My Pro Boxer System

I took Ivy by the hand and led her into the ring. If I gave her the chance, I had a feeling she would turn me down.

"What are you doing?" she asked, pulling her hand away as we stepped inside the ring.

"I need a little help with my punches. The coach is tired, so I thought maybe you could help."

I knew how much she cared about helping us train, so this was the best excuse I could give her.

"If that's the case, wouldn't it make more sense for you to wear the gloves and for me to wear the mitts?"

"That's not what the coach said."

She studied me blankly without saying a word, as if she were deep in thought.

"Fine, I'll help, but only for a little while, okay?"

"That's fine."

Hesitantly, Ivy put on the gloves, and I put on the mitts.

"Let's start with a straight punch to see what you're working with," I suggested.

She raised an eyebrow.

"To see what I'm working with? We're here to train you, remember?"

"Relax; this is all part of MY training."

She frowned and glared at me. Then she took her stance and fired a straight punch right at the mitt. Her form wasn't the best, but it wasn't bad either. She looked like someone who was a bit rusty after not practicing for a while.

"Pivot with your rear foot and twist your hips to add more force to the punch." I advised.

She nodded and followed my instructions. We continued with simple 1-2 combinations. She was a bit slow, but that was because her footwork needed some improvement.

As she punched away at the mitt, I continued to instruct her. Sure enough, after a while, she had completely forgotten that this was supposed to be my training, which made things easier.

"Shift your weight onto the balls of your feet," I said as I adjusted her stance. Her stance was more like an infighter's, with her feet planted flat on the ground, but since I was training her, I wanted her to practice my style of fighting.

"Oh, okay! Thank you!"

Her footwork was atrocious. The way she moved around the ring made me certain that she had some experience as a boxer. Definitely as an infighter. It wasn't surprising, since her grandfather was the coach, after all.

Her expression remained serious while I trained her, but whenever she made an improvement, her face would soften into a smile as cherry pink lines danced across her cheeks. She seemed like a different person while boxing. More energetic. Happier even. A strong determination burned in her eyes.

The way she pouted while concentrating on something was also very cute. I couldn't help but chuckle as I watched her.

After we finished training, we went to the locker room to change and rid our bodies of sweat. Then we left the school together. As we walked along the road, she took out a notebook and began jotting down information very quickly. She was making a note of everything she did that day.

She had the same intensity on her face as when she was boxing.

"You did well today," I commented. "If your training continues like this, you can join the women's boxing club in no time."

"My training?" She looked up at me and frowned. "This was your training, remember?"

"I thought maybe we could make this a regular thing where I train you after club training."

I thought she would be happy, but she looked a little downcast by my words. She stared down at the ground silently.

"It would actually make me happy to train with you. I… Today wasn't the worst experience I've had, but your efforts are wasted on me. Someone like me could never become good at boxing."

"Is it because you failed at boxing before?"

That was the only explanation I could think of. She knew how to box, and something told me she had been a boxer, but something had caused her to quit.

She nodded.

"I loved boxing growing up, mainly because my father was a boxer. He was the best boxer I had ever seen. He brought me to every one of his matches, and I cheered him on. I was his biggest fan. Everyone loved him; they said he was an up-and-coming talent and that in a few years, he might even win a championship. My father was happy since that was his biggest dream. When I was little, we would stay up for hours talking about him becoming champion."

She spoke in a flat, emotionless tone, as if she were recalling something that happened to someone else.

"His dream never came true. He and Mom died in a car crash five years ago. I didn't want his dream to die with him. In some twisted way, I figured that if I could somehow accomplish his dream, then I could at least keep part of him alive. I still think that. That's why I decided to start boxing. I had my grandfather train me, and in my first year of high school, I joined the boxing club.

I failed miserably, and every failure reminded me of what a horrible daughter I was. I couldn't even obtain a license. No matter how much I tried or trained, I always failed. After a while, the coach of the female boxing club had it with me not following her instructions and constantly getting into quarrels with the other members, so she kicked me out."

Why was she not sad? She seemed detached from the whole thing. She had just told me about her horrible life experience, yet she carried on as if it were a regular conversation. That's how little she cared about the discussion. She expected nothing from me. From her perspective, there wasn't anything I could say to soothe her pain.

She was only sharing because I had asked.

"What if I train you?" I asked.

She stared at me with a blank expression.

"Didn't you hear what I said? It's pointless to train me. I'm a failure. If my grandfather couldn't do it, what chance do you have?"

"I think I have a fairly good shot. Plus, the two of us work well together. Maybe what you really need is the right coach. What could you lose?"

"Time and energy."

"Well, how about this: we have a trial period. I'll train you for one month, and during that time, you'll follow all of my instructions without question. And I mean every single one." That point was crucial. "If by the end of this one-month period you still don't see any major improvements, then you're free to quit. What do you think?"

She walked silently beside me, not uttering a word. She seemed to be wrestling with the idea, but I already knew what the answer would be. Ivy had a burning passion for boxing, and even though she might not realize it yet, she hadn't completely given up on the idea of being a boxer.

The way she meticulously took notes was proof of that. She said she quit boxing in her first year of high school, which was over two years ago. Someone who hadn't boxed in two years wouldn't have moved the way she did today during our sparring match. It told me she had been practicing.

Everything about her screamed how much she loved boxing, so the answer to my question was painfully obvious.

Sigh.

"... Fine, let's do a trial period."