Wherever he was lying, Franklin felt it was cold. Comfort seemed impossible. His face had some kind of fabric, and his stomach had something that seemed like... Glue? Adhesive?
Very strange. As far as he could remember, a bald guy beat up the Aquino Brothers. He was short but fought like a master. Someone who trained countless times to achieve perfection.
*TAP* *TAP* *TAP* *TAP*
Franklin opened his eyes just to see the same bald guy slapping his face to wake him up.
"It was about time! I started to get worried thinking you wouldn't wake up. Imagine! A corpse being the first thing I rescued in my life?!" The bald guy said with strange levels of enthusiasm.
Franklin didn't know exactly how to react. He sweated, looking at the big guy... who was smaller than him?
"Come on, let's go! Don't make that face! Show at least a bit of gratitude to Tyler Maximus!" He declared proudly.
Who?
"Who?"
The bald guy himself was slightly disappointed.
"Huh?! Never heard of me?" He said surprised.
"Hmm... No...?"
"Never heard of Dynamite Punch?"
Franklin shook his head.
"About the Invincible Bear?"
And shook his head again.
"About the Steel Wall?"
"No, sir."
Tyler Maximus, the bald guy, was very frustrated. Seriously, someone doesn't know him? In the age of information technology?
Franklin was about to apologize, but Tyler interrupted.
"Well, be that as it may, you were getting a good beating." He pointed to the obvious wounds and bruises on the young man.
"I know..." Franklin replied, embarrassed.
Now that he noticed, he saw that he was... at Buffalo Gym?
"Ah!" Tyler noticed, seeing the surprised look on the guy. "Is it your first time seeing a boxing gym?"
"No. I work here." Franklin said casually.
Tyler planted his face on the ground after hearing such a statement. Something told him that his surprise was turning into a mental shock.
"If you work here, you must know a bit about the world of boxing, right?" Tyler questioned.
Franklin nodded.
"Great. I have two questions. The first one is: If you work here, tell me, how come you didn't fight back against those Tranquino guys?"
"Aquino," he corrected before responding. "And I didn't want to cause more problems by responding to violence with violence." He answered almost instantly.
"So you just take a beating even with that physique?"
"...You like boys or something?"
Tyler reviewed his words, and indeed, they seemed to carry a different meaning.
"NOT THAT, DAMN IT!" Tyler exploded but quickly calmed down. "I mean, when I brought you here, you know, for your bandages, I saw that you're not weak. You have good, defined muscles."
"Uh-huh...?" Franklin still didn't understand.
"So, you know, why didn't you give them a beating so they wouldn't bother you again?"
"He's not like that," Carlos said, appearing out of nowhere.
They had no idea when Carlos had arrived, but anyway.
"Carlos."
"Coach."
"Franklin isn't the type to pick fights. He has bigger concerns than getting into every brawl," Carlos explained.
"Even if it messes up his face like that?"
They both looked at what should be his cheekbones, but instead, they looked like two purple mountains... or well, cheeks?
"I'll take care of the Aquino Brothers. You take care of the kid in the meantime."
"But I need to train for next month's tournament!"
His protest was vehemently ignored.
"Ugh... Well, since I'm here, how about I teach you a few things?"
Franklin didn't have time to respond as Tyler grabbed a pen and paper, sketching a poorly drawn caricature of the Aquino Brothers. He then took some tape and stuck the paper on a punching bag.
"Now you can vent your frustration of not being able to fight back on this dude here!" He proudly declared to himself.
Franklin didn't quite grasp what was happening, but apparently, he was supposed to punch the punching bag? Tyler seemed to have high expectations for the impact. And it seemed like some other people were curious too.
He took a deep breath, clenched his fist, prepared himself, and...
Thud
...
...
...
"WHAT KIND OF PATHETIC PUNCH IS THAT?!?!"
Franklin was horrified by the reaction of basically EVERYONE in the gym. Indeed, his punch was, to put it mildly, disappointing. It was as if he had lightly slapped a cotton pillow. Or a child trying to look serious, only to end up looking cute in the end.
"LOOK! I'LL EXPLAIN STEP BY STEP SO YOU DON'T GET LOST!" Tyler, by sheer force of will, compelled Franklin to be his student.
"Build a solid base with your legs, rotate your hips like this, and then lean your shoulder in, that way your straight punch will have much more power." He finished his explanation in a much friendlier manner.
With this basic but traumatic lesson, the punches became much more solid and efficient.
And indeed, for a moment, Franklin felt much better.
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When it comes to being in the mafia, there are some things you can't ignore or forget. Even in the lowest position, it's necessary to defend your honor and territory. After all, what respect would he have if he allowed himself to be robbed left and right?
