You Are a Beast

As Teddy observed, Tyson now radiated calm.

He kept his gaze fixed on his opponent, attempting to decipher their psychological state.

Rowan prowled the boxing ring, akin to a predator circling its prey.

With careful observation, Tyson noted that Rowan seemed eager to finish this fight swiftly, yearning for a brief respite.

Fatigue reflected in Rowan's constant movement.

An excited, irritable, and exhausted opponent, Tyson mused.

At that moment, the referee approached and, after inspecting both fighters, signaled the start of the match.

Rowan, all bravado, charged forward like a bull, swinging with ferocity.

His right fist hung dangerously low, poised to unleash explosive power.

His left fist shot out first, a straight punch aimed directly at Tyson.

With a swift bend of his legs, Tyson evaded the jab and sidestepped the follow-up right hook.

Seizing the moment, Tyson counterattacked fiercely.

In a fluid motion, he unleashed a left hook to the body followed by a powerful right hook.

The rapid succession of punches mirrored his last match, a testament to his countless hours of training.

Rowan barely had time to react as Tyson's flurry of blows landed unexpectedly.

The audience fell silent, their eyes glued to the ring.

But soon after, Rowan rose back to his feet.

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

After a quick count, the referee saw that Rowan was not significantly impaired and signaled for the fight to continue.

Yet, Tyson noticed a different emotion flickering in Rowan's eyes.

Fear.

Rowan became more cautious, no longer charging in recklessly. He squared his fists, tentatively advancing.

Tyson danced around the ring, his footwork fluid and agile.

Rowan's attempts to jab met failure one after another, causing his confidence to wane.

The jab—a quick, explosive strike—failed to land even a graze, highlighting Tyson's evasive prowess.

Doubts crept into Rowan's mind.

But being an experienced fighter, he showed grit despite the setbacks.

The first round passed swiftly.

Tyson retreated to the ropes, arms resting on them as he studied Rowan's next move.

Rowan's earlier bravado had completely evaporated, replaced by exhaustion and fear.

'How do I fight such a fierce competitor?' he pondered as they entered the second round.

Tyson, fists up and focused, advanced swiftly.

Acknowledging his opponent's strength, Rowan opted for a defensive strategy, relying on straight punches to maintain distance.

But it was futile. Tyson breached Rowan's defense and landed a devastating uppercut.

Rowan's hands instinctively shielded his head as he stumbled back, nearing the ropes.

Tyson capitalized, delivering a right hook to the body followed by a short left hook.

The punch connected squarely with Rowan's chin, sending him to the canvas.

Rowan collapsed, his mouthpiece flying into the crowd, the sound of excitement rippling through the audience.

After the barrage, Tyson glanced at his fallen opponent, then returned to his corner, raising his fists in triumph to the cheering crowd.

The referee neglected the countdown as Rowan lay unconscious.

"Wow, that boxer is incredible," one spectator exclaimed, tossing his hat in frustration at his lost wager.

"This is boxing at its best," said another, exhilarated by Tyson's prowess in the ring.

Teddy stood by, clutching the ticket he exchanged for $3,500.

Nelson, the owner of the venue, approached Tyson and Teddy eagerly.

"Mike, your performance was astounding. Interested in another match tomorrow?"

This venue typically hosted fights just once a week, a long-held tradition.

"Sir, are you opening the venue again tomorrow?" Tyson asked.

Nelson shook his head. "No, what I mean is, I want to introduce you to a new venue where you can fight. But you must make it clear that you're my fighter to avoid complications."

Tyson pondered for a moment. "Will you accompany us then?"

Nelson answered confidently, "Of course. I'll be right there, and we can make some bets with the venue's owners."

"What's in it for me?" Tyson inquired.

"If you win, there's a $5,000 share. Even if you lose, you'll walk away with at least $1,000. What do you say?"

Those terms were generous, rare in informal competitions where payouts were typically meager.

"Count me in," Tyson answered without hesitation.

Teddy, ever the cautious mentor, leaned in. "Mike, those fighters will be strong. Some have even stepped into the professional arena."

Tyson smiled, his resolve unwavering. "Only the strongest opponents will help me grow faster, don't you think, Teddy?"

After a moment, Teddy nodded. "Mike, I respect your decision."

Nelson beamed. "Get your rest tonight, and I'll see you at five tomorrow."

They agreed and stepped outside.

"Mike, what are you planning to do now?" Teddy asked.

"I think we should head back to Catskill and update Cus on everything," Tyson replied.

Teddy had no objections.

By the time they arrived at Cus's place, it was 10 PM.

Approaching the door, Tyson peered through the window and spotted Cus napping on the couch, resting his head on his hand as he slept.

Tyson decided to call out before re-entering, not wanting to startle the elderly trainer.

He pushed the door, only to find it locked.

Locking up at night was Cus's routine, developed after a troublesome history with the IBC—the powerful International Boxing Club—filled with wealthy businessmen and nefarious ties.

Cus had aided in dismantling their monopoly, earning both respect and enemies, including a notorious member, Frankie Capo, who faced serious charges.

Since then, Cus had grown increasingly paranoid, even believing strangers lurked around every corner.

Eventually, he settled in Catskill, removing himself from the chaos of the city.

Now, he locked the door early each night for security.

"Mr. Cus, I'm home," Tyson called out.

His voice cut through the silence, waking Cus, who rubbed his eyes before confirming it was Tyson at the door.

"Mike, why are you back so late? How did the match go?" Cus asked, stepping aside to welcome him.

Tyson took a seat on the couch and replied, "I did well. I took care of my opponent in the second round."

Cus beamed with pride and settled in beside Tyson. "You deserve this success, Mike. Your relentless training and dedication have earned you every victory—even in my own career."

Quickly, Tyson interrupted before Cus could go on, eager to shift the topic. "I want to talk to you about something."

"Go ahead," Cus said.

"Nielsen reached out to me today, wanting to take me to another venue for a fight tomorrow."

For a moment, Cus looked taken aback, his expression shifting as he processed the news.

"Mike, did you agree to this?"

"Yes, I need the experience of fighting tougher opponents to improve," Tyson explained.

Suddenly, Cus stood up, his voice escalating. "You want to leave me? Just like the others?"

Tyson understood. This was Cus's sensitive side showing through.

He quickly took Cus's hand and reassured him, "You know I'm not going anywhere. I love this family. I love you and Carmel. I would never abandon you."

After a moment of silence, Cus eased back onto the couch.

"You can challenge yourself and learn from these fights, but remember that you are a beast—an unstoppable force in the ring."

Cus had always envisioned Tyson as a fierce fighter, instilling in him a sense of intimidation that would unsettle any opponent.

"You can proceed with Nielsen's offer, but you must demonstrate your dominance and ferocity, just as I've taught you. Unleash your inner beast."

The determination in Cus's voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt.