Boxing Hall

There was no competition on the second day. If you practiced like a boat rowing against the current, you'd only drift backward if you didn't make substantial progress.

Kus had a plan. He knew something about Ohio and quickly reached out to find a training facility.

After hanging up the phone, he turned to Mike. "I've contacted the CKGF boxing club; we'll be heading there for training."

CKGF was just a small club, not particularly renowned in the boxing community. Tyson shrugged, indifferent to its standing.

So, the three of them piled into a car and made their way to the CKGF boxing club.

The gym occupied the second floor of a modest bar. Inside, the decor was unremarkable. Some of the plaster on the walls had chipped away, and while the equipment was functional, it had seen better days.

A few young adults were training alongside a group of eager children. The part-time coach was an older gentleman, probably in his fifties or sixties. He stood about 5'2", but he carried himself with a spirit full of vitality and was friendly in demeanor.

Through their conversation, they learned he was named Lawson.

"Hey there, friends! Are you looking to rent this space?" Lawson greeted them.

"Yes, sir," Kus replied, "we need to use the venue for a while. We'd be willing to pay you two hundred dollars a day."

Two hundred dollars meant a lot to that run-down club, and Lawson quickly agreed.

"Welcome aboard! Feel free to use anything in the gym. If you need help, those young folks can assist you with training, though there may be a small fee for that," Lawson added with a knowing smile.

Tyson eyed the young trainers cautiously.

One among them was in his twenties and looked almost frail—he seemed destined for a lightweight class. Another man, even shorter, was closer to 5'6"—he looked like a novice. The last of the trio was of similar stature to Tyson and fell in the middleweight range.

Realistically speaking, Tyson could spar with any of them and likely finish in a matter of seconds. For their own safety, he firmly declined. "No, Mr. Lawson, I'd rather not put them through that. It could be dangerous."

Lawson assessed Tyson's imposing figure, noticing how his arms were thicker than the young men's thighs. He chuckled, "Haha! You're a heavyweight, so I see what you mean. But believe me, they're good boxers and capable of handling themselves."

It was a clear attempt to bolster his earnings.

Kus stepped in, saying, "We're only renting the space, old friend. No need for sparring help; we appreciate the offer."

Lawson didn't push further; he understood that his priority was to support these fighters, and if they didn't want to spar, so be it.

"If you need anything else, I'll be in my office over there," Lawson mentioned before walking toward the trio of young boxers, exchanging a few words with them.

Although the specifics of Lawson's conversation were unclear to Kus and his friends, the body language of the three young men suggested they were unsettled by the exchange. They were clearly agitated.

After learning what had transpired, the three fighters felt slightly insulted. Who were these heavyweights looking down on them? Just how fragile did they think they were?

Once Lawson returned, the three of them simmered in indignation but ultimately did nothing. They recognized that Lawson had fallen into this business, and their anger wouldn't help matters.

Tyson was aware of their growing irritation but chose to ignore it, focusing solely on his own training.

Kus found two skipping ropes lying around and handed them to Tyson and Teddy. "Mike, warm up. Teddy, let's go!"

Teddy began skipping expertly, combining various techniques with practiced ease.

Tyson picked up his rope, shaking it out before starting his rhythm. Initially, he moved slowly, almost lazily, which drew skepticism from one of the younger boxers, who shared a smirk with his friends and nudged them to watch.

Gradually, Tyson's speed increased. His movements became more fluid, throwing in a few single-leg hops and variations. His tempo varied; sometimes he'd move fast, sometimes slow, his breath syncing with the rhythm he established.

Kus watched intently, nodding his approval.

"That speed is no challenge! I could outpace him with one leg," one young man boasted, to the approval of his friends.

"Yeah, he's looking a bit feeble," another chimed in.

Their arrogance exposed their amateurish understanding of the sport completely. Did they really think that speed alone made the jump rope exercise more meaningful? The purpose of skipping for a boxer was to enhance balance and coordination, helping them find their rhythm—not just to jump faster.

With their misguided pretensions, they might as well have been comic relief.

Teddy continued to skip at an impressive pace, incorporating tricks and flair. However, Kus, noticing Teddy's antics, furrowed his brow. After a few minutes, he chided, "Teddy, have you forgotten everything I taught you? This isn't a circus act!"

Startled, Teddy adjusted his rhythm, focusing on steadying his jumps and finding his groove.

After about twenty minutes, Tyson set his rope aside and took to stretching. For boxers, stretching was essential—it helped build muscle dexterity and overall resilience.

Not far off, the three young men seemed to be running out of things to say. They resumed training, but the atmosphere had shifted.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the gym. Curiosity piqued, they turned to see a stout boxer pounding on a heavy bag.

In the gym, there were five bags; three were occupied by children, while two remained. One bag was lightly packed and soft, while the other was a real heavyweight, filled with a combination of sand and pebbles. Hitting that bag required real skill; it was deceptively heavy and to throw an improper punch could lead to injury.

The stout boxer, having spent years sharpening his skills, could now throw his strength into his strikes. Early on, when they first started training, his fists wouldn't have had the necessary impact. But now, he harnessed remarkable power with each punch.

"Look, that heavyset guy is about to hurt himself," one of the onlookers pointed out, eyes glued to the action.