He Is My General

The boos and ridicule were fleeting.

In this high-stakes arena, victory was a necessity.

"Even a soldier who surrenders without a fight deserves respect," Tyson thought.

His impressive performances in three consecutive bouts had intimidated the competition.

As the matches progressed, even the most determined challengers met with a swift defeat at Tyson's hands, failing to last a full round.

By the time he reached the finals, he had successfully dispatched five opponents—all in the first round.

His astonishing feats left the audience in awe.

"He's the dark horse of this year's tournament, and it won't be long before he challenges Kelton Brown."

Kelton, the reigning champion of the two-time Regional Golden Glove Championship, stood as a formidable figure. At 2.2 meters tall and weighing 130 kg, he was a giant who struck fear into the hearts of many.

Kelton aimed to claim the national championship next, with aspirations of turning professional thereafter.

When Tyson entered the ring, he felt dwarfed by Kelton's imposing stature—a true mountain of a man.

Standing side by side, the contrast was almost comical, with Tyson looking like a child craning his neck to meet Kelton's gaze.

TV commentator Terry remarked, "Tyson's shown incredible skill, but standing next to Kelton, it's hard not to favor the champion."

His co-commentator quickly chimed in, "Absolutely! The height difference is staggering—it's like comparing adults to children."

Terry continued, "This doesn't appear to be an equal match. I believe our two-time champion will give this rising star a harsh boxing lesson."

However, the other commentator countered, "Hold on a second! This is boxing, not a measuring contest. Despite the physical disparity, Tyson has the finesse to make it competitive. If he utilizes his footwork and delivers precise uppercuts, he could pose a real threat to the champion."

The commentary created a buzz as the audience buzzed with excitement.

On one side was the former champion, and on the other, an underdog with undeniable skill.

The energy in the arena peaked.

Kelton's coach shouted encouragement from the corner: "Champ, no one can stop you!"

"Defeat him and keep your journey alive!"

"Utilize your strengths, just like we practiced!"

His shouts drew the referee's ire as he frowned more than once.

Fueled by his coach's words, Kelton paced like a caged beast ready to pounce.

Conversely, Tyson remained calm, leaning against his corner and locking eyes with his opponent.

Teddy, his trainer, cheered from the sidelines: "Mike, you can win…it's all you!"

"Brother, is that all you got?" Tyson mused, glancing at other coaches who were far more motivating.

The referee, raising his hand, signaled for the two fighters to meet him.

In a display of aggression, Kelton glared at Tyson, fists clenched in readiness.

Unfazed, Tyson met his gaze with a steady calm.

The referee's warning fell on deaf ears as Kelton continued his theatrics.

Finally, the two were called together, and the match commenced.

Kelton charged forward, throwing his massive fists with reckless abandon, each swing reminiscent of a giant's might.

Standing opposite, one could feel the weight of power behind every strike.

Yet Tyson, as nimble as ever, evaded with feline grace, slipping around Kelton's swings and delivering a sharp jab to the champion's ribs.

Kelton flinched, forced to regroup as he reeled from the impact.

He responded with a wild left hook that Tyson deftly avoided, retaliating with a swift counter of his own.

Kelton shifted to protect his midsection, attempting to regain control with a jabbing motion.

Once again, Tyson slipped past the punch and unleashed a powerful uppercut, further fraying Kelton's composure.

Tyson's hands moved with a fluidity that bewildered the giant, struck repeatedly in the abdomen and face within the first minute.

Kelton was now on the defensive, struggling to find his rhythm while Tyson maintained relentless pressure.

"Oh my god, what am I witnessing? Is this for the championship?" the commentator exclaimed, disbelief evident on his face.

Terry added, "Tyson is phenomenal—his technique is stellar, truly a masterclass in boxing. His dodges and strikes are superb. I believe he could match up against professionals with this level of skill!"

Tyson's prowess in the ring was drawing admiration, his agility and control unmatched.

