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powpowpunchout · 1 year

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What Else Can You Do?

It was the night of Bald Bull’s fight. Tiger sat atop his floating red carpet, hovering above the crowd in the farthest row, hidden in the shadows casted by whatever pipes and wires hung above.

The third round had begun. People were going wild.

Bull’s opponent looked like he was moments away from collapsing. Bull, however? He only got a few measly hits to the gut, and the most that did was make him stumble back.

Tiger watched Bull–well, he tried his best to. His eyes had such a hard time following the boxers from all the way back here, and as much as he’d love to sit closer to really enjoy the show and give Bull his support, he didn’t want to risk the security guards seeing him and escorting him out because he didn’t pay for a ticket. Hopefully Bull can feel his presence from here.

As the boxers started to pick up momentum, the white and yellow spot lights started flashing wildly. Tiger shielded his eyes and cursed to himself. It was bad enough he struggled to watch his friend, did he really need to be blinded on top of it?

Thankfully, the lights soon stopped.

Tiger wished the stadium stopped trying to put on some fancy light shows during the matches–especially for the World Circuit’s ring of all places. It was already magnificent! In fact, the ring looked better when the lights were still.

Even with the lights off, the World Circuit ring was truly a sight to behold. The marbled walls with a color that reminded Tiger of a fine glass of sparkling wine? The towering columns that aligned the walls and held up the ceiling, columns that looked like they belonged not to a boxing ring, but a colosseum? The bold red banners that hung between the columns and swayed with elegance? It was a ring truly fit for the World Circuit boxers, a ring that spoiled everyone with its size and craftsmanship, a ring that captivated the audience as much as the fights themselves.

But when the ring was illuminated? It was breathtaking.

The vivid, golden hue that filled the room always sent a rush of energy through the crowd, and watching a boxing fight under these lights-- paired with the hundreds of twinkling cameras--always made each match feel like a valiant battle. It was brilliant. What else could Tiger say?

As Bull and his opponent swung at each other, Tiger couldn’t help but start to mimic some of Bull’s motions. Tiger always saw boxing as its own form of magic, one that Bull made look so easy.

His uppercuts were swift, his jabs were sharp, and his strikes were stunning.

When Bull started to deliver several fast punches to his opponent, Tiger followed along, lightly throwing his fists in sync with Bull’s, but he got a bit too excited and swung a little too hard.

He lost his balance for a split second. He held his breath as he felt his carpet waver beneath him. He quickly gripped onto its edges, and when his carpet finally steadied, he exhaled.

Tiger scooted to the center of his carpet and pulled at the collar of his crimson vest, a little hot in the face for getting so carried away. He then tugged at his sleeves–which were a lighter hue than his vest–and folded his legs.

He felt his dark, mahogany-colored pants dig into the crease of his legs, and though it was a bit uncomfortable, he didn’t want to risk shifting around and losing his balance again. The last thing he needed was to fall on top of someone.

Tiger fiddled with the golden buttons on his vest, his dark brown shoes bouncing slightly as he still felt a bit of embarrassment linger inside of him, but it didn’t stay for long as his attention was quickly sucked back into the fight.

Tiger watched as Bull walked backwards until he was mere inches from the ropes.

One of Bull’s feet dug into the mat before he kicked it back.

A surge of energy shot through Tiger.

‘Yes.’ He thought to himself, a grin spreading across his face.

The Bull Charge.

Bull’s best move. The most iconic attack he had.

Tiger clutched onto the edge of his carpet as he watched Bull ready himself.

He watched as his miserable little opponent stumbled back and raised his gloves in front of his face, as if that’d do him any good.

Bull charged towards him.

The opponent swung–

And missed.

His glove just barely scraped Bull’s face before Bull delivered a devastating uppercut, sending the man flying back and hitting the ground.

“Yes!” Tiger whispered through his teeth.

The people cheered and roared, though Tiger could make out a couple of boos and hisses. Tiger’s eyes narrowed. If he knew where they sat, he’d teleport them right to the stadium’s parking lot.

Tiger’s annoyance fled away when he noticed the hundreds of other people chanting Bull’s name, and soon, he found himself hollering along with them. The excitement was intoxicating.

The referee rushed over to the man and started to count.

Even from all the way back here, Tiger could make out each number he hollered.

“ONE!” The referee shouted, throwing down one hand before bringing it back up.

Bull stood tall and let out a hearty laugh.

“TWO!”

People screamed at Bull. They screamed at the man to get back up. They screamed for the fight to go on.

“THREE!”

The cameras flashed.

“FOUR!”

The opponent started to lift himself up.

“FIVE!”

Bull dug his shoes back into the ground.

“SIX!”

In one quick motion, the man shot back to his feet and raised his fists.

Tiger couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Some people didn’t know when to quit, did they? If he were wise, he’d save himself the humiliation and give up now.

