2007, Miami City
Link, now 18, was living the clean life he'd built with his share of the clubs. These days, his world revolved around the boxing gym instead of street corners. He'd been grinding in local youth competitions and zonals for months now, building a reputation as a knockout artist. His fighting style was ruthless, fierce - the kind that gave tough love to kids who thought boxing was just a game.
It was at one of those events where he first caught Coach West's attention. West had been a solid professional back in the day, popular enough to make decent money, but one bad loss had knocked him out of the mainstream. Still, he had respect in boxing circles, and more importantly, he had an eye for raw talent.
When West saw Link fight, he knew he was looking at something special. He approached the kid after the match and offered to train him. That was a year ago.
Now, at West's boxing club, Link had been learning to channel that street instinct into something more sophisticated. He was becoming a force of nature, and Coach West could see it. The kid's punches carried the power of a seasoned professional, but it was his intelligence that really set him apart. Link absorbed techniques like a sponge.
Today, he was sparring with Mario, the club's former golden boy. Mario had been the best boxer here before Link showed up, but now he was essentially Link's main sparring partner. They were going at it hard, but Link's advantages in speed and power were obvious. Even though Mario was a heavyweight and Link fought as a super middleweight, Link was controlling the pace, landing heavy shots that echoed through the gym.Then it happened - Link connected with a right cross that dropped Mario cold, even with all his protective gear on.
After Mario came to and shook off the cobwebs, he sat on his stool, frustrated. "How the hell do you hit that hard? Knocking me out with headgear on? Man, this is some bullshit."
Link had that familiar smug grin plastered across his face. "Maybe if you spent more time training and less time chasing girls around the neighborhood, you could handle it better."
Mario shot back, "Man, fuck you. You're out there chasing tail just as much as I am. That's the pot calling the kettle black."
Link's grin widened. "Yeah, but you actually are black."
"Fuck you, you racist piece of shit," Mario said, but there wasn't real heat behind it. This was just how they talked.
Link just shrugged, still smiling as Coach West walked over.
"Good work today, Link. Your technique is getting refined. I think y ou're ready for amateur competition."
"Yeah, I feel ready. But I don't want to get stuck in amateur boxing forever, Coach."
West nodded knowingly. "I get it. You've got the skills to hang with professionals right now, but amateur boxing will give you the experience you need. You've only fought on the streets and in youth tournaments. The Golden Gloves is coming up - that's your shot. Win that, and doors start opening. Recognition, better opponents, maybe even some media attention."
Link considered this. "Coach, you know I got some juvenile stuff on my record. Community service and all that. Is that gonna be a problem?"
"Not immediately," West said. "But if you make it big, they'll dig up everything. Media loves a story, good or bad."
Link's eyes lit up. "Maybe I should get ahead of it then. Control the narrative. Problem kid from the streets becomes champion - people eat that shit up."
"Smart thinking. These days, it's not just about what you do in the ring. Media presence matters just as much as pure skill."
"Facts," Link agreed.
Link threw himself back into training with renewed intensity. He was a natural fighter, no question, but his street background was both a blessing and a curse. In the streets, there were no rules - you used everything at your disposal to win. Elbows, knees, whatever it took. He'd started boxing at 12, but it had always been mixed with street fighting.Now he had to retrain those instincts, teach his body to work within boxing's constraints. It wasn't easy, but Link had never been afraid of hard work. If anything, he craved the challenge.
He was confident he'd win the Golden Gloves and announce to the world that a new champion had arrived - that the wolf was coming for the boxing throne
.Later that evening, all the homies gathered at their new spot. It was a decent place - not flashy, not run-down, just comfortable. All of them had successfully transitioned from gang life to respectability. The money from the bars and clubs was steady enough to keep them living well.
Lil Ace was the first to bring it up. "So you really gonna do this Golden Gloves thing, huh?"
Ray leaned back in his chair. "Man, our boy's about to storm the boxing world. I'm telling y'all, they ain't ready for what's coming."
Ryan nodded, crushing his beer can. "They won't know what hit 'em."
Miguel raised his bottle in the air. "¡Salud! To our champion."
Link just smiled at their antics. These were his brothers, and win or lose, he knew they'd have his back. But losing wasn't really an option he was considering.