My Boxing System: The Undisputed Champion

The next morning, Troy stood in front of the cracked mirror in his bathroom, inspecting himself. His body had begun to show subtle changes—a little more definition in his shoulders, a firmer set to his arms. The boy staring back at him still had faint bruises on his face from sparring, but his eyes held a fire they hadn't before.

After washing up and throwing on a plain hoodie and jeans, Troy slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed out. He had missed too many days of school recently, and he knew the counselor, Mrs. Greene, would be on his case.

---

The chatter of students echoed in the hallway as Troy stepped into the school building. Heads turned toward him, whispers spreading like wildfire. He caught snippets of conversation—his sudden disappearance hadn't gone unnoticed.

"That's Hunter. Thought he dropped out," someone muttered.

"Bet Trayvon scared him off," another said with a chuckle.

Troy clenched his fists but kept walking, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor. As he approached his locker, a familiar voice froze him in his tracks.

"Well, look who decided to come back," Trayvon said, leaning against the lockers with his posse close behind.

Troy didn't flinch this time. The memories of Marcus's voice, his constant drilling, and the sweat-drenched hours in the gym gave him a strange sense of calm. He turned to Trayvon, meeting his eyes directly.

"What do you want?" Troy asked, his voice firm.

Trayvon smirked. "You've been dodging me for days, Hunter. Thought you might've grown some guts while you were gone. Guess I was wrong."

One of Trayvon's friends laughed, but Troy's steady gaze didn't waver. "I'm not dodging anyone," he said, his tone quiet but sharp.

Trayvon's grin faltered, just for a moment. "Big words, little man," he said, stepping closer.

The tension in the air was palpable, but before things could escalate, a stern voice cut through the crowd.

"Trayvon, Hunter! What's going on here?" Mrs. Greene's sharp tone echoed in the hallway.

The group dispersed instantly, and Trayvon gave Troy one last glare before walking away.

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....

Troy found himself sitting in Mrs. Greene's cramped office, the faint smell of coffee and old paper filling the air. She adjusted her glasses and peered at him over a stack of folders.

"Troy, I've noticed you've been absent quite a bit lately," she began, her tone a mix of concern and authority.

"I had… things to deal with," Troy said vaguely.

Mrs. Greene leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Things like skipping class? If there's something going on, you can talk to me."

Troy hesitated, the words caught in his throat. How could he explain it? That he wasn't just skipping class but transforming himself, piece by piece, to escape the powerless life he'd been living?

"I'm fine," he finally said.

She sighed. "Troy, you're a smart kid. But if you keep going down this path, you're going to regret it. Let me help you."

Troy nodded but didn't respond. He wasn't ready to explain himself—not yet.

---

..

The walk to the gym felt longer than usual, the weight of the morning hanging over him. The streets were alive with the sounds of the city—honking cars, the chatter of pedestrians, the occasional bark of a dog.

As he passed the corner store, old Mr. Patel waved at him from behind the counter. "Troy! You're looking stronger these days. Keep it up!"

Troy smiled faintly and waved back. It was a small moment, but it reminded him that not everyone saw him as the weak, bullied kid.

---

The gym was bustling as always, the air filled with the rhythmic pounding of gloves on bags and the shouts of trainers pushing their fighters to the limit.

Marcus spotted Troy as he walked in. "You're late," he said, folding his arms.

"Had to deal with school," Troy replied, dropping his bag in the corner.

Marcus grunted but didn't press further. "Warm up. You've got drills with Kenny today."

Troy nodded, wrapping his hands and stepping over to the heavy bag. The punches came easier now, his movements smoother and more deliberate.

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....

After warming up, Troy joined Kenny in the ring. Today's focus was on defensive drills—slipping, rolling, and counterpunching.

"Alright," Kenny said, circling Troy. "You're gonna slip my jab and counter with the right. Ready?"

Troy nodded, his body tense with anticipation. Kenny's jab came fast, but Troy was faster, dipping to the side and throwing a sharp right hand.

"Good!" Kenny said. "Again!"

The drill continued, each repetition building muscle memory. Troy could feel the difference—his reflexes were sharper, his punches crisper.

Marcus watched from the sidelines, nodding in approval. "You're getting there, Hunter. But don't get cocky. This is just the beginning."

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.....

By the time Troy left the gym, the sky was painted with hues of orange and pink. The soreness in his muscles was a reminder of the progress he was making, and despite the challenges of the day, he felt a sense of accomplishment.

On his way home, Troy passed a group of kids playing basketball on the street. For a moment, he stopped to watch, the sound of the bouncing ball and laughter filling the air. It reminded him of simpler times, before life had become so complicated.

When he finally reached his apartment, he collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion washing over him. His mind wandered to Trayvon, to Mrs. Greene, to the drills with Kenny. He knew tomorrow would bring more challenges, but for the first time in a long time, he felt ready to face them.

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