Yor was in the ring, suffering not just from physical pain, but from an aching heart.
As a professional boxer, I understood the pressures of this life, but this moment felt different.
If word got out about what was happening now, it could derail his entire career.
"Leo, what have you done?"
The second round began, and I advanced as always.
Despite his experience, Yule executed a strategy to evade my punches, grabbing hold of my shoulders to neutralize my offense.
I was forced to throw weak body shots, lacking the power to make any impact.
After a brief entanglement, the referee intervened to separate us.
As if discovering a new tactic, Yule began using this approach more frequently.
With his arms around me, he sought to control my movements and defuse my strikes.
The crowd grew restless.
"Get him out of there!"
"It's disgraceful for the sport!"
"Shameless coward!"
Frustration began to boil up within me.
To hug and cling like this was a sign of weakness, an embarrassment in the boxing ring.
The second round concluded, and instead of retreating to my corner, I paced the ring, my glare fixed on Yule.
His confidence began to falter as he realized he underestimated my resilience.
To avoid a knockout, he resorted to wrapping himself around me.
He knew that if he could just survive three more rounds, he'd salvage his pride, no matter how poorly he fought.
Hearing the crowd's disapproval, Yule tried to convince himself that they were simply ignorant of the sport's nuances.
As the third round commenced, even the match official warned him.
"Please show respect for the sport and refrain from negative tactics."
With the warning echoing in my ears, the fight resumed.
I charged forward once more, but before I could land a punch, Yule clutched me again.
This time, I twisted my body and slipped out of his grasp, taking advantage of his defenseless position.
I unleashed a powerful uppercut, my fist slicing through Yule's guard to connect squarely with his chin.
The impact sent shockwaves through his body, and for a moment, he looked dazed, unsteady on his feet.
Had I fully charged the punch, he likely would have been knocked out cold.
I didn't hesitate; I followed up with a flurry of blows as Yule instinctively protected his head.
Five rapid punches later, I landed another devastating shot to his chin with a right hook.
He crumpled to the mat, laid out like a rag doll.
Leaning over him with fierce intensity, I extended my glove in a gesture of sportsmanship, while the crowd erupted into cheers.
The irony was palpable; many had bet on Yule, but his lackluster performance left them feeling cheated.
The outcome wasn't merely about winning or losing; it was about a deep-rooted respect for the sport and disdain for cowardice.
Yule's antics had no place in boxing.
Nielsen rushed into the ring, excitement radiating from him.
"Can you believe it? Finally, you've won!"
Today was a turning point—one that garnered not just a financial reward but a restoration of honor.
I was eager to reclaim what had been lost—both the $100,000 and my reputation.
Nielsen grabbed me in celebration, his own joy intertwining with mine as he glanced towards Yule in disdain.
"Look at him run! Can you believe Leo escaped like that?"
Nielsen's enthusiasm felt infectious, and for the first time, I let myself feel the thrill of victory.
In the office afterward, Terence looked at me in awe.
"Impressive work! You netted me $15,000; how can I express my gratitude?"
I shrugged, downplaying my impact. "Just doing my job."
Terence grinned widely. "No, let's credit Mickey—I just placed the bet as he directed."
Mickey looked sheepish, acknowledging his role in the setup. "I've taken my share already, right?"
"Of course, but there's still unfinished business with Leo," Nielsen pointed out, referring to our fallen opponent who still hadn't shown his face.
Terence smiled and retrieved a box from his desk.
"Your winnings are ready."
Opening the box, I was greeted with $100,000.
"Is this Leo's portion?"
Terence chuckled. "No, consider it an advance. What's due from Leo is separate, not your concern."
I nodded, verified the amount, and handed him the agreement we both understood.
In this world, if a match occurred on Terence's turf, he was responsible for any bets placed.
He was well-funded and had no trouble with the payout.
"Good, the matter is settled, then?"
Nielsen beamed as he took the box from Terence, grinning. "Absolutely!"
Terence turned serious, looking directly at me. "Mike, I can schedule matches for you anytime you want."
I looked over at Nielsen, then back at Terence, "Thank you. I'll discuss with Nielsen first to keep things clear."
Terence acknowledged my thoughtfulness, not pushing further to avoid any tension.
After a brief conversation, I exited the office.
On the ride home, Nielsen excitedly discussed the future.
"Mike, if you're up for it, I can arrange more matches like this. You could land $300,000 in a year—you'd have everything you ever wanted."
I considered his proposal but ultimately declined.
I didn't want to hurt Kus's feelings.
He was, after all, far too sensitive to these shifts in my career.
Arriving at Nielsen's gym, Teddy dropped me off at Kus's home.
The old man was napping in his favorite chair, the TV blaring loudly as usual.
I knocked on the door, but with the TV's volume, it went ignored.
So, I took the chance during a commercial break to pound on the door.
"Hey, Kus! Wake up!"
Finally, Kus emerged, his excitement palpable. "How did it go today, Mike?"
I recounted the match highlights, and when I described Yule's unappealing tactics, Kus exploded in anger.
"Such a lowdown coward! A disgrace to boxing!"
However, when I shared my victory, Kus beamed with pride, slapping my shoulder.
"You did well! You put him in his place!"
As we wrapped up our conversation, I noticed the clock—it was nearly midnight.
In my room, I organized the $30,000 I'd earned, splitting it into two bags: one with $20,000 for Carmel and the other with $10,000 for my mother.
Carmel had never been one to fuss over money; I knew better than to offer it to Kus directly.
The family finances were always monitored by her.
The other $10,000 was meant for my mother, who had been healthy lately; I was optimistic this gift could improve her living conditions.
The following morning, I helped Carmel with chores and, afterward, revealed the $20,000.
"Mike, where did you get this kind of money?" she gasped.
I shared the story of my fight, and she exhaled in relief.
"Use it to treat yourself—maybe some new shoes or something nice?"
I quickly pushed the cash toward her. "No, Carmel. This is for you. I'm focused on boxing now, and the last thing I need is distractions."