Is Tyson injured?
How is it possible for him to withstand such intense training almost daily while still sparring for extended periods?
Don't underestimate this effort—ordinary individuals can engage in friendly bouts for weeks and toughen their bodies significantly without sustaining injuries.
Tyson, however, has committed three rigorous years to his craft. He effectively utilizes every single minute and second of his training.
Certainly, it's true that the greater the force of an impact, the more considerable the rebound effect, but his hands are built to endure that pressure.
In simple terms, Tyson won't have any problem striking this heavy bag.
Wearing a standard pair of 10-ounce boxing gloves, every punch he delivers produces a sharp, distinct sound when it connects with the bag.
As his movements become fluid, the weight of his punches seems to fluctuate; he strikes precisely where he intends with every fist.
But after a few more solid hits, the gloves started to show wear; perhaps the quality was low, or perhaps the bag had simply taken too much punishment—the stitching loosened, and the foam inside spilled out.
Feeling frustrated, Tyson tossed the damaged gloves to the ground.
He glanced at the three young men standing by, who had been watching, and now they were fully engaged in their training, no longer daring to belittle or joke about the situation.
It was clear they had gained a new perspective.
The sheer size of Tyson's fists was something they realized they could not hope to withstand.
They began to understand that his refusal to engage in casual sparring was not a matter of disrespect but rather an acknowledgment of reality.
What was that reality?
The heavy bag swung violently in response to Tyson's strikes; it was obvious that after a few more rounds, either the bag would be rendered useless or Tyson would continuously outlast any challenge that came his way.
They couldn't endure even one of his punches.
With this insight, their attitudes shifted dramatically.
Teddy hurried down to the equipment shop downstairs to buy a few new gloves.
Meanwhile, Tyson's relentless training continued without interruption.
After another solid hour working the heavy bag, he transitioned into physical conditioning exercises.
The rigorous intensity of his workout left the three young men in awe, their jaws dropping in disbelief at the stamina and strength on display.
The volume of training Tyson was undertaking surpassed anything they had ever encountered, let alone participated in.
Even more astonishing, after finishing a particularly grueling set, the powerhouse only took a brief five-minute break before diving headfirst into the next round of exercises.
How could someone possess such incredible physical endurance?
Moments later, Lawson rushed out from the adjacent gym.
"Hey! I just caught the replay of the Golden Gloves match. I know exactly who he is!" he proclaimed.
The three boxers exchanged glances before rushing to catch up with him.
It didn't take long before they too realized the identity of the man they were witnessing train so fervently.
To them, facing a local champion paled compared to the immense talent Tyson embodied. Just what kind of prowess could this man unleash in the ring?
"Oh my God, he's so powerful!"
"Absolutely! We were fools to belittle him."
"Thank goodness we're out of his way; otherwise, that could've ended badly for us."
Lawson approached Kus, his face lit up with excitement. "Old man, I've recognized your boxer. He's 'The Beast,' Mike Tyson—the one who has taken out opponents in the first round, twice!"
Kus raised an eyebrow, a bit incredulous. "You live so close to the stadium, yet you haven't made it to one of the matches?"
Kus was puzzled as to how Lawson could identify Tyson without attending the fights in person.
With a hint of embarrassment, Lawson admitted, "I've been facing some financial issues lately; ticket prices are quite high, and it's a significant expense. However, I wouldn't miss a championship fight for the world; those are absolute must-sees."
"Alright then, make sure you catch Mike Tyson at the championship match; it's sure to be electrifying."
Lawson nodded vigorously. "I agree! His performance is bound to be spectacular."
As Tyson continued his workout, the dedication he exhibited made a lasting impression on the three young men nearby.
Emerging from the break room, they stole glances at Tyson's relentless training, each moment breeding deeper admiration for the fighter.
The impact Tyson had on them was undeniable.
They had become his fans, thoroughly captivated by the raw power he demonstrated with every strike.
"This year's national championship will be incredible! Mike Tyson is surely going to be the one to watch!" they thought excitedly.
Finally, the day of the match arrived.
Tyson strode into the arena, dressed in his ever-familiar athletic gear.
The moment he stepped into view, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause, a testament to how his impressive performances in the previous matches had begun to earn him a loyal following.
Though not massive by any means, it was a marked change from the icy reception he had received during his debut.
Standing in the ring, poised and ready, was his opponent—a tall, muscular contender wearing a fierce expression.
Leslie had cropped hair and an aggressive demeanor, his hawk-like gaze scanning the crowd as if seeking prey.
He was the recent challenger to a title, known for his devastating knockouts, having demonstrated his power in earlier bouts.
As the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, Duke said, "Ladies and gentlemen, here he is—the 'Beast,' Mike Tyson! He looks as calm as ever, a steady resolve on his face. This showdown promises to be intense—a battle of wills, where both fighters have the strength to finish the match in an instant…"
The commentators, the well-known duo of Brent and Drent, chimed in, their voices filling the space with anticipation.
"Brent, which fighter do you favor this time?" Drent queried.
After a moment's pause to deliberate, Brent offered his insight: "Tyson brings raw power to the ring, and Leslie is no slouch either, with his knockout potential on display. Either man could finish this fight in the blink of an eye. However, I'm inclined to believe in Tyson's technical skills; his footwork and that killer uppercut make him a formidable opponent."
Duke countered, "Interesting choice, Brent. However, I think I'll go with Leslie. His experience is invaluable—he's faced champions before and more than held his own. Though he didn't claim the title, he put up a significant fight against the champion and demonstrated real skill. Leslie imposes his will on opponents expertly, squeezing the life out of them until they're left with no option but to fight back desperately."
As the two color commentators debated their choices, Tyson readied himself to step into the ring, unyielding in his focus.
"The intensity between the two fighters is palpable. Tyson's gaze is sharp and unwavering, while Leslie's eyes burn with determination. It's not hard to see—they both want to dominate."
"Indeed, Duke. They're aiming to intimidate one another, to shatter any resolve their opponents might have before the match even begins. Once that bell rings, every minute detail will matter because victory could come abruptly."
"Indeed… and thus, a grand match is set to begin."