashes into Dakota’s jaw. She stumbles. A vicious left crashes into her breast, making her shriek in pain. Then an uppercut snaps her head back, lifting her off her toes. A straight right follows, tearing open her nose. Blood sprays from her nostrils, streaking down her lips, staining her chest.

Dakota is slammed back into the corner. Sydney unloads. Hooks to the ribs. Crosses to the breasts. Uppercuts to the solar plexus. Dakota’s body jerks with each hit. Her legs go rubbery. She slumps deeper into the turnbuckles, almost seated, her body absorbing every vicious blow.

The referee jumps in.

It’s over.

Dakota’s back slides down the ropes, her body collapsing into a trembling heap on the mat. Blood seeps from her nose. Her belly is visibly bruised and heaving. Her limbs twitch. Her face is vacant.

“That’s it!” the ref says, waving off the fight and pulling Sydney away.

TKO – Sydney Sweeney – 2:41 of Round 4

Laura Marano dives into the ring, lifting Dakota to her feet.

“You’re okay,” she whispers, holding her close. Laura turns, furious, and storms toward the official. “You stopped it too early! She had more fight in her! She wasn’t done!”

But Dakota’s legs give out again, and she crumples. Medics and the ref rush in. As Laura rages, Dakota lies on her back, arms draped over her aching belly, eyes fixed on the lights above. The crowd erupts as Sydney climbs the ropes, arms raised, her glistening body bathed in sweat and triumph.

Summary:

Sydney’s superior boxing skill and power dominated from the start. Dakota showed courage but was overwhelmed by Sydney’s accurate, heavy punches, resulting in four knockdowns that forced an early stoppage. Sydney’s crisp combinations and relentless body attacks broke down Dakota quickly.

Badass Barbies Locker Room – Post-Fight

Reporter: Sydney, congratulations. That was one of the most convincing turnarounds we’ve seen in a long time. You were knocked down in Round 1 but came back to dominate. How did you pull yourself together?
Sydney: (smirks) You don’t stay down just because you get caught. Dakota landed a clean shot, no doubt. I was too eager, leaned in too far, and she took her chance. Props to her for that. But that’s not enough to stop me. I’ve trained for real damage. The second I hit the canvas, my brain clicked back on. I remembered who I am. And she paid the price the next three rounds.

Reporter: A lot of fans forgot that you played Christy Martin in that biopic, but tonight felt like we were watching the real thing. Did that role change the way you fight?
Sydney: Oh, it did more than change it—it defined it. Christy Martin fought like she had something to prove every time she stepped in the ring. That energy, that grit? I studied it, lived it, became it. That wasn’t acting. That was me transforming. The movie taught me how to stay composed under pressure and hit with intent. I’m not some Hollywood chick throwing pretend punches. I know how to break down a fighter now—mentally, physically, and piece by piece. Just like I did to Dakota.

Reporter: Speaking of breakdowns—those body shots were brutal. Did you know she was done when you started digging into her midsection in Round 4?
Sydney: The moment I landed that liver shot, yeah. She bent over like someone pulled her spine out. From that point on, it was just about forcing the stoppage. I didn’t need to knock her out cold. I wanted her to feel every single punch. Make her question whether she ever belonged in the ring with me in the first place.
 
Reporter: Let’s talk about Laura Marano. She was in Dakota’s corner tonight, screaming for the ref to let the fight continue. What’s your take on her?
Sydney: (laughs) Laura? She's loud. She’s dramatic. And she’s delusional if she thought Dakota was coming back from that beating. I get it—she’s loyal to her stable and the girls is too stupid to quit. But screaming from the apron won’t save someone from a body beating like that. Nobody around here really likes Laura. She stirs the pot, throws tantrums, and acts like she’s above the rest of us. It’s pathetic if you ask me.

Reporter: Would you fight Laura?
Sydney: Hell yes, I’d fight her. I’d love to. And I’m very confident I’d put her down faster than I did Dakota. She runs her mouth, but I’ve seen her fights. She’s never gives in – I'll give her that but she has her weaknesses. She flails when she’s pressured. She wouldn’t last two rounds with me. Not unless the ref steps in and throws her a life preserver. If you ask her I think that Laura knows it.