Imagine yourself, a victim of harassment. Would you show respect to a drunkard harassing women at the local bar?
Me neither.
And neither does Carlos.
The difference is that he holds a position that brings in a considerable amount of money, has several employees constantly plotting to take his place, and ultimately has his own reputation to uphold.
So, if one of his employees is assaulted, in his territory, under his protection, and by a bunch of nobodies? It's pretty obvious what would happen if he didn't respond to such blasphemy. If strangers can reach his subordinates, imagine what they would do to him?
The problem is, Carlos isn't exactly the type of person who waits to see or has "something to prove."
He has a solution, not a hypothesis for the reason why the problem occurred.
----------------------------------------
"Well, you've got some skill," Tyler praised.
Franklin was still timidly punching the punching bag. He wasn't comfortable enough to let loose. Carlos had left a few minutes ago, and whatever he said he was going to handle left him concerned.
But why? The boss was nice and always ready to teach however he could. He might not be a boxing instructor, but he knows potential when he sees it. So...
"I'm starting my training. Feel free to watch if you want," Tyler said, shifting Franklin's focus.
"Uh? Oh! Sure!"
"Great! Who's up for sparring with me?" The little powerhouse asked.
"I'll do it." One of the athletes responded.
They both started preparing. Since Tyler didn't know the skill level of the fighters, he chose to wear all the safety gear. Helmet, waist protector, reinforced shirt... Those kinds of things.
His training partner, seeing this, opted to do the same. Safety is paramount, and the last thing you want is to send your training partner to the hospital.
Inside the ring, they began throwing basic combinations in the air to warm up.
"Is there going to be a referee or something?" The athlete asked.
"Doesn't matter to me."
"Then let's do 3 rounds of 3 minutes, and whoever wins, wins," he concluded. "My name is Peter."
"Tyler Maximus," he replied with his own name.
Peter nodded in understanding. They both went to their respective corners of the ring. Franklin went to the gong and pressed the button that started the match.
DING
The exchange of punches was initially shallow and light. It seemed like they were using gloves to practice combinations, but that was proven wrong when Peter delivered a right hook to Tyler's ear, who, in turn, seemed surprisingly unfazed, even after such a blow.
In response, Tyler delivered some jabs and straights that were either dodged or blocked, until he executed an 8-hit combination with incredible speed.
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Jab, straight, hook, uppercut, jab, jab, straight, left hook, Haymaker.
Peter did well to block the first three punches, but in doing so, he forgot that the gloves obstructed his vision, so he didn't even realize when an uppercut went straight into his stomach.
Peter showed surprise and horror on his face for two seconds until that expression changed to a much more excited one.
Franklin was perplexed. They endured those punches?! He was absolutely sure that if it were him there, he would have passed out from the pain. If not directly from the one that hit the ear.
The kid didn't have any more time to feel sorry for himself because the two boxers were advancing on him once again.
Peter threw a straight with his right combined with a left uppercut. Tyler dodged the straight by tilting his head, which proved to be a mistake as the uppercut landed perfectly on his chin.
Taking a few steps back from the attack, Tyler only had to block the barrage of incoming strikes. There were many punches, but it was quite manageable thanks to a small but crucial detail.
The more punches you throw, the more tired you become at the end.
Peter was panting at the end of the sequence, which was rewarded with a beautiful Haymaker to the cheek that almost sent him to the canvas.
Before anything else could be done, the bell rang, signaling the end of the first round.
----------------------------------------
"Wow... Is boxing really like this?" Franklin asked, sprawled out.
"Not really. This is boxing training. Actual boxing is much worse." Another athlete who was watching the fight replied.
"Oh, hey, Desmond," greeted the now recognized Desmond.
"To explain better, boxing is much more violent than this. Here, they're using, I believe, around 60% of their total strength."
"So, they're holding back?!? They're not going all out?" He said in total skepticism.
"Exactly. If they were fighting seriously, they could get hurt, which is not ideal. This way, going almost all out, they can figure out where they need to improve. What their habits, mistakes, dependencies are... Things like that."
"I didn't see any mistakes, and I was paying a lot of attention."
"Look, remember Tyler's exchange of punches? The one with very basic moves and the 8-hit sequence that caught Peter off guard?"
The image of that moment in the fight flashed in Franklin's mind.
"Yeah..."
"Didn't you notice that Peter was defending high? Protecting his head and ears very well, but he forgot that we don't only attack the head. We also attack the torso." Desmond explained patiently and analytically.
"And with that... He took that blow to the stomach?" Franklin suggested.
"Exactly."
DING
Their focus changed to the fight and Franklin was eager to learn more about this sport.
----------------------------------------
Tyler was a bit more relaxed now that he knew his opponent was more of an in-fighter than a brawler. Knowing that Peter would always come forward, he could use this little piece of information to counterattack.
