The walk back to Marcus Garvey felt different than the morning departure. Tired but satisfied, like they’d earned their breakfast through the physical effort rather than the institutional entitlent.
"You really think we can do this?" Tommy asked, still breathing heavily.
"We just did it," Javier replied.
"That was one day. Miguel said we’re doing this six days a week for months."
"Then we’ll get stronger."
Back at the group ho, shower ti beca a luxury. Five minutes of hot water felt like winning the lottery. Javier stood under the spray, feeling muscles relax.
"How was the run?" Grey asked when they erged.
"Survived," Tommy replied.
"Barely," Javier added.
"Well, don’t expect special treatnt ’cause you went jogging. Still got chores and school like everybody else."
Breakfast tasted different after physical exertion. Eggs and toast beca fuel. His body was learning to demand nutrition instead of simply accepting whatever appeared on his tray.
Other group ho kids peppered them with questions during breakfast.
"How far did you run?" Kevin asked.
"Two and a half miles," Javier replied.
"That’s insane," Carlos said. "I get tired walking to the corner store."
"Maybe you should try it," Tommy suggested. "Miguel said anyone can join if they’re serious."
"I’ll stick to football," Carlos replied. "Less chance of getting punched in the face."
The school day passed in a haze of fatigue and newfound focus. Javier found himself paying attention in ways he hadn’t before. Math problems seed more manageable when his mind felt clear from morning exercise.
Tommy struggled more, nodding off during second-period English until Ms. Peterson woke him with a question about howork assignnts.
"Mr. Vega," Ms. Peterson’s voice cut through his drowsiness. "Perhaps you’d like to share your thoughts on the symbolism in Chapter 3?"
Tommy’s head snapped up, eyes struggling to focus. "Sorry, what?"
"Were you sleeping in my class?"
"No ma’am. Just... tired."
Ms. Peterson crossed her arms, studying his exhausted expression. "Late night?"
"Early morning," Tommy replied, earning confused looks from classmates.
"Well, whatever keeps you up needs to not interfere with my classroom. This is your only warning."
"Yes ma’am. Won’t happen again."
"Good. Now, about that symbolism..."
The lunch period felt different. Javier’s body craved the cafeteria’s bland chicken sandwich and watery soup.
"Yo, did you see LeBron’s dunk last night?" Kevin asked, sliding into the seat across from them. "Man jumped over two defenders."
"Nah, missed it," Tommy replied, unwrapping his sandwich. "We were asleep by like nine-thirty."
"Nine-thirty?" Carlos laughed. "What are you, twelve?"
"Early morning training," Javier explained, taking a bite of his sandwich. For once, the processed at actually tasted good.
"Still can’t believe y’all actually got up at five AM," Kevin shook his head. "I wouldn’t do that for a million dollars."
Vicente materialized beside their table, invisible to everyone except Javier. The ghost studied the cafeteria with interest, like he was seeing teenage life for the first ti in decades.
"This is what I missed most," Vicente said quietly. "Just sitting with friends, talking about nothing important. Fa takes that away from you."
Javier almost responded but caught himself, focusing on Tommy’s story about their English teacher falling asleep during her own lecture.
"And then Marcus threw his pencil at the board to wake her up," Tommy continued, getting laughs from the table. "She jumps up like ’Where were we?’ Nobody had the heart to tell her she’d been snoring."
"Ms. Peterson’s getting old," Carlos said. "My brother was in her class like three years ago, and said she used to be tough."
Vicente’s expression grew distant. "I used to eat lunch alone after I got famous. Couldn’t just be a regular person anymore. Everyone wanted sothing - autographs, photos, money."
The conversation drifted to weekend plans, video gas, and complaints about howork. Normal teenage stuff that had nothing to do with boxing or training or supernatural ntors. Javier found himself relaxing for the first ti all day.
"Are you eating that?" Tommy asked, eyeing Javier’s untouched apple.
"All yours." Javier slid it across the table.
"Your body’s finally learning what it needs," Vicente observed. "Real fuel instead of just whatever’s available."
After school, they faced another choice. The group ho van waited to take residents back for supervised howork ti and dinner or they could walk to the recreation center for technical training.
"Co on," Javier said. "Miguel’s expecting us."
"My legs still hurt from this morning," Tommy complained.
"Mine too. But we said we’d be there."
The afternoon training session began with basic stance instruction. Miguel positioned their feet, adjusted their guard position, explained weight distribution like an engineering professor teaching bridge construction.
"Shoulder-width apart," Miguel demonstrated, his own stance perfect despite years away from competition. "Left foot forward if you’re orthodox, right foot forward if you’re southpaw. Weight on balls of feet, never be flat-footed."
Javier mimicked the position, feeling awkward and unnatural. His balance felt off, like standing on a boat in choppy water.
"Relax," Miguel said, walking around him like a sculptor examining clay. "You’re too tense. Boxing stance should feel ready, not rigid."
Tommy struggled beside him, constantly shifting his weight from foot to foot. "This feels weird, man."
"Everything feels weird until it becos natural," Miguel replied, adjusting Tommy’s guard position. "Keep your hands up. Protect your head and body."
Vicente appeared beside them as they practiced, his ghostly form moving with the fluid grace of a forr champion. "Turn your hips when you throw that cross. You’re arm-punching like an amateur."