Reporter: That comment will definitely get a reaction from her.
Sydney: Good. Let her come at me. She wanted attention, right? Well, here it is. Laura Marano—step into my ring. But be ready to eat every word you’ve ever said about my stable. I won’t just beat her—I’ll humiliate her.

Reporter: Switching gears—your name’s now being mentioned in the same breath as Katharine McPhee. That’s a whole different kind of fight. Is that one you’re ready for?
Sydney: Katharine is a problem. She’s strong, experienced, and she’s beaten some real heavy hitters. Am I ready? I don’t know. But I want it. I want to test myself against the best. She’s the benchmark. If I’m going to keep climbing, I’ve got to go through her eventually. And when that day comes, I’ll be sharper, smarter, and stronger than I was tonight. Believe that.

Reporter: So let’s get this straight—Sydney Sweeney is calling out Laura Marano and eyeing Katharine McPhee?
Sydney: Absolutely. I’ve already handled Dakota. Laura’s just noise—I’ll shut her up if she wants to step up. And Katharine? She’s the mountain I want to climb. Because once I beat her, no one will question where I stand in this division.

Reporter: Final thoughts?
Sydney: Just this—tonight wasn’t luck. It wasn’t a fluke. It was earned. Anyone who steps in there with me from now on better know what they’re signing up for. I’m not here to play nice. I’m here to end careers.

Reporter: Sydney Sweeney, victorious by TKO in Round 4. Loud. Clear. And calling names.
Sydney: (winks) Print that. I want Laura to see it first thing tomorrow morning.

Awesome Aries Locker Room – Post-Fight

The energy in the room is low, the silence thick. Dakota Fanning sits on a bench, slouched forward, her arms resting on her knees, a towel draped loosely around her neck. Her cheeks are puffed, her nose is still bleeding slightly, and there's a heavy bruise already blooming along her ribs and abs. Every breath she takes is shallow, painful. Her body is battered, but it’s the weight on her shoulders that seems heavier than anything else.

A medic quietly checks her blood pressure while Laura Marano paces like a caged animal just a few feet away, her eyes burning with frustration.

Reporter: Dakota, first of all, are you okay? That was… a brutal four rounds.
Dakota: (softly) I don’t know. I mean… I’ll live. It hurts to breathe. My ribs feel like they’re filled with broken glass. But yeah, I think I’ll be okay. Eventually.

Reporter: Sydney landed well over 150 punches on you—body, head, chest, everything. Did it feel like she was just overwhelming you?
Dakota: Yeah… I mean, from the second round on, I felt like I was drowning. I’d land a couple jabs and think, okay, I’ve got this, and then bam—she’d be in my body, just drilling me. She didn’t give me any space to think. It was like being in quicksand. Every time I moved, I sank deeper.

Reporter: You dropped her in Round 1, though. That was a clean shot. Did you think she was out?
Dakota: (nods slowly) For a second? Yeah. Her eyes went blank and I thought lights out for Sweeney. She hit the mat hard. I thought, This is my moment. But she got up fast. Too fast. And after that, she was... different. Like I’d woken something up in her. She wasn’t just boxing after that—she was hunting me.

Reporter: Looking back… do you think you were prepared?
Dakota: (sighs) Maybe not. Maybe I should’ve trained more. Spent more time sparring. I don’t know. Sydney had this energy—like she knew she was going to beat me. She didn’t just want to win. She wanted to humiliate me and  send a message  to my stable. And for the last two rounds, she kind of did.

Reporter: Laura, you were screaming at the ref. Do you think the stoppage came too soon?
Laura Marano: (whips around) Too soon? Are you kidding? Dakota was still standing. She took everything Sydney threw and she stood. Yeah, she went down, but she got up. She looked the ref in the eye. She raised her gloves. She wanted to fight. That fight should have gone to Round 5.

