Three Years In

Two hours later, Tyson was exhausted and drenched in sweat, yet he remained focused, listening intently to the instructions being given.

Kus clapped his hands, signaling everyone's attention. "Alright, Mike, let's move on to the next exercise."

Tyson paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with a towel.

This next training session involved Teddy who was going to push a small sandbag filled with stones. The sandbag would be tethered to the same height as Tyson's head by a rope.

Tyson's task was to evade the sandbags coming his way to avoid being struck. Teddy would accelerate the delivery of the sandbags, changing their speed and direction, which made it a real challenge for Tyson to keep up.

A few times, the heavy sandbag grazed Tyson's nose, causing a sharp pain and a trickle of bright red blood to flow down his face. He quickly stuffed a cotton ball in his nostril and pushed forward without hesitation.

"Mike, are you sure you don't want to take a break?" Teddy asked, concern evident in his voice.

Tyson shook his head. "It's a minor setback. It won't stop me—let's keep going!"

He pressed on through the next round.

An hour later, Tyson was sporting a swollen nose and bruises on his face.

Kus clapped once more. "Okay, let's head back for dinner."

As the team of athletes and trainers exited the training hall, Kus planned to review some video footage with Tyson. After dinner, they would spend half an hour analyzing a classic boxing match featuring Jeffries.

"Did you catch that? Jeffries kept his hands low, moving like a predator preparing to strike..."

After the half-hour of footage, Kus switched off the TV. "Mike, it's time for our next training session."

Leading Tyson to a clear area, he began, "This next drill focuses on footwork. I call this U-shaped movement."

Demonstrating as he spoke, Kus instructed, "You need to keep moving. Shift sideways, then forward, back and forth. It's essential to stay unpredictable to mislead your opponent."

Once he finished demonstrating, he coached Tyson through the movements.

"Exactly! Keep those feet moving. Mike, you can push harder—stay on your toes, keep your guard up!"

Tyson immersed himself in the task. Every ounce of his energy was dedicated to training, mirroring Kus's commitment.

The perfect coach, Kus maintained a keen eye on Tyson's every move.

Three years passed in a blink, alternating between days and nights.

New York mornings were particularly frigid, especially after a recent blizzard that blanketed the city in pristine white.

At five in the morning, the frozen Hudson River flowed relentlessly beneath the snow.

Amidst the white landscape stood a determined young man throwing punches at the air, a figure both powerful and poised.

This young man was Tyson, a robust youth whose precise strikes were reminiscent of a cheetah springing into action.

His footwork shifted at a rapid pace, fluidly transitioning left and right, up and down.

Each punch he delivered cut through the air, the sound slicing like thunder.

The snow around him bore the scars of his intensity, now transformed into a chaotic arena.

Breathless, Tyson paused, his chest heaving with exertion.

At just sixteen, he stood at 5'11" and weighed nearly 200 pounds. His physique was a testament to three years of relentless training and a dedication to fitness.

Boxing was more than a sport; it was his life. He immersed himself completely, with never a thought to take a breather. Day after day, he maintained an unwavering passion for the ring.

After two minutes of rest, he jogged back to Kus's house.

Inside, Kus was tirelessly working in the kitchen, frying up a mountain of bacon and eggs for the fighters.

The sizzle from the pan filled the room.

Upon entering the house, Tyson noted the messy dining table and immediately set to work tidying it up.

Kus was a man of strength and independence, not one to appreciate others lending a hand, however small. For Tyson, this provided amusement, a lighthearted banter with the elderly gentleman.

Kus emerged from the kitchen, food in hand. Upon seeing Tyson arranging the table, he frowned and declared, "Mike, you shouldn't move things around. That's my job."

Tyson, feigning innocence, replied, "I know, but my hands are quick, and I actually enjoy cleaning up."

"You little rascal!"

Despite the words, Kus didn't sound upset.

Tyson finished clearing off the table. "See? Just as spotless as a new car!"

