The shortest boxer hesitated as he approached Tyson and said, "Hello… I'm Scripps… I admire you. Could you sign this for me?"
His breath came in quick bursts as he produced a black glove and a pen, eager for a moment with his idol.
Tyson paused, taken aback for a moment. Could it be that someone genuinely wanted his autograph? Did he really have a fan?
With a shrug, he took the glove and pen, scribbling his name with a sense of bemusement.
Scripps beamed in delight. "Mr. Beast, I know you're destined to become champion! I just have this hunch."
Tyson offered a noncommittal nod, preferring to let his actions speak for themselves. With that, he turned on his heel and resumed his training.
By five o'clock that afternoon, they were wrapping up, with Lawson locking the door behind them.
Teddy piped up, "Mr. Coos, don't you think we should explore a bit instead of returning to our room every day and burying our heads under the covers?"
"As long as you're well, that's your choice." Kus muttered as he walked back to the hotel.
"Mike, we really should check out the area."
Full of youthful energy, Teddy was keen to experience everything Ohio had to offer. Though their schedule was primarily focused on the championship, a short excursion wouldn't hurt.
"How about the Robilin Suspension Bridge?"
The Robilin Suspension Bridge was a landmark in Cincinnati, resembling its famous Brooklyn counterpart designed by the same architect.
Nearby was Smale Park, a beautifully maintained green space, though it was a bit of a trek.
"Absolutely! I've been itching to see how it compares to the one in Brooklyn," Teddy replied enthusiastically.
After agreeing, they hopped into a taxi and set off for the bridge.
Once they arrived, Teddy gazed up at the glowing structure and said, "From this angle, it doesn't look all that different."
The architectural styles of the two bridges were indeed similar. The evening view was stunning, yet the sparse population rendered the place quiet, mostly inhabited by tourists enjoying the scenery.
Tyson couldn't truly relax while Teddy admired the sights. He was busy doing push-ups beside a gently flowing river not far away.
The crisp air was refreshing, albeit slightly chilly. Teddy, despite his year-round boxing training, found the breeze unpleasant, forcing him to fight back tears.
Tyson, however, sported a simple T-shirt under a leather jacket and jeans. His attire seemed out of place for such cold weather, yet he felt unfazed. His athletic physique easily resisted the winter chill.
Teddy wandered closer to the river. The air felt warmer, prompting him to stroll along the bank, an unexpected desire for leisurely exploration washing over him. This wasn't typical behavior for someone his age; he found it amusing that he was behaving like an older gentleman contemplating life's wonders.
He had envisioned himself in a trendy nightclub or bar, soaking in the vibrant nightlife, but Tyson's cautious nature had put a damper on that idea. They were two New Yorkers, after all, and venturing into a bar in Ohio could lead to complications.
After about an hour of wandering, Teddy made his way back to Tyson.
"Mike, maybe we ought to head back."
Tyson surveyed the area, noticing the dwindling crowd. Acknowledging the time, they flagged down a taxi a few hundred meters away and returned to their hotel.
"Mike, when this is all over, you absolutely have to join me at a bar," Teddy complained playfully.
"Of course, brother. I understand how you feel. This isn't a vacation. We came with a purpose, and we need to focus on that before we can enjoy ourselves."
With a teasing grin, Tyson added, "But just so you know, if you happen to meet someone special at the bar, your fiancée might have something to say about that when you return."
Teddy groaned, pressing his palms to his forehead. "I'm not that kind of guy! She knows I wouldn't stray."
The semifinals were set for 7 PM on Friday, the finals scheduled for Sunday evening, with the Championship Challenge the following Friday. With only two days to go, Tyson remained fiercely dedicated to his training, pouring every ounce of energy into his routines as he had done before.
Troubling circumstances arose when Kus fell ill. The winter chill in Ohio was harsher than he was accustomed to in New York. Dressed lightly and neglecting his warmth, Kus unforgivingly ran between indoor and outdoor spaces, inevitably catching a cold.
Though he refused to admit it, Tyson found himself growing increasingly worried. He urged Kus, "You really should see a doctor. Letting this cold go untreated is not wise."
"It's just a minor cold," Kus dismissed, shrugging it off. "I can't even tell you how many colds I've had in my life. I'll be fine in a few days. I mean, look at me—I'm still standing."
As he spoke, Kus demonstrated his readiness, executing a sharp 180-degree turn, his left hand raised defensively while the right prepared to strike.
"No, Kus, this is different. I know you're fit and strong, but a cold isn't a sparring partner. Virus or no virus, they don't care about your strength. They invade and wreak havoc, silently sabotaging your body and leading to worse repercussions."
Kus waved dismissively, his stubbornness evident. "I'm perfectly fine. I understand my mission and know my body—it won't fail me."
Tyson shook his head, serious. "Kus, if you're not healthy, you can't focus on your training or your fight. Your health affects me too. When I step into that ring, I need to be clear-minded, and if you're not well, it'll distract me. There's no argument—go to the hospital."
Kus had never seen Tyson so insistent. Stunned, he paused, the logic rating higher than he had anticipated. After pondering, he reluctantly agreed. "Fine. I'll have Teddy come with me."
"Kus, your health is paramount. We're nearing our goal, and you can't falter now."
Teddy joined Kus on the trip to the hospital, leaving Tyson behind.
Sitting in a nearby chair, Tyson attempted to rest, but he found himself struggling to concentrate on anything. This was new territory for him.
He forced himself to focus, controlling his breath, and tried to center his thoughts. Eventually, he returned to training, but the effort felt like an uphill battle, his mind unwilling to cooperate.