Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Rebirth in The Ring
Chapter 1: Rebirth in the Ring
The first thing he felt was the punch. It wasn't physical. It was a sensation, a force so overwhelming that it made his body twitch, his muscles lock, and his lungs fight for air. But there was no pain. Just the raw, unyielding pressure of being born into a body that wasn't his own.
His eyes snapped open.
The world around him was disorienting. Blinding lights, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a heartbeat, and the muffled roar of a crowd. He lay on the canvas, staring up at a set of bright, unfamiliar lights that glowed above him like celestial beacons. The smell of sweat and rubber, the faint metallic taste of blood in the air — it all assaulted him in an instant.
A voice—deep and familiar—spoke through the haze.
"Get up, boy. You ain't done yet."
He blinked, the sound cutting through his fog of confusion. The voice was rough, but it was one he recognized. A voice that carried a weight, a force of nature that had defined an entire generation. His father's voice. Mike Tyson.
The realization hit him like a freight train, knocking the breath out of him. No way. But the body beneath him? The sweat, the soreness, the clenched fists that didn't belong to him? They were his now. This body is Mike Tyson's son.
Panic set in, but it was only for a moment. His mind was still his own — but something was different now. The instincts, the reflexes, the knowledge of power and violence were all present, buried deep within the muscle memory of this new, unfamiliar vessel. His senses felt sharper than they had ever been in his previous life. He could feel the rush of blood through his veins, the heat of his skin, the pulse of adrenaline surging through his system.
His hands, once weak and average, now felt like weapons. Strong, precise, poised. He could taste the bitter sweetness of defeat and glory in his mouth all at once. But more than that, he could hear the roar of a world demanding something of him. Something he wasn't sure he was ready to give.
"Get up," the voice urged again, and this time, it felt like a command. Not from his father — but from the universe itself.
A deep breath. He rose.
The crowd's roar swelled, but it wasn't the crowd of his previous life. This wasn't some random street fight or a schoolyard brawl. This was the ring, the very arena where his father had cemented his place in history. Where legends were made, and where Mike Tyson's legacy was both a crown and a chain.
And now, the crown was his.
He stood, swaying slightly, blinking as his senses came into full focus. The figure across the ring — an opponent, no doubt — was barely visible through the haze. He had to fight. He didn't know why or how he got here, but the instinct to fight, to survive, was embedded deep in his new DNA.
A small part of him wanted to collapse, to reject the life thrust upon him. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't chosen this. Yet here he was. He glanced at his reflection in the corner of the ring, a fleeting glimpse that felt like an eternity.
The face staring back at him was young, but unmistakably familiar. His father's strong jawline, the trademark eyes that had pierced through the media, the hint of tattoos creeping along his neck and arms.
Mike Tyson's son. The weight of it crashed down on him.
The bell rang. A low, jarring sound that shook him from his thoughts. The world around him blurred as the opponent charged. No more time for reflection.
Instinct kicked in. His body moved before his mind could fully process what was happening. A jab, swift and precise, followed by a powerful right hook. The opponent staggered back, stunned, his hands raised to defend himself.
The crowd roared. The taste of victory was so sweet it nearly choked him.
The figure in the ring wasn't just his opponent anymore. It was the weight of expectations, the history that had already been written for him — the path his father had walked, and the one he would have to follow. But this body, this new life? It was his to command. He had been given a second chance, a chance to carve his own story.
Yet, how could he escape the shadow of a legend?
"Focus, son," the voice urged again, but this time, it was quieter, like a whisper in his ear. He knew it wasn't just his father speaking to him — it was the voice of destiny. The voice of someone who had lived in this world and had known greatness.
He wasn't just Mike Tyson's son. He was his own person. But that didn't mean the world would give him the same freedom.
The bell rang again, but this time, it felt like a call to arms. He was ready. Ready to fight. Ready to live up to the name. Ready to break the chains and forge his own legacy.
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