Jamie: The Road to Glory

"Huh? Adopt me?" Jamie scoffed. "Look, old man, it makes sense you've got something wrong in your head because this isn't working. I'm tired of your bullshit. Give it up—I'm not gonna become a boxer. I don't care about boxing."

Dekam, undeterred, looked at Jamie earnestly. "Please, Jamie, at least let me adopt you."

Jamie burst out laughing, his voice echoing down the empty street. "Adopt me? A drunk adopting me? Right. Look, old man, I'm outta here."

He walked off, leaving Dekam shouting after him. Jamie picked up the pace, finding another remote spot to rest. He sat down, trying to sleep, but was soon interrupted by the sound of loud sirens. Flashing lights illuminated the area as Jamie rubbed his tired eyes.

He looked up—10, no, 20 policemen, all armed, stood before him.

"Huh. I guess the government's faster than I thought," Jamie muttered.

One cop stepped forward, his voice booming, "Jamie, surrender this second, and you won't face any charges!"

Jamie gritted his teeth and shot back, "Kiss my ass!"

The standoff stretched for what felt like minutes, but then the cops charged, swarming Jamie, tackling him to the ground. He struggled, kicking and punching, but he couldn't land a solid hit—until something flashed in his mind.

The jab.

He remembered Dekam's words about a jab punch. Just then, Jamie felt a sharp pain in his legs—two cops sat on both his legs, pinning him down. His left arm was still free, and he swung it with all his might. The punch didn't connect perfectly due to the distance, but the force behind it was undeniable. The cop sitting on his leg collapsed with a groan, while the other jumped back in shock.

Jamie grinned through the struggle. "How you like that, you pig?"

"Take out the taser!" one officer shouted. "Tase this fucker!"

Just as the officer aimed his taser, Dekam rushed onto the scene, holding up his hands. "Wait, wait, please!" Dekam pleaded. "Jamie's my son. He doesn't need to go with you—he's my son!"

Jamie's eyes widened. "What the f—" but before he could finish, Dekam grabbed Jamie's arm, squeezing it tight, silencing him.

The cop eyed Dekam suspiciously. "That doesn't excuse his actions."

"I know, I know," Dekam said, nodding. "He's a bad kid, but he's only 14. It's his first offense. Let me handle the punishment."

The cop stared for a moment before holstering his taser. "Fine," he said, then turned to the other officers. "Let's head back to the station."

One by one, the officers filed out, leaving Jamie and Dekam alone in the alley.

Jamie, still panting, looked at Dekam. "What the hell are you trying to pull, old man? You trying to play me for a fool? I'm no idiot. I ain't your fucking son, and I'm leaving this town whether you like it or not."

Dekam, calm as ever, spoke softly. "Jamie, just hear me out—"

"Hear you out? What, you gonna tell me that brain-damaged sob story again? It's clear—you're insane. Just leave me alone, old man. I'm not worth your time."

Dekam's face brightened as he said, "No, Jamie, that's not it. You did it—the jab. You overheard what I said. You must be interested."

Jamie sighed, leaning back. "Yeah, it was a good punch, I can admit that. But I don't care about boxing. I really don't. Just let me be. My life's already shit. I don't need some crazy old guy trying to tell me what to do."

Dekam's tone became passionate. "Just let me teach you something about boxing. If you don't enjoy it, I'll leave you alone."

Jamie stared at the old man, thinking for a moment. "Alright, fine. I'll do your boxing thing. You got one week to convince me. One week, and I'll play by your rules. If you can't, you give me 100 bucks, and we never talk again. Got it?"

Dekam's face lit up. "Deal."

The next day, Dekam took Jamie to his old, rundown boxing gym—a place that once held champions and titles. Now, it was a shadow of its former self. Jamie stepped inside, looking around at the dusty equipment. Three sandbags hung from the ceiling, six pairs of gloves—only three looked useable. A worn-out ring sat in the middle, surrounded by broken pads and gear.

Jamie's face twisted in disbelief. "This gym sucks. You were a feared boxer? Seriously, old man?"

Dekam walked over to a counter and pulled out a small, faded picture. It showed Dekam, younger and victorious, holding up a championship belt.

Jamie glanced at the photo. "Huh. So you weren't lying, after all. Guess that says something." He looked back at Dekam. "Alright, so what now, old man?"

Dekam scratched his head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry the gym's like this now. There's not much left. I only have two people who work out here. That's you and another boy from the slums."

"Huh? Another boy trains here?" Jamie raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Dekam said with a sigh. "He's a boxer too. But because of his weight, he can't compete in the lower divisions. He's only had two matches—one win, one loss. But I want both of you to become champions. One heavyweight, one flyweight."

Jamie smirked. "Yeah, right. Whatever, old man. Let's just get on with the training."