Kus placed the food down with a flourish, shouting jovially, "Come eat your breakfast, knucklehead!"

Tyson settled down, diving into his meal.

Once breakfast was finished, Tyson prepared to grab his school bag and head out.

Kus's gaze fell on his pants.

"Mike, what are you wearing? Are you showing off? Those make you look like a stuffed tomato!"

Carmel interjected, "He's just wearing what any young person would wear; don't be harsh."

"Please, Carmel, I know ugly when I see it," Kus retorted.

Tyson twisted playfully, shouting back, "I don't care how I look, just as long as I'm comfortable!"

With that, he dashed out the door.

Kus sighed and turned to Carmel, "Did you see? That is a true nutcase."

Carmel looked fondly at Tyson's retreating figure. "I think he looks quite stylish!"

Tyson dashed towards school as was his routine.

He was now enrolled in Catskill High School.

In an environment where racial tensions were rampant, Tyson faced his share of challenges.

The air was thick with unsaid words, white students clinging to their sense of supremacy, hurling derogatory terms without thought.

Though Tyson's build commanded respect, he couldn't shield himself from these jabs.

Annoying tough guys lurked everywhere—the wrestlers, the rugby players—all seeking to assert their dominance.

Keeping his composure was something Tyson learned quickly; in the face of harassment, he often reminded himself, "They're just ignorant kids; I won't let them get to me."

Though he refused to engage in petty fights, he would occasionally display his strength—like when he would punch a school tree. The stunned whispers followed, an unintended mark on school property.

Kus would take care of the consequences, paying for repairs without a grumble, often defending Tyson fiercely to school officials.

Moments like that led Tyson to realize how much Kus truly cared for him.

Arriving at school, he was greeted by a short, pudgy classmate.

"Hey, Mike!"

This was Case, Tyson's friend.

"Hey, Case," Tyson replied, acknowledging him.

Case, full of enthusiasm, asked, "How's your weekend looking?"

"Not bad," Tyson shrugged, keeping it brief.

Case's eagerness stemmed from an earlier incident where Tyson had shut down a group of bullies targeting him when he first entered high school.

Feeling protective, Case had since regarded Tyson as his guardian, always seeking his company.

As they walked, white students pointed at them furtively, mindful of Tyson's reputation and reluctant to confront him directly.

"Look at Tyson with that black idiot," they muttered.

Though the words stung, Case managed to respond quietly, "They're just insecure souls who can only hide behind their words."

Tyson feigned ignorance, focusing on his path.

After classes ended, it was already four in the afternoon.

Rushing towards the training hall, Tyson adequately prepared for a session that, even without Kus, he was determined to tackle alongside Teddy.

Tyson's strength had grown immensely, and Teddy now served more as a training partner than a coach.

By seven o'clock, Tyson returned to Kus's home.

Noticing Kus was absent, he dropped his school bag onto the sofa and turned on the TV, eager to watch some boxing footage.

Voices of Carmel and Kus drifted from the kitchen.

"Carmel, selling the house isn't the answer! We can find a way to manage our expenses," Kus said in his resolute tone.

Carmel protested, "But keeping this house is a burden! It requires so much maintenance."

Tyson set the tape aside, feeling a pang of guilt. He had lived here for three years, contributing little to this household.

At sixteen, he felt he needed to step up. It was time to help out during their financial strain.

Before long, Kus appeared and caught sight of Tyson in the living room.

"I overheard the conversation, and I want to help," Tyson said.

Kus paused, contemplating. "I've got this under control; focus on your training and studies."

"No, I want to contribute! I'm part of this family and can't just sit back while you struggle."

This time, Kus remained silent longer than before.

Tyson's eyes implored him. "I'm sixteen now. I can compete to help financially, and that would give me some practical experience too, right?"

"Absolutely, you need that experience in the ring, and yes, let's find you some matches," Kus finally replied.

Tyson's determination was unshakeable; after three years of rigorous training, he was ready to showcase his skills, bolster their finances, and prepare for a future in boxing—all in one go.