Reporter: Sydney had some pretty harsh words after the fight…
Dakota: (frowns) What kind of words?

Laura: (coldly) Let me guess, she called you soft. Said you didn’t belong in the same ring as her.
Dakota: (winces) Figures.

Laura: Did she have anything to say about me, too.
Reporter: (shrugs, trying to look casual) You’ll find out in the morning.

Laura: (sits up straighter) Tell me now, what did that over-inflated **** say?
Reporter: (snaps) She said she’d whoop my ass. That your're all talk. That you wouldn’t last two rounds with her.

Laura: (takes a step toward the door) And I swear, I'm two seconds away from walking down that hallway and planting my fist in her mouth.
Reporter: Laura—do you think that fight might actually happen?
Laura: If Sydney keeps running her mouth? Oh, it's happening. I don’t care what promotion wants it. I don’t care where it is. She wants to see what a real fighter looks like? I’ll show her.

Reporter: Dakota… do you think what Laura said is true? That you could’ve made it to the fifth round?
Dakota: (quietly) I think so. I wasn’t done. My body was wrecked, yeah—but I wasn’t mentally out. I still believed I could land something again. One more round, maybe I could’ve slowed her down. Maybe not won… but survived.

Laura: (nods fiercely) We’re Aries. We don’t quit. You hear me?
Dakota: (manages a faint smile) Right. We don’t quit.

Reporter: If you could do it again—would you change anything?
Dakota: I wouldn’t let her walk me down so easily. I’d stay off the ropes. I let her bully me, and I gave her my body. That’s on me. I’d fight smarter. Train harder. She hurt me in a way I didn’t expect—but I’ve learned now.

Reporter: Laura, if you do get in the ring with Sydney, what happens?
Laura: I shut her up. I beat her to the body, slow her legs down, and then I pick her apart. She thinks she’s some queen because she mauled Dakota while she was already hurt? Let her try that on me. I’ll knock that smug look off her face and flatten those annoying **** she flashes in everybody's face. The second she gets punched by someone who doesn’t break? She’s in for a very rude awakening.

The air thickens in the locker room as Laura storms off toward the back, her fists clenched, eyes glowing with fury. Dakota leans her head back against the wall, eyes closed, still aching—but her spirit a little more intact. The fire that defines the Awesome Aries may have flickered—but it’s far from out.

And somewhere down the hallway, Sydney Sweeney is still celebrating.

But she won’t be alone in that spotlight for long.

Written bu The Badass Barbies

Sin City Slugfest VI

Gigi Hadid vs. Alexis Ren

10 Rounds, 3 Minutes Each



Gigi Hadid
 

• Age: 30 (born April 23, 1995)
• Height: 5'10" (178 cm)
• Weight: 130 lbs (59 kg)
• Reach: 70" (178 cm)
• Background: Supermodel with a reputation for discipline and athleticism. Gigi has trained extensively in boxing and strength conditioning, giving her strong fundamentals and surprising power.
• Style: Composed and methodical, favoring crisp jabs and counterpunches from long range. She balances patient defense with sudden bursts of offense.
• Gigi’s Approach: Control the distance with her reach advantage, frustrate Alexis by denying her clean entries, and set up heavy right hands behind the jab. Focus on punishing counters to sap Alexis’s confidence and slow her attacks.

Alexis Ren

• Age: 28 (born November 23, 1996)
• He0ight: 5'8" (173 cm)
• Weight: 125 lbs (57 kg)
• Reach: 68" (173 cm)
• Background: Model and fitness influencer with a background in dance and high-intensity interval training. Her training translates to sharp agility and excellent cardiovascular conditioning.
• Style: Aggressive, high-volume striker who thrives on keeping opponents under constant pressure. She uses lateral movement and quick combinations to break through defenses.
• Alexis’s Approach: Stay mobile and apply relentless pressure, aiming to close the distance and force Gigi into exchanges. Target the body early with flurries to wear her down, then look for opportunities to step in and unload with rapid combinations upstairs.

