### Chapter 136: How Are You Doing in Prison?

"Roy, that pretty boy is mouthing off to the media again. He said he's 100% confident he'll beat you, and he's going to knock you out with one punch like last time. That pretty boy is too arrogant."

In a mansion in West Palm Beach, Florida, a young black man angrily said while flipping through the newspaper.

**Bam! Bam!**

In front of a punching bag, Roy Jones, shirtless, was hitting the bag hard, paying no attention to his partner's words.

"Roy, should we talk some trash too?" the young black man asked.

"No need. Talking doesn't matter; strength is what counts!" 

**Bam! Bam!** Roy Jones continued to hit the bag, focused.

"Ha ha, you're right. That pretty boy's strength is nothing special; he just plays tricks. I heard that since he won the championship belt, he's been busy acting in movies or spending time with his girlfriend, hardly training at all. I don't know how someone like him can talk so big," the young black man said disdainfully.

"Don't mind him. Let's focus on our own training," Roy Jones said, wiping sweat with a towel. "Any news from the management?"

"Yes, I almost forgot. Nick called and said they got information from Don King Promotions. Apparently, Don King doesn't want the fight to end too early and wants Richard to go a few more rounds. Richard agreed and seems very confident," the young black man said, checking his phone messages.

"A few more rounds? Is this true?" Roy Jones asked, puzzled.

"100% accurate. It seems like Don King intentionally leaked the information."

"Really?" Roy Jones rubbed his chin. "Call Stephen and have them come over to discuss the strategy again."

"Okay, wait, there's more. Last year in Las Vegas, Richard fought Evander Holyfield."

"What?" Roy Jones was surprised. "How many rounds did Richard last?"

"Two rounds. They both knocked each other down once and didn't continue after that."

"Is that so?" Roy Jones frowned.

"Roy, is that guy really that good?" his partner asked.

Roy Jones nodded. "That guy's strength is not bad. His punches and speed are excellent, almost on par with mine."

"If he can knock down Holyfield, do you still have confidence to beat him?" his partner asked.

"Of course. I'm confident against Holyfield too. Last time I lost because I underestimated him. I thought his right leg was weak and tried to exploit that, but I didn't expect his strength to be that high and his movement still quick. In the end..." 

**Bam!** Roy Jones punched the bag hard, gritting his teeth.

"And this time?"

"This time, I'll treat him as an equal and fully respect his abilities. He wants to go a few more rounds? I'll fight a tactical battle. No matter how heavy his punches are or how fast he is, he can't match my endurance and stamina."

"Yes, nobody can match us in that," his partner said, patting his chest.

Roy Jones nodded and then shook his head. "We can't be careless. That pretty boy is not an ordinary boxer. His boxing IQ is higher than his actual strength, so we can't let our guard down at any time."

"You're right. Go get them. There are a lot of black fans voicing their support for you, hoping you beat that pretty boy," his partner said, pumping his fists.

"I know!" Roy Jones nodded. After his partner left, he picked up the newspaper on the sofa, glanced at Richard's arrogant comments and smug expression, and sneered coldly. He hoped Richard could still smile after the match.

**Ring, ring, ring.**

Roy Jones's phone rang. Seeing that it was Michael Tyson calling, he was surprised. In 1992, Tyson was sentenced to six years for raping a black woman and was released on parole in 1995, with the parole period extended to this year.

But in August last year, Tyson got into a fight after a car accident and was sentenced to another year with two years of parole, which was reduced to 60 days due to good behavior. Tyson should still be in prison now.

"Hey, Mike, how have you been?" Roy Jones asked.

"Ha ha, not bad. There are many old friends here. Next month, when you come to Nevada for the match, you can visit me. I'll introduce you to some of the guys in here; they're good boxers," Tyson laughed on the phone.

"Ha, no thanks. What's up?" Roy Jones asked.

"Oh, fuck, of course there's something. My life in prison was peaceful until I saw an interview with Richard Brad in the newspaper. He said I didn't even have ten thousand dollars. That damned pretty boy! If I were out, I'd beat the crap out of him and show him the difference between light heavyweight and heavyweight."

Tyson's voice was filled with anger.

"Ha ha, really? I heard he fought Holyfield. Guess who won?" Roy Jones laughed.

"Who?"

"Richard Brad won."

"Impossible! That's absolutely impossible!" Tyson shouted.

In 1996 in Las Vegas, Tyson fought Holyfield and was technically knocked out in the 11th round, losing his WBA belt. In June 1997, also in Las Vegas, during their rematch, Tyson bit Holyfield's ear twice and was disqualified.

Now hearing that the guy he couldn't beat was knocked down by a pretty boy, Tyson was furious.

"Hey, Mike Tyson, control your temper. Damaging prison property adds ten days to your sentence," Roy Jones heard a guard's voice over the phone.

"Hey, Mike, you okay?"

"Huff, I'm fine. Holyfield is so incompetent. No, Richard Brad's strength is average. How could he beat Holyfield?"

"I don't know. It was an internal match, so I don't have much information."

"Hmm, must be fake news. Someone is deliberately spreading it to boost that pretty boy's image. Yeah, it's that old guy Don King. He used to do the same thing when he managed me. Still up to his old tricks," Tyson said angrily, spitting.

When it came to Don King, Tyson was full of resentment. Don King was Tyson's former manager, but after Tyson went to prison, King abandoned him. Tyson was furious and sued King in New York last March, claiming King had defrauded him of huge sums of prize money and appearance fees, demanding $100 million in damages.

Unfortunately, King was too powerful, and due to insufficient evidence, the court ignored Tyson's case. Tyson was livid, cursing King as a liar, scumbag, and a damned old man.

"Hey, Mike, you okay? You seem a bit agitated," Roy Jones asked, noticing Tyson's tone.

"Huff, I'm fine. Roy, are you confident you'll beat that pretty boy this time?" Tyson asked.

"Of course, 100% confident!" Roy Jones said confidently.

"Good. I said I'd bet ten thousand dollars on you, but Richard Brad said I didn't have that kind of money. I'll show him that Michael Tyson isn't short on cash."

"Mike, thanks for your support. I'll win the match and not let you down."

"Ha ha, good. But you know, Roy, with all the lawsuits, divorces, buying five mansions, fifteen cars, and Nevada's athletic commission fining me six million twice, fuck, I'm a bit short on cash right now. Can you lend me ten thousand, brother? Don't worry, I'll pay you back once you win."

"..."

"Hey, Roy, what do you say?"

"..."

(End of Chapter)