Chapter 55: How Could I Lose?
Bang! Bang! Bang!
In the boxing gym, Richard, shirtless and sweating, continuously pounded the punching bag with precise blows, each one hitting the center target.
Under his relentless attack, the bag swayed back and forth with consistent frequency, as if his fists perfectly aligned with the bullseye.
"Tch~ Impressive?"
Paul also struck the punching bag forcefully.
These bags were heavy, requiring over 200 pounds of force to move. To hit it with Richard's precision, one needed exceptional power, speed, and technique simultaneously.
Paul threw dozens of punches. For the first fifty, he maintained this precision, but as his stamina waned and his arm strength dispersed, maintaining this consistency became challenging.
Bang!
After half an hour of continuous punching, Richard stopped, exhaling slowly.
After the last incident, he and Bundchen decided to take a three-day break to recover.
Thanks to his excellent physical condition and strong recovery ability, he was almost fully recovered by the second day, perhaps even stronger, likely due to his extensive evening workouts.
"Paul, you said you wanted a rematch last time. When?"
Richard wiped his sweat and smiled.
"Did I say that?"
Paul grinned, "I only remember some guy realizing he couldn't beat me and running away. The rest is a blur."
Richard smirked, "Stop training. We should head out."
"No, I need to train a bit more."
Paul threw a few more punches at the bag.
Richard shook his head and went to the shower. After a quick rinse, he changed into a gray tracksuit and ran into Alvin as he emerged.
"Alvin, where were you?"
Richard asked.
"Placing bets."
Alvin shook two betting slips and grinned.
"On what?"
"You and Paul. This time, both your opponents are strong. Several street casinos have opened bets. Your winning streak has 1.2 odds, and Paul's has 2.2. I just placed two more bets."
Alvin laughed.
"Alvin, why are my odds so high? Don't they believe I can win?"
Paul complained.
"Mike Dixon is very strong. At his peak, he knocked out champion James Smith. Your match is tougher than Richard's. You should be careful."
"What's there to fear? That guy's a junkie. I hope he doesn't relapse in the ring; winning like that wouldn't be satisfying."
Paul said.
"Whether he's using or not, you must treat him like any other opponent."
"Got it. We should get going."
The three prepared and boarded a minibus, accompanied by Dr. Earl and two gym apprentices, giving them some experience.
The match was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, at the Wachovia Center, home of the NBA's 76ers.
Leaving at 9 AM, they arrived around 2 PM. Being on the East Coast, it was closer than Boston.
After resting for a few hours, they headed to the arena.
The event had been pre-advertised, and by 5 PM, the stands were packed with around ten thousand people.
As they entered, a lightweight boxing match (61 kg) was ongoing. Richard recognized one of the boxers, a young black fighter with "Mayweather" on his belt.
Hmm?
Could it really be future champion Floyd Mayweather?
Bang!
While watching, Mayweather suddenly exploded with energy, landing a punch on his opponent's face. His opponent staggered, fell, and was knocked out.
Roar~
The crowd erupted, cheering loudly for Mayweather.
"Tsk, this kid is fierce."
Paul admired.
"Yes, Mayweather is excellent—technically sound and physically gifted. If he keeps it up, he'll achieve great things."
Alvin assessed.
"Roar!"
"I won!"
Mayweather, having won, stood on the ropes, shouting to the crowd like a wild panther.
The crowd's cheers grew louder.
Suddenly, the young panther quieted down.
He had spotted a familiar, infuriatingly handsome white face in the crowd.
Despite it being over ten days, he couldn't forget being punched away by that guy—a humiliating black mark on his record.
He waved a fist, resentfully returning to the ring.
"Huh~ What's up with him? Why'd he stop shouting when he saw me?"
Paul blinked in confusion.
"With your build, you look tough. Seeing you, he naturally held back."
Richard laughed.
"Haha, really? That kid's interesting. I'd like to be friends with him."
"Don't wander off. We're heading to the rest area. You're up next."
Alvin reminded.
"Alright!"
They entered the boxers' lounge, resting for half an hour. Then it was Paul's turn. They walked out through the competition tunnel.
Shush!
Spotlights illuminated Paul, and the commentator began detailing his record, qualifications, and coach, calling him a rising star with three wins and three knockouts.