Keeping the distance, he threw some jabs to test how far his reach would allow him to stay away. The response was jabs coming back his way, meaning Peter had the longer reach. Which was a problem.
Peter, realizing this, had no problem advancing and ignoring his advantage. He applied quick hooks and crosses.
Ducking one of the punches, Tyler was quick to respond with a straight to his opponent's midsection, which left him quite stunned. Not one to play it foolish, Tyler continued his barrage of rapid attacks, aiming to make Peter forget about his torso.
The strategic approach was rewarded with another opening, seized with a beautiful right cross to the ribs.
THUD
Peter dropped to his knees with this blow, and the count was indicated by Desmond on the outside.
----------------------------------------
"What is Tyler trying to do?"
"Testing the reach."
"Huh?" Franklin said, confused.
"Reach," Desmond looked at Franklin, explaining better. "Reach is how much distance your arm can cover with a strike. Stretch your arm."
He did as requested. To illustrate, Desmond extended his own arm, and based on the distance, a punch thrown by Desmond would land before Franklin's.
"In a fight, reach helps determine whether a punch will be safe or not. You're constantly betting if an attack will or won't work. That's what he was doing," Desmond concluded the thought.
Franklin understood well and realized that boxing is much more complicated than it seems.
"If it's too close, there's not much power; if it's too far, it doesn't hit the target," Desmond finished. "But now it looks like Tyler is going to get a big..."
Franklin stopped looking at Desmond and focused on the fight, only to see Peter kneeling on the canvas.
"Neutral corner! One! Two! Three!" Desmond began to count.
----------------------------------------
Peter, with his strength, tried to get up on his own, only for his knees to decide they weren't in the mood. Peter also had no interest in staying on the canvas, so he grabbed the ring ropes to pull himself up.
He managed to stand when Desmond was already counting eight, so he thanked himself for enduring that little beating.
The problem was that Tyler was still going strong. The smarter idea would be to use his own reach to stay on his feet.
Without ceremony, Tyler advanced, throwing jabs at the torso, which were blocked. A straight attempted to connect with the opponent's face, only to hit the air.
Peter took a few steps back; Tyler obviously followed, and on reflex, he tried a straight that luckily connected. The blunt damage from the punch wasn't all that much, but the fact that Tyler had advanced made the damage greater. After all, physics exists.
DING
Before another punch could be thrown, the bell made this sparring (which was supposed to be a practice) give both fighters and the small audience a necessary break to process the events.
Franklin climbed to Tyler's corner. The boxer was all sweaty and tired. Franklin didn't know what to do until Tyler instructed:
"Towel, wipe sweat, water to drink." He commanded with purpose.
Franklin, who was totally unprepared, tried to wipe the sweat from Tyler's forehead. A sports water bottle was there, and he was grateful that it was drinkable water, considering it had been there for a while.
"Any ideas on what to do, kid?" Tyler asked, still looking at Peter, who was being attended to by Desmond.
"Honestly, I'm still surprised you're alive. I would have gone to the hospital in the first few seconds," he responded incredulously.
"Well, you still have a long way to go, kid. But I need an idea, any idea. You watched the fight, must have understood something," he said, now looking at Franklin.
Which made him think: what could he say? Sure, he saw the fight, but with each punch, his heart seemed like it was about to leap out of his mouth with so much surprise and bewilderment. And it wasn't even him fighting.
He clenched his teeth, remembering the Aquino Brothers who, effortlessly, made him pass out from the beating. Shook his head to dismiss that thought. He needed to help Tyler somehow. Something that would prevent the other from getting up next time...
Wait...
"The rib." Franklin said, with the certainty that a General would have if their war plan were questioned.
"And why do you say that?"
"It was the only punch that made him go down on the canvas. He definitely felt that blow. You mentioned a Dynamite Punch." Franklin reminded.
Tyler just smiled at his impromptu assistant.
DING
And that was the cue for Franklin to go back to being a spectator. But now, he wasn't nervous; he was confident in Tyler's victory.
Well, this boxing thing isn't so bad.
Huh.
----------------------------------------
Tyler advances on Peter, striking, making 8-hit combinations and taking a step back. A wise decision since Peter was constantly trying to counter-attack as soon as the sequence ended.
Despite being a sparring, this was turning out to be a lively fight. But there was nothing to be done; they were excited, and extinguishing this flame and determination would be a sin.
Peter not only showed clear signs of frustration, but his arms were also starting to show bruises. Arms can protect a human up to a limit.
It was reaching the point where he couldn't even walk, which was undoubtedly a red flag for a boxer. Tyler wasn't foolish and started circling around Peter, who was trying his best to keep up with the attacks he was receiving.