The man threw a hit at Bull’s face.

Bull dodged it.

The man threw another and another.

Bull dodged them all with ease.

A sudden sharp jab was delivered to Bull’s gut.

Bull hunched over and stumbled back.

Tiger couldn’t help but cringe.

Bull was able to shake off the blow and strike the man across the face again. He went for a second hit–but the man jumped out of the way.

The two kept throwing hits at one another–

Bull received another blow to the gut.

Tiger sharply inhaled.

He gripped onto the edge of his carpet as he watched Bull clutch onto his stomach. Even from all the way over here, Tiger could tell just how hard those hits were.

Bull tried to recollect himself, but the man used what little time he had to send hit after hit to Bull’s face.

Bull was backed into the ropes.

The crowd's chants grew louder.

The cameras’ flashes grew brighter.

Bull threw his hands over his face to protect it–

But the man immediately socked Bull’s stomach again.

Bull hunched over again.

He took a step forward, his body swaying before he hit the ground hard enough to shake the stadium.

The people roared.

Their applause filled the stadium.

Cheers and hisses collided.

And all Tiger could do was keep a hold on his carpet as he watched Bull intensely.

The referee walked over.

‘Get up.’ Tiger mouthed.

“ONE!” The referee started.

‘Get up.’

“TWO!”

Bull started to push himself up.

“THREE!”

Each second he spent on that mat felt like an eternity.

Before the referee could hit ‘four’, Bull hoisted himself back to his feet.

Relief washed over Tiger.

The opponent shouted something at Bull, it was impossible to tell through all the chaos, but whatever he said made Bull’s posture shrink.

Bull cocked his head to the side and rolled his shoulders back.

The man shouted at him again.

Bull grit his teeth.

“FIGHT!” The referee shouted before he quickly stepped aside.

Bull charged forward and swung his arm back.

The man stepped back–but it was a second too late as Bull struck him across the face.

Spit and blood sprayed from the man’s face.

It flew in the air and glistened under the golden light.

An absolutely mesmerizing and disgusting display.

Bull swung at whatever chance he got.

The opponent kept swinging as well.

Tiger narrowed his eyes.

That opponent was getting a little too confident now.

He kept shouting in Bull’s face while wearing a cocky smile.

What gave him such the ego boost?

Him knocking Bull down once meant nothing. What made him think he was suddenly superior for throwing a few cheap shots?

Tiger watched as Bull gave the man an uppercut while he was mid-taunt. Tiger couldn’t help but smile and imagine how wonderful that must’ve felt.

As the man tried to steady himself, Bull prepared another Bull Charge.

The crowd screamed.

The spotlights shone on the boxers.

The camera lights were blinding.

Bull brought one foot down and shook the ring.

He lunged forward.

He pulled his arm back, ready to send his opponent out of the ring–

But the man managed to give a devastating blow to Bull’s stomach–completely stopping Bull.

Right on impact, Bull’s mouth opened.

It looked like he was trying to scream, but Tiger couldn’t hear anything.

Not through the noise of the crowd. Not with the constant clicking of the cameras. Not here.

There was an indescribable look of pain in Bull’s face as he pushed himself away from the man.

He only managed to take a couple steps back before he collapsed.

Tiger watched.

That was all he could do.

He watched Bull stay on the ground as the referee counted.

The drumming of his heart completely drowned out the referee’s voice.

He couldn’t even hear the screams of the people anymore.

The world started to slow.

Bull just laid there, clutching at his stomach.

He didn’t even twitch.

Everything and everyone in the stadium felt as though they were slowing down.

The referee’s gestures, the opponent’s steps, the crowd’s claps, it was all so painfully slow.

But the second the referee shouted ‘KNOCKOUT’, everything came crashing down.

All the noise, all the lights, and every little motion assaulted Tiger’s senses.

Everything was too fast now.

Too many people were standing up and cheering.

Too many cameras were going off.

And too many spotlights were rushing around the stadium.

Tiger had to cover his eyes as he listened to the crowd go wild.

He listened as the sound of hundreds of footsteps clashed with their applause.

Tiger peeked through the cracks of his fingers and watched as people rushed into the ring.

Medics, staff members, interviewers, and so many more nearly tore the ropes off their hinges as they clawed their way towards the boxers.

Plenty of people surrounded the opponent, asking him millions of questions while he struck pose after pose, wearing such a smug, punchable smile on his face. It made Tiger’s blood boil.

But he won’t give that miserable man another second of his time.

His head darted over to Bull, who was struggling to stay steady on his feet even with the help from the medics.

Even more people were surrounding Bull, despite the fact he lost.

He covered his face as photographers took picture after picture.

Far too many interviewers were shoving their microphones into his face.

Tiger couldn’t even begin to imagine how horrible it must’ve felt being surrounded by so many fans.