Betting Odds:
Gigi Hadid (Favorite)
 

• Moneyline: –160 (Bet $160 to win $100)
• Implied Probability: ~61%
• Why Favored:
   
  • Significant height and reach advantage (2 inches taller, ~2 inches longer reach).
  • Consistent boxing training and ring experience.
  • More patient, strategic approach likely to neutralize pressure.

Alexis Ren (Underdog)
 

• Moneyline: +140 (Bet $100 to win $140)
• Implied Probability: ~42%
• Why Underdog:
   
  • Aggressive style could be risky against Gigi’s rangy counters.
  • Slight disadvantage in reach and power.
  • Relies heavily on closing distance, which Gigi is skilled at denying.

Round 1:

The bell rings, and Gigi immediately uses her experience to establish distance with stiff jabs, snapping Alexis’s head back. Alexis pressures forward, weaving inside Gigi’s reach, forcing the fight into close quarters. Gigi lands a sharp left hook to Alexis’s ribs that draws an audible grunt. Alexis counters with a heavy right hook to Gigi’s midsection, making her wince. Both women exchange short hooks to the body, the pounding on their ribs, breasts, and bellies audible in the arena. Alexis throws a vicious liver shot, but Gigi expertly pivots, absorbing it on her gloves. The round ends with Alexis pressing hard, but Gigi’s precise counters keep her from breaking through cleanly.

10-9 Gigi

Round 2:

Alexis comes out more aggressive, targeting Gigi’s ribs and lower belly relentlessly. A solid hook to the right side of Gigi’s ribcage causes her to drop her guard momentarily, and Alexis follows up with a short jab right to Gigi’s bruised ribs and an uppercut to the left breast. Gigi takes in a deep breath then retaliates with a blistering combo—left jab, right cross, then a brutal right hook to Alexis’s left breast, eliciting a sharp gasp. Alexis stumbles but regains balance quickly. Gigi’s body shots begin to tell, as Alexis’s breathing becomes heavier. Alexis fires back with quick jabs to Gigi’s stomach and a powerful left hook to the liver, rocking Gigi momentarily. From the inside, Alexis land a stout punch to the ribs then an uppercut to the chin. The bell saves Gigi from further damage.

10-9 Alexis (Total: 19-19)

Round 3:

The pace intensifies as both fighters grow visibly battered. Gigi lands a crushing right hook to Alexis’s ribs, followed by a devastating left hook to her abdomen. Alexis’s midsection visibly tightens, and her movement slows slightly. Alexis digs deep, responding with a sharp uppercut to Gigi’s solar plexus that makes her fold over briefly. Alexis moves in close, landing repeated body shots to Gigi’s bruised ribs and a punishing right hook to her chest that leaves a red welt. Alexis corners Gigi, unleashing a flurry of punches targeting the breasts and ribs then as Gigi's guard drops, Alexis lands a 3 punch combo to the face. Gigi clinches to avoid further damage, gasping for air. Both fighters look bruised and sweaty as the round ends.

10-9 Alexis (Total: 29-28 Alexis)

Round 4:

Gigi shakes off the pain and returns with veteran savvy. She focuses on precise counterattacks, slipping Alexis’s punches and landing a hard left hook to the cheek that causes Alexis to wince in pain. Gigi presses the attack with sharp punches to the ribs and sternum, followed by a stiff jab to Alexis’s swollen left eye—already starting to puff. Alexis tries to keep her pressure up but looks more fatigued, her body taking a beating. Mid-round, Gigi lands a thunderous right hook to Alexis’s lower ribs, causing Alexis to stagger back and nearly drop. Alexis survives, clinches, and the bell rings.

10-9 Gigi (Total: 38-38, tied)

Round 5:

Alexis comes out swinging aggressively but is visibly slowed. Gigi times her perfectly, landing a hard left hook to Alexis’s liver that sends her crashing to the canvas—1st knockdown! Alexis beats the count, but her breathing is ragged, and her ribs are clearly sore. Gigi seizes the moment, following up with a brutal series of body shots—right hooks and left crosses hammering Alexis’s midsection and chest, leaving Alexis clutching her side. Alexis manages a desperate counter with a wild right hook that grazes Gigi’s temple, but Gigi holds her ground. The round ends with Alexis barely able to keep her balance.