At that moment, he saw it: Tyler was starting to pant from so many consecutive punches. His gas must be running out, if it hasn't already. There wouldn't be another opportunity to attack, so he summoned all the strength in his body and put it into his legs.
A single charge, just one. An attack on someone out of breath would have much more power. A straight right, just one punch.
THUUUD
A descent, a slight tilt of the spine downward, an arc motion of his forearm, fists clenched, and screaming with adrenaline.
Enough to punch Peter's ribs.
FWOOOSH
SKIIIIRRR
Peter was thrown from one corner to another of the ring and hit his back on the red pillar.
One punch made a person of just over 60 kilograms fall to the ground, slide on a grippy canvas, and hit their back on the pillar on the other side of the ring.
Tyler was gasping for the air his lungs demanded, Peter was in the 13th sleep, Desmond was rushing to rescue his companion.
Franklin? Let's say his brain isn't functioning.
----------------------------------------
"Please! We won't do anything else! We'll disappear from the city!" A relatively scared man pleaded with his assailant.
The assailant raised his gun to another man who looked quite parallel to the one begging. The difference would be the numerous bruises, cuts, and blood coming from the mouth.
"It's good, isn't it? Begging, no, pleading to be left alone," the assailant mocked, placing the gun at the bleeding man's neck.
"I swear we won't do this anymore! Please! Mercy!"
BANG
"Why should I stop just because you asked?"
The helpless and terrorized man was now trying to find a way to process what happened. His mouth was open, but no words came out; his chest hurt, and his throat felt choked.
The gun that killed his brother now rested against his forehead.
"Carlos Henrique sends his regards."
And then, his vision went dark.
----------------------------------------
Two days had passed since Tyler and Peter's sparring match.
Franklin couldn't get the image of the fight out of his head. The internal struggle replayed in his mind in vivid detail. He managed to think of ways to react to each punch and some strategies to avoid being caught in the same situation.
The idea of analyzing fights became so impactful that he started watching MMA, Boxing, and Muay Thai matches. He never thought he could be so interested in something as simple as throwing punches, kicks, and slaps at another human being.
His journey from school to the gym was peaceful. Something he didn't notice yesterday, but today, he was sure something should happen.
But if he forgot, it probably wasn't important.
Anyway...
Upon entering the gym, he did the usual routine every day. Clean the bathrooms while there was still time, pick up the towels that for some reason still lay on the floor, despite a huge sign saying "Put used towels in the laundry basket!", and finally, clean the training equipment.
Spray some cologne here and there, open the gym, and wait for the instructors and his boss to arrive.
But this time, he did things earlier. The anxiety was already at its limit, and to clear his mind, he decided to put on the wraps that go under the gloves and test some punches on the punching bag.
He tried some punches he saw in Tyler's fight, but whenever he attacked, the movement was slow and clumsy. Only the Jab and the Straight had an acceptable quality. Franklin judged that it was because of the short lesson he had from the bald pugilist.
He also noticed that his reach was indeed important for attacks. If he wasn't in the normal boxing stance, for example, the Peekaboo stance, his shoulders became parallel, making connecting attacks like the Jab and the Straight more unlikely.
The entire upper body stretched, providing the necessary reach to hit the target. That said, he tried attacking from up close, only to realize that it was the most uncomfortable experience he ever had.
His arms didn't stretch, and the punching bag didn't even budge, no matter how hard he tried. On the other hand, when he tried to attack from as far as he could, the result was mixed.
Either he hit the air, or the power was very low, hitting with almost no impact. The impactful damage had to be at the ideal distance to deliver the full impact of the blow.
After testing some other distances, he concluded that the necessary distance for him to deliver a decent blow would be a little over 25 inches (the total being 50).
He threw a few more punches until the idea of trying to do the 8-hit combination that Tyler had done came up.
He threw the Jab.
The Straight.
The left hook.
The uppercut.
The Jab.
He got tired.
...
...
...
Ok, maybe applying 8 consecutive punches isn't that easy. Not only were they much faster, but they also had much more precision and power.
"Good boy. Soon you'll be able to fight like a man."
Franklin jumped in surprise at the sudden voice behind him.
Looking back, he saw it was just Tyler with Carlos right behind.
Everyone greeted each other and chatted about the latest topics. One of them was that the Hellenz rainy season had finally ended, something that not only made everyone happier but also made the city look much prettier in general.
"But seriously, guys," Franklin began. "I was thinking about learning and maybe... competing?"
There was a brief silence before the two men started laughing, but they stopped when they saw Franklin's irritated expression.
The image itself was very similar to a trio of wolves that was circulating on the internet, where two were laughing like idiots, and one had a facial expression that just said, "I deserve this."
"Well, since it's like that, we have a lot to do."