Pacquiao didn't rush into training Jason Luo right away. Instead, he brought him to his home, pulled out an old photo album, and began flipping through it with him.
"Look, this was me during my very first fight," he said, chuckling. "Ha, just look how skinny and small I was! I was only seventeen then, often too poor to eat properly. When I stepped into the ring, it was literally a fight for survival—because only by winning could I earn enough to fill my stomach…"
"Jason Luo, that time taught me something crucial. Boxing technique matters, physical strength matters—but a fighter's determination and conviction matter even more! Before I went pro, I didn't even have a proper coach. My uncle, Mega, could only offer moral support. Yet I still defeated opponent after opponent. Do you think it was because my technique was better than theirs?"
Pacquiao's tone wavered between self-reflection and advice. "I've asked myself that question countless times, and my gut always tells me no. It wasn't my technique—it was my stronger will to win. To be precise, back then I even carried the mindset of dying in the ring. Strangely enough, once you enter that state, your aura becomes overwhelming, your Reaction sharpens, and your punches grow faster and heavier. For years, I've revisited that moment before every match, trying not to lose that feeling. That's my greatest secret."
Hearing those words, Jason Luo's mind flashed back to his battles with Morduk and the blood-soaked fight against the Madman Gossagen. Yes—since escaping poverty, the crushing pressure had eased. Though he never slacked in training, that do-or-die resolve had slowly faded. And for a professional boxer, that loss of hunger was terrifying.
Jason Luo nodded thoughtfully. "So, you're saying you agree with my plan to go all-out against Carl?"
"You're half right," Pacquiao said. "I know Mayweather well. His offense is sharp and precise, his defense solid, his counters deadly. If we try to engage Carl in a positional battle, even with your endurance, you'll have a hard time gaining any advantage on points."
"But my experience tells me this—attack! Keep attacking! Use endless offense to disrupt his rhythm. Don't give him the time or space to execute his technical setups. In that kind of fight, the only options left to him are countering or taking punches—unless he plans to defend forever."
Jason frowned slightly. "But that would demand incredible stamina, and technically…"
Pacquiao closed the album with a smile. "That's why I said you're only half right. Attacking doesn't mean blind aggression. If it did, every champion in the world would just be a fool swinging wildly. Don't worry—I'll build your training around your strengths and gradually expand from there. This afternoon, we'll do a full assessment, then draft a proper training plan. But be prepared—it's going to be brutal."
Jason grinned. "Ha! Mr. Rod already warned me—if I gain weight after two months here, it means I've learned nothing, and he'll dock my pay. So the tougher, the better!"
Pacquiao nodded, satisfied. "Jason, people like us don't get anything handed to us. In this sport, we have to fight for every inch, work harder than anyone else. But that's what makes it worth it—doing what others say you can't. The satisfaction from that… no one else can truly understand."
Jason could relate completely. Life as a boxer might be dull, but the joy of victory and pushing one's limits was unmatched—it made up for every hardship.
That afternoon, Pacquiao conducted a full set of physical and performance tests. When the results came in, he nodded repeatedly, clearly impressed.
"Jason, your right-hand punch peaks at 720 kilograms—that's monstrous. But your left hand is far behind. That's a serious problem. Even if your attack frequency is high, half your punches won't threaten Carl at all. That means he'll feel no pressure."
Jason nodded. It was true—and that was why he had kept five free attribute points unassigned, waiting to address this weakness.
Pacquiao continued, studying the data sheet. "Your Reaction, Punch Speed, and Stamina all still need improvement. We'll fix those first. Then we'll work on your attack diversity, rhythm, and ring experience. Finally, based on the results, we'll decide your fight strategy. Agreed?"
"No problem. I'll give it everything I've got. Just hope I don't frustrate you with my slow learning."
"Slow?" Pacquiao smiled faintly. "Come on, Jason, you're not slow—I've seen your videos. You're quick, clever, and tougher than you let on. Don't play the fool with me. You just got off the plane today, so get some rest. We'll start step by step and build from there. You'll also need a bit of time to adjust to the weather here. Enjoy the calm while it lasts—once the real training begins, you're going to feel it."
Jason didn't find the environment unbearable—just hot and humid. It was the tropics, after all, and Manila was a port city. Thankfully, Chicago summers were humid too, or the adjustment would've been much harder.
Two days later, Pacquiao officially began closed training with Jason. "Jason, you're a champion now—your overall Strength is already at a high level. But in my eyes, you still have tremendous room to grow. To put it simply, you're like a heavy sword that hasn't been sharpened yet. I'll forge you through heat and pressure, and grind out the edge of your spirit through pain. Only then can you truly transform. Are you ready?"
Jason took a deep breath. "I'm ready, Coach Pacquiao. I'll burn every bridge behind me—no retreat, only forward!"
"Good. Then let's begin!"
One-arm weighted push-ups—Pacquiao focused on strengthening his left arm. "Come on! Believe in yourself! You've got more in you. Twenty more!"
Jason was drenched in sweat, his mind going hazy. "How many left?"
"Don't think about it. Keep going until I say stop. Push through!"
"My muscles are burning…"
"Let them burn!"
"I can't… go on…"
"No! You can! Jason, don't give up. There's no way back—six more!"
"I… really… can't…"
Pacquiao roared, "Only cowards say they can't! You're not one of them, Jason! Forget your limits—listen to me. Three more. Take them down!"
"Ahhh!" Jason's arms trembled violently.
"Good! That's it! Two more! Carl might've stopped by now—but you're Jason Luo. Keep going!"
"I'm… gonna die…"
"No, you won't! Trust me! One more—this last one decides the winner. Hold on!"
But as soon as he finished the final rep, Jason collapsed unconscious…