Midtown Boxing Club, Sunday, 3:47 PM
Ashan Korr shadowboxed in front of the cracked mirror, sweat clinging to his skin like armor.
He'd been hitting his routine since sunrise. same drill, every day: jab, cross, footwork, reset. Build the foundation. Again and again.
"You! You're in."
Coach Melvin waved him into the ring. A thick, stocky teen already had headgear on. He grinned like he enjoyed swinging haymakers.
"Two rounds. Light contact," Melvin lied.
---
DING
The stocky guy came out quick, big looping right hand.
Ashan stepped back clean, pivoted off the centerline.
POP!
Jab to the nose.
POP!
Cross to the cheek.
The guy blinked. Shook it off. Charged again.
Ashan didn't backpedal, just some minor adjustments
And then
A pendulum step to glide back.
Then
SNAP!
Another jab like lightning.
BOOM!
Cross again.
Two punches. Reset. Two punches. Reset.
Melvin muttered from the corner:
"Kid's got a sniper's rhythm."
---
But Ashan couldn't follow up.
Every time the gap closed
His hands stalled.
Uppercuts? Slow
Hooks? Blocked
He could hit and move, but he couldn't chain.
The stocky guy smelled it. Kept rushing in. Clinched. Pushed him into the ropes.
Ashan shoved him off with his forearm, teeth gritted.
"Back to your range."
---
30 seconds left.
Ashan dipped under a wild right. Slid left.
POP!
Jab to the eye.
The stocky guy tried to square up. too late.
Ashan's right foot planted deep.
CRACK!
Cross. Full weight. Full momentum. Right on the chin.
The stocky guy's legs buckled. He dropped to one knee, blinking, stunned.
Melvin immediately stepped in.
"Alright, alright. Take a breath."
Ashan stood still. Gloves low. Breathing slow.
He wasn't smiling. But inside?
"That was my first knockdown."
His power wasn't raw.
His speed wasn't freakish.
But it was sharp. Precise. Almost as if creating an illusion of hyperspeed.
And that was enough.
---
Later, Ashan sat on the bench, unwrapping his hands. Melvin walked over and nodded.
"Your jab and cross are like lightning. You don't waste movement. You pick shots."
He paused.
"But you freeze up inside. You need to work on infighting."
Ashan nodded, towel around his neck.
"I'll get it."
---
6:00 PM, Ashan's room
His phone buzzed.
Jerry Tyson:
"How's training?"
Ashan:
"Dropped a dude today. Sniper stuff."
Jerry:
"Ayyyy! Make it rain knuckles."
Then another message popped in seconds later:
Jerry:
"BTW your tourney opponent? Got new sparring clips up. Kid's slick. Check your email."
Ashan exhaled. Unlocked his screen.
The link stared back at him.
"Alright. Let's see what I'm up against again."
---