The Arrival of the Champion

The arena buzzed with energy as spectators cheered wildly, their enthusiasm ignited by Tyson's fluid movements in the ring.

Ignati Woods stood opposite him, fists raised, ready to launch a fierce attack. He guarded his chin with one hand, aiming hooks with the other, determined to make his mark. Yet Tyson, with a dancer's grace, evaded Woods's uppercuts by rocking his upper body back and forth, his quick reflexes always one step ahead.

Woods maintained a steady offensive, throwing a barrage of punches. His skills were commendable, though inconsistent, with a defense that was commendably tight. Tyson spent his time looking for openings but found Woods's guard impenetrable. Time seemed to fly; in the blink of an eye, Ignati had landed a dozen punches, all of which Tyson skillfully dodged.

However, the relentless nature of the fight began to erode Woods's confidence. With each miss, he could feel the self-doubt creeping in, impacting the rhythm of his punches. Soon, his output diminished, and the once aggressive fighter appeared to waver.

Then, Tyson saw his chance. He threw a powerful left hook to Woods's rib, following quickly with a lightning-fast left uppercut. Simultaneously, he raised his right hand just enough to create the illusion of a different attack, a classic feint.

Tyson's speed took Woods by surprise, leaving him disoriented. He dropped into a defensive stance, unaware that the real danger was coming from Tyson's now unguarded left hand. The uppercut that followed was a force of nature—no fighter could withstand the raw power Tyson wielded.

The effect was immediate: Woods's expression crumpled as the punch landed, his face twisting grotesquely under the impact. Sweat flew from him like scattered raindrops, and for a moment, reality blurred as disorientation set in.

Tyson recognized the moment's significance and drove home another uppercut, connecting precisely with Woods's chin.

The larger boxer's sturdy build faltered, and he crumpled to the canvas, head tilted back, utterly spent.

The referee sprang into action, initiating the countdown with authoritative clarity.

Woods struggled to regain his composure, half-kneeling, his knees digging into the mat as he attempted to steady his breath amidst the ringing in his ears. The countdown seemed to stretch, and as the referee reached six, he managed to push himself upright, though unsteadily.

But Tyson's punches had left him reeling. As he stood, Woods looked like a small boat tossed on turbulent waters, his body swaying uneasily. Concerned, the referee rushed in to assist him, signaling the fight's end.

From start to finish, Tyson's footwork had been precise, his stance unwavering. He had dismantled his opponent's confidence through sheer force and technique, leaving no doubt about who was in control.

The atmosphere in the arena erupted like a volcano. Fans leaped to their feet, enveloped in a frenzy of excitement, roaring Tyson's name.

"Beast" Mike Tyson had once again reaffirmed his dominance in the ring.

.....

In Sunday's match, Tyson's opponent struggled to withstand the intense pressure, faltering before the second round. Tyson's aggressive style and keen boxing instincts had effectively torn down Woods's defenses, leading him to an effortless victory.

With this win, the contenders for the national championship were solidified—a stepping stone for Tyson toward an even greater prize. The championship event was set for the following Friday evening, promising to showcase top competitors of their weight class.

In the days leading up to the fight, Tyson poured himself into rigorous training at a local gym, refusing to let up.

Meanwhile, Kus was battling a cold that showed no signs of improvement. His constant coughing and the need for a handkerchief had Tyson on high alert, prompting him to insist that Kus seek medical help.

"Mike, I've already been to the doctor," Kus reassured him, though the tone of his voice did little to ease Tyson's growing concern. "It's just a cold. I can manage. You don't have to worry so much."

Kus was resolute in his refusal to return to the hospital. Tyson, though frustrated, decided to keep a watchful eye on him. If Kus's condition worsened, there was no way he would let him avoid treatment again.

Miraculously, Kus managed to maintain his health through Friday, even as he insisted on attending the championship to watch Tyson fight. The stakes were too high, and this match was critical for Kus's plans. Tyson respected his wishes, unwilling to overrule his friend's desire to be there.

The upcoming championship carried significant weight. The last champion, Henry Tillman, had already found success—two consecutive Gold Gloves championships and a spot on the Olympic selection radar.

For Tyson, this meant that even if he triumphed, it was only a step toward qualifying for the Olympic Games, requiring participation in the upcoming trials.

A loss, however, would strip him of that opportunity altogether.

Tyson felt a flicker of disinterest regarding the Olympics; the notion of representing a country didn't resonate with him at this point in his career. He reflected on the rules that governed Olympic boxing, too; he was fundamentally opposed to the idea of wearing thick protective gear and cumbersome gloves.

The very rules that were meant to protect the fighters felt limiting to him. In his view, aggressive tactics and quick knockouts should hold more weight than they were given. Here, a knockdown was treated the same as a jab, and that struck him as painfully monotonous.

He could decline any Olympic participation entirely, a choice that didn't seem too far-fetched, but he knew winning the Gold Gloves championship was imperative.

To Tyson, these notions were worlds apart, even if Kus sometimes found it hard to understand.

Henry, standing solidly at about six feet three, possessed a well-proportioned physique. His boxing style relied heavily on calculated moves, favoring footwork and jabs to maintain a preferred distance.

Such an approach likely appealed to Olympic scouts, who favored boxers capable of using control to their advantage.

Arrogance draped over Henry like a shroud. He fought with an air of superiority that was palpable; even during pre-fight protocol, he refused to acknowledge Tyson.

When they met for the customary glove tap, it was a mere formality for Henry, a slight nod to sportsmanship that felt insincere. Fury ignited within Tyson.

Arrogance should have no place in the ring, especially not from a champion.

This wasn't just any ordinary fight; it was a prestigious Gold Gloves title match, one that brought Tyson close to true professional boxing.

At that moment, Tyson's resolve crystallized. He was ready to unleash the beast within.

As the match began, Tyson swiftly closed the gap.

Henry, ever alert, created distance immediately and sent a lightning-fast jab towards Tyson's face, one that would have floored a less experienced fighter.

The jab connected with Tyson's cheek. Although it wasn't significantly damaging, it caused him to retreat just as he was about to initiate his own series of combinations.

Tyson attempted strategies to deceive Henry, feinting as he inched closer, but each time, Henry maintained his distance, remaining a step ahead.

The first round unfolded primarily with both fighters testing the waters, landing a few glancing punches without any serious impact—sizing each other up, observing the other's strategy and instinct.

In the break between rounds, Tyson caught sight of Kus. His friend wore an expression of unease, face flushed—likely a side effect of anxiety.

"Mike, the other guy's tricky," Kus cautioned, his voice hoarse from the cold. "He won't give you an opportunity to close in. Try to be bolder—mix it up! Remember the training! Do something unexpected."

Kus coughed again, the sound thick and unsettling, reminding Tyson that his friend's health was still at risk. Determined, Tyson made a silent promise to himself: he'd fight not just for victory, but for his friend beside him.