10-8 Gigi (Total: 48-46 Gigi)

Round 6:

Alexis digs deep, refusing to quit. She launches an aggressive comeback, pushing Gigi against the ropes and unloading with furious hooks to the ribs and belly. Gigi’s breath hitches after a vicious left hook to the solar plexus. Alexis targets Gigi’s breasts with punishing body shots that cause visible bruising and redness. Midway, Alexis lands a sharp jab to Gigi’s nose, causing a thin trickle of blood to appear. Gigi clinches and absorbs several punches but fires back with a sharp counter right hook that wobbles Alexis. The pace is brutal and relentless.

10-9 Alexis (Total: 57-56 Gigi)

Round 7:

Both women show the effects of war—faces swollen, breathing heavy, bodies bruised and battered. Gigi uses superior boxing IQ to stay just out of Alexis’s reach, snapping sharp jabs and cutting off the ring. Alexis lunges forward and lands a hard left hook to Gigi’s ribs, followed by a thudding right uppercut to the belly. Gigi responds with a vicious right hook to Alexis’s liver that causes her to grimace and take a half-step back. Alexis clinches, trying to buy time, but Gigi presses the body attack relentlessly. Alexis’s ribs visibly pulse under the onslaught. The crowd roars as the round ends with both fighters bruised but unyielding.

10-9 Gigi (Total: 67-65 Gigi)

Round 8:

Alexis, desperate, unloads a furious barrage, but Gigi expertly ducks and weaves, countering with brutal body shots—sharp left hooks and right crosses tearing into Alexis’s stomach and chest. Alexis’s breathing is shallow, and sweat mixed with blood drips from her nose. Gigi lands a thudding liver shot that causes Alexis to buckle—2nd knockdown! Alexis beats the count again but is clearly hurting. Gigi smells blood and pushes the pace, landing another heavy right hook to Alexis’s ribs as the bell sounds.

10-8 Gigi (Total: 77-73 Gigi)

Round 9:

Alexis is visibly exhausted but refuses to back down. She launches quick jabs to Gigi’s face and body but struggles to land cleanly. Gigi uses footwork to maintain distance, peppering Alexis’s ribs and belly with precise, punishing shots. Alexis attempts a desperate right hook but leaves herself open for a crushing left hook to the liver—3rd knockdown! Alexis collapses to the canvas, barely beating the count again. The referee warns Alexis she’s on borrowed time. Gigi’s corner screams encouragement as she prepares to finish.

10-8 Gigi (Total: 87-81 Gigi)

Round 10:

Alexis tries to rally but is clearly worn down. Gigi stalks her relentlessly, landing a series of devastating body shots—right hook to ribs, left hook to belly, followed by a punishing uppercut to the chest that leaves Alexis gasping. Alexis stumbles, her face swollen, nose bleeding, and ribs throbbing. Gigi senses victory and lands a final crushing right hook to Alexis’s liver that sends her crashing down—KO! The referee waves the fight off. The arena erupts.
Final Result:

Gigi Hadid wins by 10th round knockout with relentless body assault and expert precision.

Fight Summary:

This brutal slugfest was defined by heavy body work, with Gigi expertly wearing Alexis down through punches to the ribs, liver, belly, and chest—leaving Alexis battered, bruised, and gasping for air. Alexis showed heart and aggression but couldn’t withstand Gigi’s technical superiority and brutal power shots. Three knockdowns and a final liver KO sealed the fight.
 
