Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Standing Tall
Troy jolted awake to the sharp blare of his alarm. His entire body protested as he swung his legs off the couch. The soreness from yesterday's training clung to him like a heavy blanket, but there was no time to dwell on it. Marcus had made it clear: punctuality was non-negotiable.
He quickly showered and threw on his worn hoodie and sneakers. The streets were quiet in the early morning light as Troy made his way to the gym. The previous day had been grueling, but a small part of him looked forward to returning. For once, he felt like he was moving forward instead of being trapped in place.
As he turned a corner, a familiar voice called out.
"Yo, Troy! You're out early!"
It was Mrs. Jenkins, the elderly woman who ran the corner store. She waved from behind a stack of crates she was unloading.
"Morning, Mrs. Jenkins," Troy said, offering a small smile.
"You heading to school this time?" she asked, her tone light but probing.
Troy hesitated. "Not exactly. I've got... something else to do."
She squinted at him, clearly unconvinced, but let it go. "Alright, just take care of yourself, kid. You look like you've been through the wringer."
"Will do," Troy replied before continuing on.
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When he arrived at the gym, the familiar sound of gloves on bags greeted him. Marcus was already there, sipping a coffee and watching a couple of fighters spar in the ring.
"About time," Marcus grunted as Troy approached. "You're not late, but you're cutting it close."
Troy gave a sheepish nod. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just get to work," Marcus said, pointing toward the jump ropes. "Start with three rounds. We're working on endurance and coordination today."
Troy grabbed a rope and got to it. His first few attempts were clumsy, the rope tangling around his legs, but he gradually found a rhythm. Marcus kept a close eye on him, barking corrections whenever his form faltered.
"Stay on the balls of your feet! You're jumping like a brick. Be light, be quick!"
By the end of the third round, Troy was drenched in sweat, his legs trembling from the effort.
---
Next, Marcus led him to a series of drills.
"Today, we're building your foundation," Marcus said. "You've got decent instincts, but you need discipline. Boxing isn't just about punching—it's about control. Control your body, control your mind, and you control the fight."
The training was brutal. Troy practiced slipping punches by dodging a swinging bag, weaving side to side until his legs felt like jelly. He worked on his jab and cross, perfecting the technique Marcus had shown him. Every mistake was met with a sharp critique, but Marcus also offered rare moments of encouragement.
"Not bad, kid. You've got quick hands. Use them."
Troy pushed through the pain, driven by a growing sense of purpose. The System chimed occasionally, tracking his progress:
"Basic endurance training: 40% complete."
"Footwork mastery: 25% complete."
Each notification felt like a small victory, a reminder that he was improving, even if it was slow.
---
When the session finally ended, Troy collapsed onto a bench, gulping down water. Marcus sat beside him, his expression unreadable.
"You've got potential, Troy," Marcus said after a long silence. "But potential means nothing if you don't put in the work. I've seen a lot of guys come through here thinking they're the next big thing. Most of them burn out before they even get started."
"I won't burn out," Troy said firmly, meeting Marcus's gaze.
"We'll see," Marcus replied. "Now get outta here. You've earned a break."
---
The walk home was less grueling this time, though Troy's body still ached. He passed the corner store again, waving to Mrs. Jenkins, who gave him a curious look but didn't press him further.
When he reached his apartment, he found himself staring at the front door. The silence inside felt oppressive, a stark contrast to the noise and energy of the gym. He stepped in, dropped his bag, and sat down at the small kitchen table.
His mind drifted to school. He'd skipped several days now, and the consequences were starting to catch up. He'd seen the looks his teachers gave him the last time he showed up—disappointment mixed with frustration. And then there was Trayvon.
Troy's jaw clenched at the thought of the bully. He could still hear the mocking laughter, feel the sharp sting of the punches and kicks that had left him battered and broken.
Not anymore, he thought.
He didn't know when he'd be ready to stand up to Trayvon, but he knew he was getting closer. Each punch he threw, each drop of sweat he shed, was a step toward reclaiming his power.
---
The next morning, Troy forced himself to go to school. The hallways felt suffocating, the noise overwhelming after the controlled chaos of the gym. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact as he made his way to class.
When he slipped into his seat, Jay turned to him immediately.
"Dude, where have you been?" Jay whispered. "You've missed so much!"
"I've just... been busy," Troy said, avoiding his friend's gaze.
"Busy with what?" Jay pressed.
"Something important," Troy replied vaguely.
Jay frowned but didn't push further. "Well, you've got a ton of homework to catch up on. And Mr. Peterson is seriously pissed."
Troy nodded absently, his thoughts elsewhere.
---
At lunch, Troy sat alone, picking at his food. Trayvon and his crew were at their usual table, laughing loudly and throwing occasional glances his way. Troy's stomach churned, but he forced himself to stay calm.
As the day dragged on, Troy's mind kept drifting back to the gym. It had become his sanctuary, the one place where he felt like he had control over his life.
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That evening, as he headed back to the gym, Troy encountered a man sitting on the curb outside. He was older, with a weathered face and a duffel bag at his feet.
"Hey, kid," the man said as Troy approached. "You training with Marcus?"
Troy nodded cautiously.
"Good. Marcus doesn't waste his time on just anyone. You must have something special."
"I'm just trying to get better," Troy replied, unsure how to respond.
The man chuckled. "Keep at it, kid. Boxing's a tough road, but it's worth it if you've got the heart for it."
Troy nodded, the man's words lingering in his mind as he entered the gym.
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Inside, Marcus greeted him with a nod. "Ready for round two?"
"Always," Troy said, a small smile playing on his lips.
The next phase of his training began, each step bringing him closer to the fighter he wanted to become.
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