100 Ways to Outsmart You

In the past two hours, Tyson had barely managed to train. Still, he told himself that even unfocused practice was better than doing nothing at all.

Perched on a stool, he kept his eyes glued to the door, waiting for Kus to return from the hospital.

Finally, the door swung open, and Kus entered, with Teddy trailing behind him, medicine in hand.

"How did it go? Did they run any tests?" Tyson asked, a note of worry creeping into his voice.

Kus chuckled softly. "Oh, you know how it is. They turned me into a guinea pig the moment I stepped through the door. Those relentless doctors poked and prodded me for three solid hours. Like I've said before, it's just a minor flu—I'm fine."

Tyson shifted his gaze to Teddy, who nodded, confirming that Kus was indeed telling the truth.

A wave of relief washed over Tyson.

As long as Kus was alright, he could turn his focus back to his training without the nagging worry of his coach's health looming over him.

---

Soon enough, Friday arrived. Kus had initially planned to head to the gym, but Tyson flat-out refused his insistence.

The stubborn old man was undeterred and continued to argue for attending the match.

Seeing that Kus wouldn't listen to reason, Tyson acquiesced, though with a heavy heart.

"Kus, please don't overexert yourself tonight. This isn't worth compromising your health," Tyson urged, concern lacing his words.

With barely concealed impatience, Kus replied, "Mike, remember who I am. I'm your coach, not your patient."

"Yes, you are my coach, but you're also like a father to me. I can't just stand by and watch you risk your health over something as trivial as a cold."

Tyson rarely articulated such feelings openly. He usually kept his emotions buried deep beneath the surface. But this time he was frank. "Your well-being comes first. As your 'son,' I feel responsible for taking care of you."

Kus stood frozen for a moment, taken aback by the unexpected declaration.

Throughout their conversation, Kus maintained an exterior composure, but his inner turmoil was palpable. He loved Tyson like a son but had never thought of himself as being treated with the same regard.

After a long pause, he finally replied, "There's nothing to worry about. We're in control of this situation."

Tyson nodded, understanding the underlying truth in Kus's words.

They made their way to the arena, an electric atmosphere buzzing with anticipation.

Before long, it was Tyson's turn to step into the ring.

Tonight's heavyweight championship would determine who would advance to the semifinals.

As the moment approached, Tyson kept his focus and made a concerted effort to block out the roaring crowd.

His opponent, Ignati Woods, stood at the opposite end of the ring. Woods had a rugged face adorned with a beard that obscured his true age—a strategy that only added to his intimidating presence.

Although he looked far older, Woods was, in fact, a 19-year-old regional champion from Florida, armed with raw talent and fierce determination.

He stood a couple of inches taller than Tyson and carried a heavy frame, with a substantial midsection that swayed as he moved.

If it weren't for the age indicated in the records, one might mistake him for a battle-hardened veteran ready to brawl.

His nickname, "The Tank," fit perfectly with his style; he bulldozed through opponents with brute force and relentless aggression.

Tyson had scoured video footage of Woods's matches, learning that he indeed fought like a tank—charging forward, forcing opponents to adapt or be overwhelmed.

Despite the imposing figure across the ring, Tyson remained unfazed. He excelled in psychological warfare, never letting the external pressure dictate his performance.

As the match commenced, Woods slowly advanced, showcasing his solid technique and impressive accuracy. Even with Tyson's rapid movements, Woods managed to land a few solid punches, making his intent clear: he was there to fight.

Tyson realized he needed to change his strategy. The bout began to shift; he picked up his guard, fully aware that Woods's aggressive style put him in a tough spot.

Each time he attempted to bait Woods into an exchange, the seasoned fighter held fast, sticking to his game plan and refusing to take the bait.

Round one slipped away quickly, marking the first time Tyson had progressed this far in recent matches.

In the break between rounds, Kus began outlining a strategy in earnest.

"Mike, our opponent is formidable. If he won't engage with you, you'll need to maximize your movement in the first half of the round. Wear him down. He'll start to sense the danger coming and might try to close in on you. That's when you can hit him hard and turn the match in your favor."

There was no doubt that Kus had a keen understanding of boxing psychology, adjusting tactics based on the opponent's strengths and weaknesses.

With the start of the second round, Tyson ramped up his footwork, alternating between agility and explosive motion aimed at keeping Woods off-balance.

He began peppering him with jabs and straight punches, darting in and out of range.

Woods's size, while intimidating, became a liability as he struggled to keep pace with Tyson's swift footwork. Gradually, he started to fall into a more defensive posture as Tyson relied on his speed and finesse.

Commentator Duke chimed in, "Mike Tyson's tactics are clearly working. Ignati Woods is becoming increasingly passive. He has got to break this pattern, or it's going to cost him the match."

"Tyson has found his rhythm. He's circling around Woods, who can barely keep up with the pace. The opponent's slowness could be his downfall," Duke added, highlighting Tyson's strategic advantage.

Midway through the round, Tyson took a moment to gather himself. He halted abruptly and steeled his gaze, extending his gloves and pointing decisively to the ground.

"I'm ready for whatever you've got."

His message was clear: Tyson had many avenues to clinch victory without resorting to reckless aggression. That was simply not his style.

Woods, drenched in sweat, stepped forward with determination, his expression filled with silent challenge.

"Then come at me," Tyson seemed to say, a spark of defiance in his eyes.