The sun blazed high in the sky as Ali pedaled furiously down the narrow streets of his neighborhood. Sweat trickled down his temple, and his legs burned with the effort. He wasn't just biking; he was escaping. Escaping the doubts, the snide comments from Jason, and his mother's disapproving stares.
His path took him through a part of town he rarely visited, a maze of narrow alleys lined with old shop houses and stray cats lounging in the shade. As he rounded a corner, he heard the unmistakable thwack of fists meeting a punching bag.
Curiosity piqued, Ali slowed his bike and peered through the chain-link fence. Inside a small, makeshift backyard gym, a burly man with salt-and-pepper hair was wrapping his hands. He wore a weathered tank top and cargo shorts, his muscles still defined despite his age. The yard was cluttered with mismatched equipment—rusty dumbbells, a worn-out speed bag, and a boxing ring cobbled together with duct tape and determination.
The man—Coach Rahman—noticed Ali's gaze and raised an eyebrow. "You planning to stand there all day, boy? Or you gonna say something?"
Ali swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I, uh… Is this your gym?"
Coach Rahman snorted. "What gave it away? The sign?" He gestured to a wooden plank nailed to the fence that read, Rahman's Boxing Club: Where Legends Are Made.
"I want to learn boxing," Ali blurted, his words tumbling out in a rush.
Coach Rahman leaned on the fence, eyeing him critically. "You? Learn boxing? You look like a strong breeze could knock you over."
Ali's cheeks flushed, but he stood his ground. "I'm serious. I want to train. I'll work hard."
Rahman grunted, clearly unimpressed. "Do you even know what hard work is, kid? Boxing isn't just about throwing punches. It's blood, sweat, and tears—and sometimes all three at once."
"I know," Ali said, his voice firm. "And I'm ready."
For a moment, Rahman studied him, his sharp eyes seeming to weigh the boy's resolve. Finally, he shrugged. "Fine. Come back tomorrow. But don't cry when your arms feel like noodles after five minutes."
---
The next day, Ali arrived bright and early, wearing a pair of sneakers that had seen better days and a determined expression. Coach Rahman handed him a pair of old gloves that smelled faintly of sweat and liniment.
"Alright, rookie," Rahman said, smirking. "Let's see what you're made of."
The warm-up alone was grueling. Ali struggled through jump ropes, burpees, and shadowboxing, his movements awkward and uncoordinated. His punches lacked power, and his footwork was more of a stumble than a dance.
From behind the fence, Zahra and Farid watched, barely containing their laughter. Zahra had her phone out, recording Ali's every misstep.
"Look at him," Zahra whispered, giggling. "He's like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time."
Farid snorted. "More like a baby deer trying to fight. Hey, Ali! Don't forget to breathe!"
Ali shot them a glare but stumbled over the jump rope, landing in a heap.
"Focus, boy!" Rahman barked, hiding a smirk.
After an hour of fumbling, Ali was ready to call it quits. But Rahman, sensing the boy's growing frustration, called him over.
"Take a break," he said, handing Ali a bottle of water. "You remind me of someone I used to train."
Ali looked up, curious. "Who?"
Rahman leaned against the ropes of the makeshift ring, his expression turning wistful. "Ryan Garcia. Heard of him?"
Ali's eyes widened. "Of course! He's one of the best."
Rahman nodded. "I trained him for a bit when he was just starting out. He was fast, had talent, but he wasn't perfect. You know what set him apart, though?"
Ali shook his head.
"Resilience," Rahman said, his voice firm. "Every time he fell, he got back up. No excuses, no complaints. He didn't let his failures define him."
Ali absorbed the words, a spark of determination reigniting in his chest. "What happened to him?"
Rahman chuckled. "He outgrew this small town and moved on to bigger things. But he left behind a lesson: it doesn't matter where you start. What matters is how much you're willing to give."
---
Bolstered by Rahman's words, Ali pushed through the rest of the training session, even as his muscles screamed in protest. He practiced his punches against the heavy bag, each strike a little more precise than the last.
By the time the session ended, Ali was drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Rahman clapped a hand on his shoulder, his rough palm surprisingly comforting.
"You've got heart, kid," he said. "But heart alone won't win fights. Come back tomorrow, and we'll see if you've got what it takes."
Ali grinned despite his exhaustion. "I will. Thanks, Coach."
As he stepped out of the gym, Zahra and Farid were waiting for him, their faces alight with mischief.
"Nice moves, Rocky," Zahra teased, showing him a video of his earlier fall. "This is going viral."
Ali groaned but couldn't help laughing. "You're the worst."
Farid slung an arm around his shoulder. "Hey, at least you didn't break anything. Yet."
The three of them walked off together, their laughter echoing in the evening air.
---
That night, as Ali lay in bed, every muscle in his body ached. But for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of purpose.
He stared at the ceiling, replaying the day in his mind—the stumbles, the laughter, Rahman's words.
"This is just the beginning," he muttered to himself.
His eyes drifted shut, and for the first time in years, his dreams weren't just about what could be—they were about what would be.
---
The next day...
The gymnasium buzzed with excitement as the students of SMK Perak gathered for the assembly. Rumors had spread like wildfire—Jason, the school's star athlete, would be giving a boxing demonstration. The very mention of his name brought out whispers of admiration from students and a few audible sighs from the girls seated near the front.
Ali sat at the edge of the bleachers, arms crossed, his jaw tight. He'd heard the rumors about Jason's prowess in the ring, but he hadn't seen it firsthand. Today, that would change.
The lights dimmed slightly, and a spotlight fell on the makeshift boxing ring set up in the center of the gym. Jason stepped into the ring, exuding an air of effortless confidence. His golden-brown skin glistened under the lights, and his short, styled hair barely moved as he adjusted his gloves. A grin stretched across his face as he waved to the cheering crowd.