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Class G Battle Suit Fighter

A child from the lowest class of society, a simple G-class boy, will impose himself with his fists in a cruel world. He will advance from the sewers and sewers to the top and fame, from class to class, only with his perseverance, his rage, and his ability to survive. But getting out of the gutter is not easy, nor will the elites allow him to advance easily. Will his fists be able to impose himself on his cruel destiny?

Albinus_istamar · Sports
Not enough ratings
98 Chs

19

They returned to the house and went into the basement, some of Blacker's employees had brought the various things that the champion had asked for. Marcus smiled satisfied but Mouse looked like he had entered a torture chamber.

But of all the stuff the fighter took a simple roll of rope, he did not bother to tell Mouse what he was going to do now, in a few hours he had understood that with this boy it was easier to show him himself.

The rope was tied from one wall to the other of the basement in the widest part, more than ten meters were from one end to the other of the room. Marcus, who already had experience in doing this, regulated the height of the rope a little lower than his shoulder when he was standing.

He got into a classic guard with his fists in front of his face and lowered his center of gravity enough by flexing his legs a little and bending his spine a little so that the rope now reached the height of his chin.

The boy looked at the champion, it was a very different stance than he had used to fight, but more similar to what he had seen the other fighters in the arena. Marcus began to swing his head and shoulders to get his head under the rope, and began to walk from one end of the room while swinging his head once or twice under the rope with each step.

When he reached the other end of the room he did not turn around but did the same thing walking backwards. When the demonstration was over he went with Mouse to the lines that had been marked on the wall, using Mouse's height and his shoulder as a reference and putting a magnetic holder on the basement wall where he tied the rope and another one at approximately the same height at the other end.

The boy stood on guard imitating Marcus, but Marcus stopped him before he started.

"Don't bend your legs so much, you'll walk like a duck and it will make you slow, bend your back a little more, like this"

Mouse began to practice, the way forward was not difficult for him, although he couldn't help but hit his head on the rope a couple of times or seem a little out of sync in his movements. However, walking backwards and doing those movements became something difficult and quite embarrassing, halfway there he stopped and looked at Marcus.

"What's the point of this?"

"Are you going to ask me every single thing I tell you to do or are you going to obey me?"

"I prefer to understand what I do, otherwise everything seems absurd or useless to me"

Marcus grabbed some large training mittens, they were like big, padded gloves.

"Most kids you face will try to hit you in the head, it's the most logical and instinctive thing to do, stand on guard on one side of the rope"

Marcus threw the mitt in a wide and slow movement over the rope straight to where the boy's head was. Mouse smiled and began to understand. When the champion started the movement again the boy tilted and passed his head under the rope the slow blow of the champion passed over it.

Now that he knew what he was doing this for Mouse put more energy and intention into it, he practiced a couple of back and forth movements. When the boy gained a little more confidence with the exercise, Marcus corrected his posture a little, the supporting leg a little more forward and the hip a little less horizontal. Mouse walked with this kind of half step without changing the forward leg. It was strange but it was just a matter of getting used to it.

At that moment the champion also put on some leg guards, not so much because of the damage the child could do to him, but because of the damage the child could do to himself if he didn't hit a padded part.

"Mouse, now when you move forward I'll be in front, I'll put my hands on one side and the other, I want you to hit the mitten just after passing under the string as you move forward, when you move back I'll throw the mittens over you a little faster and I want you to kick my legs as you move back, take your time at first, do it slowly marking the movement, we'll increase the speed with each trip."

The boy had not played since he left the farm, this training despite the tiredness and pain in his arms was the closest thing to playing that the boy had experienced in years. He was happy, he was content, it was fun trying to throw punches at the point where the champion put the mitts.

The boy was a quick learner, although those punches lacked strength and technique they were not bad for a child of only nine years old. They continued with this game for a long time, the biggest problem for Mouse was coordinating the movements while retreating. More than once he lost his balance when trying to go under the rope and hit with his leg at the same time, many other times the mitt simply made him go slow or even try to do it too fast and out of sync.

When they finished they both smiled, Mouse thought for a moment.

"Why don't I put myself like you did in your fight, did it work well for me when I fought?"

"Kid, it's a matter of distance, starting with that stance is fine if you have more reach than the opponent, so even if it's a fist fight you'll have an advantage, but you're smaller, your arms are a little shorter, if you do that from the beginning you'll get into trouble, don't use that unless your opponent is very tired or can't attack well because he has an injured leg"

"I understand, only when I have the advantage"

"Now let's fix those kicks of yours, they really suck"

Mouse nodded. Although it had worked for him in combat, now that he had to do them repeatedly it was difficult for him to keep his balance and even get power if he wanted to move and kick at the same time"

One of the things they had brought and installed was a kind of large post that was anchored to the ground and was the height of Marcus. From one of the bags that the workers had brought, the champion took out a kind of padded canvas, began to roll it around the post, giving it several turns and tying it with a rope at the top, at the bottom on the ground and in the center so that it would not open.

"Now I want you to kick down, as if that post were your opponent's leg."

The champion put him at the distance he thought should be correct. The boy kicked but after the impact he grabbed his foot. The blow had clearly hurt him, even though it was padded. Marcus shook his head, pushed the boy away and got into position. The kick was fast and powerful and the impact was clearly marked on the canvas.

"I can't hit that hard..."

"I'll repeat it again but this time look at the foot I'm supporting myself with."

The champion kicked again, this time Mouse didn't look at the foot that hit but at the one that stayed on the ground. At the moment of the kick, the foot turned from being aligned with the post to facing almost in the opposite direction.

It took Mouse several attempts to get his foot turned, although it was not nearly as much as the champion had done. The kicks were more effective, even more comfortable for the supporting leg, Mouse could say. But he was still a long way from making the movement good. Marcus stopped the boy.

"Now look at my hips."

The champion's hip turn actually followed the movement of the foot right after and was hard and powerful, adding strength to the blow. But the champion still did not stop.

"Now look at how my thigh and my lower part extend."

Marcus made him look at several things in his blows, sometimes he did it in slow motion, explaining this or that detail and pointing out the reasons why Mouse complained so much. When it was the boy's turn, he had a hard time applying everything he had seen, but after an hour, when both legs were already sore, the boy's blows began to clearly show on the canvas.