My Pro Boxer System

My opponent charged at me, swinging his fists wildly with deadly force. I danced around his blows and delivered a solid punch to his stomach. When my glove impacted his belly fat, it created a loud clap. He visibly recoiled from the blow.

His fat absorbed most of the impact, but I knew it still hurt a lot. I trained by punching concrete, so to me, his body was nothing but an oversized punching bag. I knew it would take a lot more punches to take him down, and since his fat acted as armor, he didn't have the same weaknesses as others.

He took a step back to recover from the blow and noticed the slightest limp when he did. Yuki was right; he did have an injured knee.

"Something the matter? Don't tell me that a blow like that really hurt you," I mocked.

His face twisted in anger as he stomped on the ground and charged toward me. He forgot his previous cautiousness and charged at me like the feral beast he was

"Get him, Fat Bitch! Teach that child a lesson!"

He charged like a bull, his large frame blocking all possible escape routes. His fist swept through the air like a giant metal beam. Just one hit was enough to cause serious damage.

"Stay still, you fucking insect!" he roared in frustration when I sidestepped his blow with minimal effort.

It was easy to evade his attacks. All I needed to do was keep myself on the side of his injured knee. He exerted effort on his knee every time he threw a right hook. It was evident by how his face would twisted in agony so I baited him. I made sure that he always threw a right hook by lining myself up perfectly for his punch.

He had a one-track mind, focused solely on swinging his fists at his target. While I dodged his attacks, I made sure to work on his lower body. He was covered in purple, fist-sized bruises. I dug my fist deep into his weak spot every time I got the chance. His body was a pleasure to hit; it was much softer than the punching bags.

I unleashed rapid-fire combos at him, one after the other. The crowd reeled as I delivered countless blows in the span of a minute. A wound opened just above his eyebrow rom my relentless assault. He was blinded with his own blood. Using the advantage, I stayed out of his field of vision; it was as if he were fighting an invisible opponent.

He thrashed around the ring, unable to defend himself as I delivered even more consecutive punches.

"Man, this kid is good!"

"He's ruthless too, not even giving him a chance!"

Even when he fell to his knees, there was no referee to save him from my blows. Winning was everything, no matter how it happened. My form of boxing had no principles, no rules. As long as I won, that was all that mattered.

I punched hm in the throat. Landed illegal shots after illegal shot but there was no one to stop me. The thing with fast punches is that you could sneak in a few illegal blows.

To everyone watching, I must have looked like a barbarian. A beast hungry for blood. To me, that was exactly how they looked to two days ago.

But strangely, I was loving every second of it. The ruthlessness I never knew I had felt enticing. After a while punching his body over and over again felt boring, so instead, I went for his head. Why?

It was more effective. If I inflicted as much damage to his head as possible, I could ensure he never stepped inside a ring again. I could make sure I never had to fight him again. It was a coward's way of thinking, I knew that. Everything about the way I fought was cowardly. But cowards are the ones who always came back after a war.

In the end, I was simply a boxer afraid of getting hit. I didn't think anything would ever change that.

I watched him choke on his own blood, but still, the fucker refused to fall. No matter how hard I hit him, he kept standing. He was truly a beast. His jaw hung open, leaking blood from his mouth. His jaw was most likely dislocated or even broken.

The atmosphere grew heavy as the crowd began to shift a little. They started to feel pity for my broken opponent. Maybe they were beginning to see the horror of the situation.

"Come on, you fat piece of shit!"

"We have a lot of money on you!"

Or maybe not.

That thought was quickly swept away, and then the realization dawned. They weren't showing pity; it was fear. Fear that they would lose all their money they betted on him. They must have had a lot of money on him. I mean, no one would bet that a high schooler would win against this behemoth.

For some reason, realizing that this crowd of good-for-nothings would stand to lose if I won made the thought of winning even more enticing.

[You're quite spiteful, aren't you? Anyway, I have a question. Why didn't you ask me to show your opponent's stats? For all you know, it could have given you a slight disadvantage.]

I didn't remember.

[Liar.]

SWOOSH!

Fat Bitch lazily swung his massive arm at me. He was hunched over, barely able to stand, but he summoned all his remaining strength to fight against me. His eyes darted all over the place as if they were loose from its socket. His broken nose and the small cuts on his face smeared his face with blood. His broken jaw hung open like a door with a busted hinge.

It was then that I finally decided to end the match. From the outside, it looked like Fat Bitch was fighting back against me with everything he had and managing to stay in the match, but that was false. He was merely my plaything. This didn't even count as warm up to the brutal exercises I had endured from Alexa.

Fat Bitch dragged his legs toward me with bloodshot eyes. He resembled a zombie dragging around his corpse, and in one swift motion, I plunged my fist underneath his chin for a brutal uppercut. It rattled his brain, bashing it against his skull violently.

His eyes turned lifeless in an instant as his body collapsed to the ground. The loud bang it created signaled the end of the match and my victory.