Post-Fight Scene – Alexis’s Locker Room
 
The door closes behind Alexis as she sinks heavily onto the bench, her cornermen quietly moving around her. Her ribs are wrapped tight in ice packs, and her midsection is streaked with red welts and bruises from Gigi’s relentless body attack. Her eyes are glassy—part exhaustion, part disbelief—and a thin trickle of dried blood is crusted beneath her nose.
A medic checks her breathing while another trainer gently presses an ice pack to the side of her swollen face. Alexis winces but doesn’t look away from the floor. When the interviewer steps in, she lifts her head, her jaw set tight.

Interviewer (careful tone):Alexis, that was an absolute battle out there. You pushed Gigi harder than anyone has in a long time. How are you feeling right now?
Alexis (voice raw, shaky):I’m pissed off, honestly.(She takes a ragged breath.)I felt like I had that fight. I was hurting her early. I know everyone’s gonna say, “Oh, Gigi’s experience,” but I had her. She was folding under my body shots. And then… I let it slip.

Interviewer:A lot of people thought you were up on the cards before the knockdowns. What do you think turned the tide?
Alexis:(She rubs her temples, eyes flashing.)I started getting a little reckless. She’s smart—she was waiting for me to get greedy. Once she caught me with those liver hooks, it changed everything. But up to that point? I was in control. I know it. I could feel it in there.

Interviewer:You say you felt you were winning. Some would argue Gigi’s counters were the difference-maker late. What’s your take?
Alexis (bitter laugh):Everyone sees it differently, I guess.(Her voice cracks.)But no—I was winning. I had her breathing heavy, her guard dropping. I just… I don’t know. I didn’t finish it when I had the chance. That’s on me.

Interviewer:What was going through your mind after the third knockdown in the ninth? You still beat the count.
Alexis:(She stares at the floor, blinking rapidly.)I was telling myself, “Get up. You’re not done.” And I wasn’t—I still believed I could hurt her. But my body just…(She touches the ice on her ribs.)…it wouldn’t cooperate anymore.

Interviewer:You showed incredible heart tonight. Even Gigi said you were one of the toughest opponents she’s ever faced. Does that mean something to you?
Alexis:(A tear slides down her cheek; she wipes it away angrily.)I don’t care about that right now. It’s nice to hear, but I didn’t come here to be “tough.” I came here to win. And I let it get away from me.

Interviewer:What’s next for you after a fight like this?
Alexis:(She draws a deep breath, voice steadier.)Rest. Heal up. And when I’m ready, I want a rematch. I know what I did wrong, and next time, I’m not going to let her off the hook.

Interviewer:Thank you, Alexis. You gave everyone an unforgettable fight tonight.
Alexis:Yeah. Thanks.(Her voice softens just a little.)Tell Gigi she better hold onto that feeling, because I’m coming back for her.

Post-Fight Scene – Gigi’s Locker Room

The crowd is still roaring as Gigi Hadid, gloved hands finally unwrapped, sits on a stool with ice pressed to her bruised ribs. Her toned body glistens with sweat, dark bruises mottling her sides and belly where Alexis’s relentless hooks landed. A trainer carefully dabs the thin cut on the bridge of her nose while a member of her team massages her aching shoulders.

Despite the damage, Gigi’s blue eyes are alive with triumph. She exhales a slow, steady breath, then cracks a tired smile as the interviewer steps in, microphone in hand.

Interviewer (smiling):Gigi, congratulations on a spectacular win tonight. That was a war in there. How are you feeling?
Gigi (voice hoarse but steady):Like I just survived a car crash, to be honest.(She laughs softly, wincing as her trainer presses the ice to her ribs.)Alexis is tough as hell. She didn’t stop coming. But I knew if I stayed patient and kept digging to the body, she’d eventually break.

Interviewer:You absorbed some brutal body shots yourself—especially in the early rounds. What was going through your mind when Alexis was hammering your ribs and pressing you on the ropes?
Gigi:I’m not gonna lie, she had me hurt a few times and I'm stillfeeling those shots to the ****. Round three, when she caught me under the ribs and then went upstairs, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. But I’ve trained for this—my corner kept telling me: “Stay composed, pick your counters.” And when I started placing my hooks in the later rounds, I could see her fading.

