Midtown Boxing Club - Thursday Night
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Ashan stepped into Midtown Boxing Club and was immediately hit by the smell of leather.
Bags swinging. Trainers yelling.
Some guy in the corner was shadowboxing in AirPods like he was being broadcast to ESPN.
The front desk guy barely looked up.
"Tony sent me."
The guy nodded, gestured toward the back.
Ashan made his way to the locker area, clutching his gym bag like a lifeline.
Everyone looked bigger. Louder. More real.
"I don't belong here… do I"?
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Ashan wrapped up and started hitting the bag.
Tight stance. Hands up.
Pendulum step. Snap punches.
His form wasn't perfect, but you could tell he'd put in work.
Until
"WHO THE HELL BEEN TEACHIN' YOU TO FIGHT LIKE A POPSICLE STICK?!"
The bag stopped moving.
Ashan turned.
Standing there was a mountain with gloves, a huge imposing man. No shirt. Just a massive grin and a voice that commanded chaos.
"Lemme guess… YouTube kung fu or something, right?"
"Lemme show you something."
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The man stepped into the open mat area and barked:
"SOMEONE GET ME GLOVES! I'M 'BOUT TO HUMBLE BRUCE LEE JR."
Someone whispered to Ashan.
"Bro… that guy is crazy."
Ashan blinked.
"No shit"
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Ashan, now nervous, stepped into the ring.
The man didn't even put on a mouthguard.
"This ain't a fight, kid. This a lesson."
"You see, when I was around your age I went to China and learned a little something called Xing Yi Quan - I even whooped my masters ass and made my own style! So I know my shit!"
Ashan jabbed.
Jerry leaned back, grinning. Didn't even flinch.
"Okay! You got timing. But no pressure. Punch like you tryna swat a bug on your grandma."
Ashan tried a combo.
Tap-tap-thud!
Jerry parried, danced to the side, and threw a liver shot into the air next to Ashan's ribs.
Didn't even hit. Just close enough to feel the breeze.
Ashan flinched anyway.
"That's fear. You feel it?"
Ashan nodded, frozen.
Jerry stepped close.
"Good. Real fighters feel fear. But we cook with it."
"What the fuck does that mean" thought Ashan
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Afterward, Jerry tossed a towel over his shoulder and sat beside Ashan.
"You're raw. But you moved with purpose. Keep at it."
Ashan, breathing heavy, asked:
"How do I get strong enough to stand in front of someone like you?"
Jerry chuckled.
"Boy, you don't. You learn to move smarter. Strong fades. Sharp don't."
He stood up.
"I'll be in Japan next month. Real fights out there. You? You stay. Eat. Lift. Hit. Repeat."
"And if you're still here in six months, maybe I'll let you hit me for real."
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Later, Ashan stood by the lockers, sipping from a cracked water bottle, still processing everything.
Jerry walked over, towel draped over his shoulder like a cape.
"Man he's really talkative isn't he" thought Ashan.
He pulled out a phone with a cracked Spider-Man case and held it out.
"Lemme see your phone, popsicle."
Ashan blinked. Fumbled to unlock it.
Jerry tapped in his number with massive fingers.
"That's me. Text if you ever got questions. Don't call unless you're dying or you got food for me."
Ashan laughed nervously. "You serious?"
Jerry gave a lopsided grin.
"I don't give out my number to just anybody, y'know. You my first disciple or whatever."
"Don't make me regret it, Mr. Kung Fu Hustle."
Ashan's eyes widened. "Wait, are you actually gonna train me?"
Jerry started walking away but muttered just loud enough:
"Maybe"
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(Jerry's inner monologue)
"Hoo boy. I really gave that kid my number. What's wrong with me?"
"Bet he texts me dumb crap like 'how do I punch harder' or sends me Bruce Lee quotes at 2 AM."
"Still… dude's got somethin'. Moved like he meant it. Ain't flinch much."
"Maybe this is it. Maybe I finally got a protégé. A legacy. A little Kung Fu meat stick to carry the Tyson torch."
"…Man, I hope he's not vegan."
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Jerry walked off, laughing like a man who owned the world.
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Project Dragon, Day 227
"Met a dude named Jerry Tyson today. Thought I was gonna die." "He fights like a bomb. Loud. Big. But controlled." "Said I punch like a popsicle stick. Fair." "But he also said I moved with purpose."
"Purpose is enough… for now."
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