Despite how far he was, despite the clamor of everyone, Tiger could still hear bits of the interviewers’ questions.

Questions about Bull’s loss, how he felt about his record being further tarnished, if his skills were declining, some even had the audacity to ask how he could even lose in such an ‘easy’ fight.

Bull tore his hand away and gave himself a sharp hit to the head as he tried to back away from the people.

That only made the people grow closer.

Tiger gripped onto the end of his carpet again.

Were they blind?

Did they choose to be so ignorant?

Could they not see that Bull was trying to escape?

Tiger sat up and tugged at the bottom of his beard.

Just watching Bull struggle to push himself away from the crowd was making Tiger stressed.

He considered teleporting him away for a moment–but in front of so many people? Who knew what the higher ups would say about that.

He watched Bull for a second more before he sharply inhaled.

He quickly waved his hand towards the crowd, and suddenly all the camera flashes stopped.

He turned them off. It wasn’t much–and it certainly wasn’t going to stop some of the paparazzi for long–but at least he could slow them down for a bit.

While the paparazzis were frantically trying to turn their cameras back on, Tiger watched as Bull managed to trudge his way out of the ring and to the doors that led back to the private halls.

The moment Bull was out of sight, Tiger teleported away.

He reappeared in the locker room.

The sharp smell of bleach made his face scrunch.

The white light that bounced off the polished lockers was about to give him a headache.

Tiger hovered in the air, legs crossed and fingers dug into his legs as he kept his eyes on the door.

He heard footsteps, but not from outside the room. It almost sounded like someone was already–

Tiger’s head darted over to the sound.

Instead of Bull, though, he saw a custodian mopping between the rows of lockers with their headphones on.

Tiger’s brows lowered and he looked back to the door.

Bull should be here any second now. He’ll come in, grab his belongings from his locker, then Tiger can teleport them home.

Tiger’s look soon turned to a glare.

It’s not like Bull had much in his locker these days. Back then, however? His locker used to be full of life. He used to have little strips of colorful fabric that decorated his walls, he used to keep small containers of snacks that he’d always eat from during breaks, and he used to have an array of colorful gym supplies, but his fans–those deranged animals–kept breaking inside. They’d pry his locker open and steal whatever they deemed worthy as a ‘souvenir’ or something they could sell for a quick buck.

It didn’t take long for Bull to tear everything down and leave it barren for good. Now he was too hesitant to even leave his boxing gloves and shoes in there for a day.

Minutes passed. Tiger grew restless.

Where was Bull?

He should’ve been here by now.

Was he hurt?

Did the people get a hold of him already?

Tiger could hear distant shouts. He could hear a mob of people demand for Bull’s whereabouts, they demanded to speak to him, demand, demand, demand, and as much as it made Tiger furious, it seemed like they didn’t know where Bull was either.

Their voices grew louder, as did their footsteps and camera flashes.

Tiger breathed in. He then teleported in front of the custodian, who jumped at his sudden arrival.

Tiger motioned for them to take off their headphones. They did so. They opened their mouth–

But when they heard the clamor of hundreds of people, they immediately shut it and scowled. They muttered to themselves and positioned themself near the door with their mop tightly in hand, ready to whack whatever freaks were going to try to come in here.

Tiger’s gem flashed and he teleported again.

He appeared in one of the many private halls, hopefully far enough from those fans.

His eyes scanned the doors that aligned the murky green, poster-ridden walls.

It was a disgusting mess in here.

It was always the times after a fight that highlighted just how foul the stadium could get. The spilt drinks that seeped into the cracks of the floor, the food crumbs that had gathered in the cobweb-filled corners, and the overflowing trash cans? It was putrid.

And the smell. That horrible, vile smell. A disgusting mix of sweat, hot garbage, and the breaths of a hundred people that loved to linger in the air for days. Just thinking about it made Tiger’s stomach curl.

Tiger approached the door closest to him; a dirty shade of green with chipped paint, just like all the other doors here. The sign beside it read ‘Janitor’s Closet’.

As he reached for the knob, he heard a voice in the back of his head say: ‘Do you truly think he’d hide in here? You’re foolish.’

A part of him couldn’t help but agree. As if Bull could fit in such a small, cramped space, but Tiger needed to start somewhere.

He opened the door.

As expected, nothing but brooms, paper towels, and far too many cleaning chemicals.

Tiger let out a bitter sigh and closed the door.

He continued down the hall, and as he kept walking, one question plagued his mind.

‘How?’

How could he lose sight of Bull so easily? How could he lose his own friend? How could he struggle to find Bull of all people?

If Bull’s size wasn’t enough to catch someone’s attention, then his powerful stomps surely would have, and if they didn’t noticed that? Then they would’ve heard his loud belly laugh, or his deep voice that boomed through the halls. He was the most noticeable man in the WVBA.