Interviewer:You scored three knockdowns before the final KO. Was there a moment you knew you had her for good?
Gigi:Yeah. After that third knockdown in the ninth, her eyes weren’t the same. She still had heart—credit to her—but her body just couldn’t take much more. So in the tenth, I kept pressing the body, and when I landed that last hook to the liver… I knew she wasn’t getting up.

Interviewer:This was billed as one of the toughest tests of your career. Do you feel like you proved something tonight?
Gigi:(She nods firmly.)I think I proved I can go ten rounds toe-to-toe with a fighter as aggressive as Alexis and come out on top. People sometimes think I’m just a technical boxer who doesn’t want to mix it up. But tonight, I showed I can dig deep and finish a fight with grit as well as skill.

Interviewer:What’s next for you? A title shot? A rematch?
Gigi:(Smiling, gingerly stretching her bruised arms.)Tonight, I’m going to ice everything, get some sleep, and eat an enormous pizza. After that… whoever they put in front of me. If Alexis wants a rematch, I’d do it again. But maybe next time, we won’t have to kill each other in there.

Interviewer:Congratulations again, Gigi. Incredible performance.
Gigi:Thank you. And respect to Alexis—she’s one of the toughest women I’ve ever faced.

Written  by the Badass Barbies

Sin City Slugfest VI

Blind Fold Match:

Camila Cabello vs Mackenzie Zigler




Fighter Profiles & Tale of the Tape

Camila Cabello

• Age: 27 (born March 3, 1997)
• Height: 5'2" (157 cm)
• Weight: 115 lbs (52 kg)
• Reach: 63" (160 cm)
• Background: A chart-topping pop singer and former member of Fifth Harmony, Camila has years of experience commanding the stage. She's known for her fiery personality, relentless drive, and strong lower body from years of dancing on tour.
• Style: Counterpuncher with a compact guard and deceptive power. Camila favors aggressive flurries and loves targeting the midsection, breaking her opponents down over time.

Mackenzie Ziegler

• Age: 20 (born June 4, 2004)
• Height: 5'4" (163 cm)
• Weight: 112 lbs (51 kg)
• Reach: 65" (165 cm)
• Background: Dancer, actress, and social media powerhouse. Mackenzie is young, fast, and confident, with exceptional agility thanks to her years on Dance Moms and the concert stage.
• Style: Elusive, technical, and fast-paced. Mackenzie uses her legs and reflexes to stay out of danger, circling opponents and landing precision shots. She's a volume striker who thrives in longer matches.

Pre-Fight Odds & Analysis

• Odds: Camila Cabello (-115) vs. Mackenzie Ziegler (-115) — EVEN MATCH
• Analysis: This is a battle between experience and youth. Camila brings strength and a dangerous inside game, while Mackenzie has youth, speed, and endurance on her side. Expect a clash of styles—Camila trying to trap and pound, Mackenzie trying to dodge and rack up points.

The Buildup:

What started as a playful exchange on social media spiraled into a full-blown challenge. Camila posted a video of herself hitting mitts in the gym, joking that she'd “smack any pop princess that thinks she can dance and box.” Mackenzie replied within an hour: “I am that princess. Let’s go.”

The online buzz exploded. Fans picked sides—#TeamCamila and #TeamKenzie started trending. Their training clips became daily content on TikTok and Instagram, with both women trading barbs and confidence.

Camila: “She’s a dancer,big f&cking deal. I’m a fighter now. Let’s see what happens when she takes a real hit to the ribs. My guess is that she will cave like a little b!tch”

Mackenzie: “She’s tough until someone faster lights her up. I'm quicker, smarter, and younger and a hell of a lot better looking. I’ll outclass her.”

Their weigh-in was electric. Both wore fierce expressions, jawing at each other during the staredown. Camila leaned in close, muttering, “You’re gonna feel this.” Mackenzie didn’t blink. “You’re not ready.”