"Awoooo~~~"
Paul howled like a wolf, jumped high, and punched down like a dunk, thrilling the crowd.
The audience loved his showmanship, clapping and cheering, making the atmosphere lively again.
"Paul, save your energy."
Seeing him show off, Alvin loudly reminded.
"Alright!"
Paul shrugged and approached the ring.
After a brief rest, the match began.
Paul's opponent, Mike Dixon, was a 37-year-old black man, sturdy, with half-closed eyes, looking like a junkie.
Dixon had fought 23 professional matches, with 18 wins, 4 losses, and 1 draw. He gained fame in 1989 by knocking out champion James Smith.
After a period of inactivity due to substance abuse, he was reportedly clean and back to boxing.
At the start, Paul launched a fierce attack, throwing powerful punches. But Dixon, technically adept, blocked and countered effectively.
"Paul can't fight like this. He's underestimating Dixon."
Alvin fumed.
Alvin's strategy was to gauge Dixon's strength first, ideally going for a long match.
Regardless of Dixon's sobriety, his stamina couldn't match a healthy Paul's. If Paul could last eight rounds, victory was assured.
"Alvin, relax. Paul's stronger than Dixon."
Richard assured.
"What makes you say that?"
Alvin asked.
"I train with Paul. I know his strength—great power and stamina. Against peers, he's not always at an advantage, but against an older guy like Dixon, he has a huge edge. Look at Dixon's footwork; he's conserving energy. Only someone with limited stamina does that. Even if Paul loses this round..."
Bang!
As he spoke, Dixon launched a powerful punch, catching Paul's left cheek. Paul staggered, nearly falling.
Roar~
The crowd cheered. They loved intense, visceral matches.
"Paul, steady yourself!"
Alvin shouted.
Paul shook his head, guarding his head and stepping back to avoid further hits.
Ding, ding, ding~
The first round ended.
Paul retreated to the corner, head down.
Dr. Earl checked his cheekbone—no major issues.
Alvin instructed him to focus on defense in the second round, aiming to drag the fight past the sixth round, then counterattack.
"Did you hear me?"
Alvin shouted.
"Got it, got it!"
Paul nodded repeatedly.
"You said you understood before, but how did you fight? You almost got KO'd by someone you said wasn't a threat. If you don't follow the strategy, this challenge ends here."
Alvin said.
"Alvin, I'll do as you say."
"Not as I say, but according to the match's rhythm. Focus on defense, attack when possible, and beware of technical tricks."
"Understood!"
Paul stood up.
"Hey~ Paul, relax! With the two of us, even if you lose, I'll secure the win."
Richard shouted.
"Nonsense, I won't lose. Just watch!"
Paul pounded his chest and strode back to the ring.
Ding, ding~
The match resumed.
This time, Paul was cautious, no longer underestimating the old Dixon. He followed Alvin's strategy, focusing on defense and counterattacks.
If his first-round offense was wild, his defensive counterattacks now were methodical. Every move, every block and strike, showed his ten years of training with Alvin, even surpassing Richard in this aspect.
Old Dixon attacked many times with little success, tried to lure Paul, but with no effect. He had to follow Paul's pace, turning the fight into a war of attrition. Eventually, they dragged the match into the eighth round.
"You can attack now!"
Alvin said before the eighth round started.
"Got it!"
When the bell rang, both fighters approached the ring. As the referee signaled the start, Paul immediately threw a straight punch.
Bang~
Dixon, unprepared for such a move, raised his right hand to block.
But at that moment, Paul's punch had the weight of a heavyweight champion. An old fighter like Dixon, having gone through seven rounds and once a junkie, couldn't withstand it. His right fist was knocked aside, and Paul's punch slammed into his face.
Bang!
Dixon's face contorted, and he fell backward onto the ring.
Boom~
The crowd of thousands roared again. After several rounds of defense, they were bored, but Paul's sudden and decisive punch at the start of the eighth round thrilled them.
".8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1"
The referee counted to ten, and Dixon remained down. Paul won by another knockout.
"Yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!"
Paul yelled loudly in the ring, shouting in four directions, even waving a fist at Richard with a smug look.
Richard shook his head; this guy was getting cocky again
.
"Richard, go get ready. You're up next."
"Alright!"
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P.S. 3200 words, I'm really getting longer.
(End of chapter)