Kelton appeared cumbersome in contrast, his massive physique now a liability against Tyson's speed.

This was no contest; it was a one-sided affair.

As Tyson showcased his skills, gasps echoed throughout the arena.

No matter how hard Kelton swung, his punches failed to connect with Tyson, diminishing his confidence.

In a fit of desperation, Kelton attempted a combo, but Tyson's textbook evasion countered his every move.

Finally, unable to withstand the onslaught, Kelton sank to his knees, clutching his ribs.

The pain was overwhelming; he had taken too many hits to endure any longer.

The referee approached, extending his fingers to initiate the countdown.

Kelton gritted his teeth and rose, raising his fists halfway to signal he was still in the fight.

"I'm fine, sir," Kelton murmured, his voice barely audible.

This match was his gateway into professional boxing, crucial for his aspirations.

He had to push through; surrendering was not an option.

Desperation etched on his face, he masked his pain well enough to convince the referee to allow the match to continue.

The crowd erupted once more as the fight resumed.

With blazing speed, Tyson lunged, striking Kelton's liver with a powerful backfist that echoed through the venue.

The strike landed with thundering force, leaving Kelton unable to withstand the agony.

The once-mighty champion crumpled to the canvas, a pained groan escaping his lips.

The fight was over.

Kelton's coach looked deflated, left speechless as he processed the defeat.

Medical staff rushed in to attend to the fallen fighter.

Tyson, victorious, surveyed the electrified crowd, basking in their applause.

In that moment, he felt invincible.

Teddy rushed into the ring and embraced Tyson with fervor.

"Mike, you were phenomenal! Absolutely incredible!" he exclaimed.

Terry's voice boomed through the commentary: "That's it! The giant Kelton has fallen, and a new champion rises—Tyson has arrived on the scene!"

"His extraordinary performance captivated the audience, displaying mastery in boxing techniques. Just over two minutes, yet he left a lasting impression! This young fighter is bound for greatness and destined to shock the nation."

Kuss, watching from home, cheered, executing a victorious uppercut gesture.

"Awesome job!"

Carmel, next to him, interjected, "Kuss, ease up! Mind your back."

"He did it! Mike triumphed, drawing closer to our collective dream!" Kuss celebrated, pacing excitedly.

"Of course, this isn't surprising. Mike works harder than anyone. I may not be a professional, but one thing's clear: Mike is the hardest worker in the ring."

Tyson's triumph elevated him above the rest.

The referee raised Tyson's hand, confirming his championship title.

The head official, Kevin Dolly, a seasoned figure, presented Tyson with the trophy symbolizing his victory.

Tyson raised it high, and a wave of applause enveloped the arena.

Kevin and Tyson exchanged a hearty handshake and hug before Kevin presented Tyson with a hefty check for $50,000.

With trophy in hand and check secured, Tyson posed for pictures, the spotlight firmly on him.

In the background, Kelton, defeated, did not participate in the award ceremony.

This moment belonged exclusively to Tyson; he was the undisputed star of the evening.

The media presence may have been modest, but a few outlets took note, eager to interview the rising champion.

"Mike Tyson, what preparations did you undertake for the tournament?" one reporter asked, intrigued.

"I didn't prepare differently; my coach keeps me training as usual," he answered.

"Your coach—who is he? Did he attend the event?" the reporter pressed.

Tyson replied, "No, Kuss prefers to stay away from the spotlight."

"Kuss? Full name, please. What can you share about him?" she inquired, intrigued.

"Certainly, Kus D'Amato, a legend in his own right. He's molded me for the ring, guiding me with wisdom like a father figure. He keeps me grounded and focused, ensuring I embody what it means to be a boxer. He's remarkable, tough, and my guide—he is my general, and I am his soldier…"

Tyson spoke passionately about Kuss, and a captivated air filled the room.

The reporter smiled politely, prompting, "Thank you, 'Beast' Tyson."

"'Beast' Tyson—it has a nice ring to it," he mused, thrilled by the nickname.