Javier tried following the invisible guidance, rotating his body with each punch. The movent felt foreign but sohow more powerful.
[JAB SKILL 0.1] appeared each ti he threw a correct jab
"Good," Miguel nodded, watching Javier’s improvent. "See how much more power you get when your whole body moves together?"
They practiced basic punches for twenty minutes. Jab, cross, hook, uppercut. Miguel broke down each punch into components - foot position, hip rotation, shoulder movent, follow-through.
"Jab cos straight from your face," Miguel demonstrated in slow motion. "Twist your fist at the end, snap it back to guard position. Cross cos from your back hand, turn your hip over. Hook is horizontal, like you’re hitting soone around a corner."
[FOOTWORK SKILL 0.1] flashed with proper step movents
Javier’s legs began to understand the rhythm. Step with the jab, pivot with the cross, reset position after each combination. Simple concepts that felt impossibly complex when trying to coordinate everything simultaneously.
"I look like a robot," Tommy complained, throwing chanical punches that lacked any flow.
"Robots don’t get tired," Miguel replied with a grin. "Muscle mory cos from repetition. Do it right a thousand tis, then it becos automatic."
Vicente circled Javier like a coach studying technique. "Your left hand drops when you throw the right. Keep that guard up."
Javier caught himself dropping his guard and corrected it imdiately.
"Better," Miguel said, noticing the adjustnt. "Always protect yourself. Offense ans nothing if you can’t defend."
After stance and basic punches ca movent drills. Miguel had them practice stepping forward and backward while maintaining their guard, then side-to-side movents.
"Boxing is chess with violence," Miguel explained as they shuffled around the training area. "Position determines everything. A good position gives you options, and a bad position gets you hurt."
The footwork felt like learning to dance while wearing concrete boots. Javier’s feet tangled twice, nearly sending him sprawling onto the gym floor.
"Don’t look at your feet," Miguel called out. "Eyes up, watch your opponent. Feet follow where your mind goes."
Twenty minutes of movent drills left both boys breathing hard despite the moderate pace. Their legs burned from constant motion in unfamiliar positions.
"Water break," Miguel announced. "Two minutes, then we hit the bags."
Vicente remained beside Javier during the rest period. "See how your body’s already adapting? This morning you could barely finish the run."
The heavy bag work felt like controlled violence. Miguel demonstrated proper punching technique on the worn leather surface, each impact landing with satisfying thuds that echoed through the gym.
"Start light," Miguel instructed, wrapping their hands with white cloth tape. "Feel the bag’s resistance. Build power gradually or you’ll hurt yourself."
Javier’s first punch felt pathetic - a weak jab that barely moved the hundred-pound bag. His knuckles stung despite the hand wraps.
"Punch through the target," Miguel advised. "Imagine hitting sothing six inches behind the leather."
The next punch felt much stronger. The bag swayed slightly, and Javier felt the satisfying impact travel up his arm.
[JAB SKILL 0.1] appeared with each correct technique
Three-minute rounds separated by one-minute rest periods. Javier’s shoulders burned after the first round, his untrained muscles protesting the repetitive motion. Sweat dripped onto the concrete floor despite the moderate pace.
"This is harder than it looks," Tommy gasped during a rest period, flexing his sore hands.
"Everything about boxing is harder than it looks," Miguel replied. "That’s why most people quit."
Vicente studied Javier’s form with professional interest. "You’re learning to generate power properly. Most beginners just flail around for months."
The second round focused on combinations. Jab-cross, jab-cross-hook, simple sequences that required coordination between hands and feet.
"Step with your punches," Miguel called out while they worked. "Don’t just stand there and arm-punch. Move your feet, change angles."
[STRENGTH 0.1] appeared per minute of training
[COORDINATION 0.1] flashed during combination work
By the third round, Javier’s technique was showing real improvent. His punches landed cleaner, his footwork felt more natural, his breathing stayed controlled despite the physical exertion.
Tommy struggled more, his combinations falling apart when fatigue set in. His punches beca wild and uncontrolled, wasting energy on movents that looked impressive but generated little power.
"Slow down," Miguel advised Tommy. "Perfect technique beats fast sloppiness every ti. Speed cos naturally once you master the basics."
The final round tested their conditioning more than technique. Miguel had them throw non-stop combinations for two minutes, focusing on maintaining form despite exhaustion.
Javier’s shoulders felt like they were on fire, his lungs burned from sustained effort, but he maintained his technique throughout the round.
[ENDURANCE 0.2] appeared as he pushed through fatigue
By the end of the session, his skills showed asurable progress:
[JAB 2.0→3.8]
[FOOTWORK 2.0→3.2]
[STRENGTH 4.5→6.1]
"Outstanding work," Miguel said, helping them remove their gloves. "Most beginners look lost for weeks. You two absorbed everything like sponges."
Vicente smiled approvingly beside them. "Natural athletes learn fast. But rember - this was just the introduction."
"Speed bag next week," Miguel announced, toweling sweat from his forehead. "Today was about basics. Tomorrow we add conditioning exercises - push-ups, sit-ups, core work."
Tommy looked exhausted but satisfied. "My arms feel like noodles."
"Good noodles or bad noodles?" Miguel asked with a grin.
"Good noodles. Definitely good noodles."
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