Round 1:
They meet in the center of the ring, energy radiating. Camila comes forward aggressively, targeting Mackenzie’s midsection with stiff jabs and short hooks. Mackenzie counters with fast flurries to the head, dancing backward and landing clean straights. Camila traps her in the corner late in the round, banging two hooks into her ribs and a cross to the navel, but Mackenzie escapes with a spinning sidestep. Close round but Camila takes it on aggression.

Round 2:
Mackenzie shifts gears, using her footwork to stay at range. She peppers Camila with jabs and right hands, even landing a cheeky uppercut when Camila dips too low. Camila absorbs the shots but looks a little flat-footed. Mackenzie owns the pace, circling and scoring and chirping at her  shorted Latino opponent. Camila catches her late with a hook to the liver that makes her grunt but Mackenzie fights it off and uses her jab to mark Camila up in the late going. Still, Mackenzie’s round.

Round 3:
Camila presses the action again. She cuts off the ring better this time, hammering the body with both fists. Mackenzie is forced to trade inside, and Camila thrives there digging her mits marking up Mackenzie's ribs and breasts . A left-right to the ribs and a chest-level uppercut rocks Mackenzie. Camila lands two more to the belly. Mackenzie clinches and holds on past the call for a break. The round ends with Camila shoving her back and shouting, "You feel that yet?" Strong round for Camila.

Round 4:
Mackenzie recovers, flicking jabs and tagging Camila’s forehead with combinations. Her speed is dazzling. She circles, throws, and avoids Camila’s lunges. But Camila starts finding success with right hooks under Mackenzie’s elbow, slowing her down. A looping hook from Camila slams into Mackenzie’s side and folds her briefly. Camila is bullying the Wannabee until Mackenzie's back is pinned in her corner. Camila leans in and rests her chin on hr shoulder and starts churning lefts and rights into the midsection but Mackenzie stays upright and rallies with a combo to Camila's chin. Very close round.

Round 5:
War breaks out. Camila smothers Mackenzie in the corner, throwing rib-busting hooks and sneaky breast-level uppercuts. Mackenzie covers up but fires back with a lightning-fast combo upstairs—Camila’s head snaps back. They trade wildly. Mackenzie goes chest-to-chest and uppercuts to Camila's sternum, gritting her teeth. Camila roars and slams a hook to Mackenzie’s hip and another just under the bra line. Wild, painful, even round.

Round 6:
Both fighters show wear—Camila's left eye swelling, Mackenzie's ribs mottled red. Camila doubles down on bodywork. She presses Mackenzie into the ropes, hammering belly and breasts. Mackenzie winces but retaliates with a crisp hook to the temple that staggers Camila. Suddenly it’s Mackenzie in control, banging Camila's jaw with clean crosses. Camila returns fire late with a thunderous left to the liver that clearly hurts. Mackenzie clinches, breathing heavily. The crowd is in chaos.

Round 7:  
They stumble out of their corners, both bruised and gasping for air. Mackenzie swings first—a wild right hook aimed at Camila’s head. But Camila ducks under it and counters with a devastating left hook to the left breast pancaking it flat across her sternum. Camila immediately follows with a crushing right cross to Mackenzie’s chin.

Mackenzie’s eyes roll back—her knees buckle—and she crashes to the canvas, collapsing in a heap, her limbs sprawled and unmoving. The arena goes silent for a second... then erupts in disbelief.

Camila stands over her, chest heaving, adrenaline surging, then backs into her corner, watching the ref count over Mackenzie’s limp form.

KO WIN: Camila Cabello 0:41 Round 7
Final Damage Report

• Mackenzie: KO’d cold, minor cut under right eye, heavily bruised jaw
• Camila: Swollen left cheek, sore ribs, bloodied nose—but victorious and standing tall

Aftermath:

Mackenzie eventually sits up, dazed and stunned. Camila walks over, kneels beside her, and says something only they can hear. The two briefly clasp hands in a quiet moment of mutual respect.

Social media explodes. Fans replay the shocking knockout from every angle. Camila's punch is already being called the “KO of the Year.”

Written by the Badass Barbies