The next few days bled into each other as Nico dove headfirst into his training. The underground fighting valley became his second home, and the ruthless matches pushed his body and mind to their limits. He fought with more than just desperation now—there was a purpose behind every punch, every block, every step.
Each fight in the valley brought him closer to understanding the rhythm of combat. He was no longer just reacting to his opponents; he was learning how to anticipate, how to counter, how to control the pace of a fight. His victories were no longer accidental—they were calculated.
But there was still something missing. While he had raw power and his copy ability, Nico knew that he needed more finesse, more precision. And that’s where boxing came in.
One night after returning from a particularly brutal match, Nico collapsed onto the couch in his small living room. His body ached from head to toe, every muscle screaming in protest from the strain of fighting and copying so many different styles. But his mind was still restless.
I need better hands. I need to be faster.
He reached for the remote and flicked on the TV. The screen lit up, showing the familiar sight of a boxing match. The fighters moved with grace and brutality, their fists flying with a speed and precision that Nico couldn’t help but admire.
He’d always known that boxing was a powerful art in its own right, but now, watching it through the lens of a fighter, he saw it differently. The footwork, the technique, the strategy—it was all about controlling space, creating openings, and delivering devastating blows with pinpoint accuracy.
Nico leaned forward, watching closely as one of the boxers delivered a flawless jab, snapping his opponent’s head back. It was such a simple move, but the speed and timing made it lethal. Nico’s eyes narrowed as he studied the boxers’ movements, his mind already working through how he could incorporate what he was seeing into his own fighting style.
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The match continued, and Nico watched intently as the fighters used a variety of techniques. The jab—a quick, sharp punch meant to keep an opponent at bay. The cross, a powerful straight punch thrown with the rear hand, aimed to break through an opponent’s guard. Then came the hook, a devastating, looping punch that curved around an opponent’s defenses, aimed at the side of the head or body.
But what really caught Nico’s attention was the uppercut. The boxers would duck low, slipping under their opponent’s punches, before rising up with a powerful punch aimed at the chin. It was a brutal, close-range move, and when it connected, it had the potential to knock someone out cold.
Nico’s fingers twitched as he mimicked the movements in the air, his body already aching to try them out in the ring. He could see it now—how he could use these techniques, combined with his agility and power-copying ability, to overwhelm his opponents. He didn’t just need to hit hard—he needed to hit smart.
He spent the next few hours watching more matches, studying the greats—Muhammad Ali, Mike Tyson, Floyd Mayweather. He noted how Ali’s famous rope-a-dope technique allowed him to wear down opponents while conserving energy. Tyson’s devastating peek-a-boo style, with its relentless offense and quick head movements, gave him ideas about how to improve his own defense.
The more Nico watched, the more he understood the science behind boxing. It wasn’t just about brute strength or throwing wild punches. It was a game of strategy, timing, and reading your opponent’s movements. It was about knowing when to strike and when to hold back, creating openings with footwork and feints, and punishing your opponent when they least expected it.
Nico stood up, his body still sore but his mind focused. He couldn’t just watch anymore—he had to practice.
He moved to the center of the room and began shadowboxing, mimicking the moves he’d just watched. His punches were slow at first, his body stiff from the exhaustion of days of fighting in the valley. But as he kept going, the rhythm began to return. His body loosened up, and his punches grew sharper, more precise.
He threw a quick jab, imagining it snapping an opponent’s head back. Then came a cross, his rear hand flying forward with power. He followed it up with a fluid left hook, imagining it curving around an opponent’s guard and landing on their jaw.
Next, he ducked low, envisioning an opponent’s punch flying over his head, before rising up with a powerful uppercut. The movement felt strange at first—his body wasn’t used to the close-range punch—but after a few tries, he started to get the hang of it.
As the hours ticked by, Nico’s punches grew faster, more fluid. He moved around the room, practicing his footwork, making sure his balance was perfect with every punch. Boxing wasn’t just about throwing punches—it was about controlling your body, your space, and, ultimately, your opponent.
When he finally collapsed onto the couch again, sweat pouring down his face, his chest heaving with exhaustion, Nico felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: confidence.
He wasn’t there yet—there was still so much to learn, so much to improve. But he was getting better. He was building a foundation, one that would make him more than just a brawler with a copy ability. He was becoming a fighter, a strategist.
And in four months, when he faced the 2nd Sacred Commandment in the tournament, he wouldn’t just be fighting with borrowed powers.
He would be fighting with his own skills.