Tiger stopped.

He scanned the other doors.

He’ll be here all night if he goes through them one by one.

He started walking again.

His gem flashed. Several clones appeared behind him. Without saying a word, they all split off into different directions.

As the sound of doors opening filled the hall, Tiger couldn’t help but plunge into his thoughts for a moment.

He had already been terribly upset over the shouting fit he had with his friends mere days ago, but now having to worry about Bull on top of his friends’ anger? It only made his stress worse.

Tiger had been replaying that argument in his head constantly–save for the times he was helping Bull train–and oh, the things he wished he could’ve said.

How he wished he had called Hondo out for his judgment towards Overload. Oh, when Overload says harsh things about others, it’s horrible, but when Hondo does it behind people’s back, it’s perfectly fine? At least Overload could say it to people’s faces. At least Overload didn’t accuse other people of terrible deeds. At least Overload didn’t have big, ridiculous brows that constantly twitched at every passing second.

Tiger took a deep breath when he felt himself getting riled up.

After that argument, none of the men had attempted to reach out to Tiger, and Tiger hadn’t tried to reach out to them either.

Truthfully, Tiger wasn’t all too sure if he wanted to speak to Hondo again at the moment. Certainly not now. Not when Hondo would most likely demand an apology out of him and shame him into ‘admitting’ that Overload set up those mousetraps, despite having absolutely zero evidence. As if Tiger would throw his friend away like that.

Tiger didn’t expect any texts from Bear Hugger given the state of his hand, though the fact he’s yet to call Tiger has made him a bit nervous. He didn’t want Bear of all people to be upset at him. Hopefully Hondo didn’t convince Bear that Overload was at fault. After that dreadful dinner, the last thing Overload needed was more people that despised him.

And Joe…

Tiger’s mouth curled into a frown.

He was glad not to have any sort of contact with Joe.

The only person Tiger had called recently was Overload, but that was a few days ago.

They didn’t talk about much. They just asked about each other’s day. Tiger didn’t bring up what happened in the locker room after Overload left. He can’t remember why, but he just couldn’t.

And now this?

Bull losing a fight? The aftermath that was sure to follow soon after? Just the mere thought of it flooded his mind with worries.

‘Bull will be fine.’ A part of him said, ‘Just give him some time.’

‘Why?’ Was what the other half of his mind argued.

Why should he step aside and wait for Bull to recover on his own?

Was it so wrong for him to want to support his friend? Was it so wrong to want to check on him from time to time to let him know he wasn’t alone? Was it so wrong to want to be there for him?

‘Bull, are you in here?’ He heard one of his clone’s voices echo through the halls. It’s voice was much more warped than it should be.

‘Hello?’

‘Where have you gone off too?’

‘Are you alright?’

‘Please be safe.’

‘Bull?’

It didn’t take long for Tiger’s clones to disappear.

One by one, they all turned into smoke and rushed back into his gem, leaving a trail of open doors behind him.

Tiger’s chest tightened.

He turned a corner and saw even more doors that awaited him. His gem flashed and he summoned more clones to help him.

He stumbled as he felt a wave of weariness wash over him.

He was using too much magic too quickly.

He knew his body was going to hate him if he kept doing this, he knew he was going to be sore and exhausted before the night was over, but he had to find Bull.

The sound of more doors opening echoed through the hall.

The voices of his clones rang through his ears.

The smell of cleaning chemicals and garbage was starting to make him sick.

He passed by the door leading to the Major Circuit’s control booth.

He stopped.

He stared at the door for a moment.

There was a chance that Bull could be hiding in one of the other rings–at least, Tiger hopes so.

‘What if he went home?’ He thought to himself as he slowly curled his hand around the knob.

He couldn’t have gone home. Surely.

Not when there were still hundreds of people out there looking for him.

Tiger inhaled and opened the door. His gem blinked. He summoned a few more clones and ushered them up the stairs. He caught a glimpse of their distorted figures; their several eyes, their stretched mouths, their arms that were a little too long, and their bare torsos covered in bulges of swirled skin. He shut the door.

He felt a headache start to form. He clutched at his head and stared straight ahead. His eyes locked onto the door that lead to the Minor Circuit’s ring.

He kept going.

His limbs were getting sore.

His head was starting to pound.

His vision kept flickering.

Yet he kept moving.

When he finally reached the Minor Circuit, he leaned against its set of cold, metal doors and took deep, heavy breaths. Clouds of smoke rushed back into his gem as he tried to keep himself steady.

It felt like his entire body was burning.

He slowly pressed his hand against the door and pushed it open.

The smell of sweat and bleach hit him.

He stared into the ring. It was dark, save for the stream of fluorescent light he was letting in.

He could barely make out the silhouette of the ring in the middle of the room, along with the hundreds of folding chairs that surrounded it. The bleachers that aligned the walls were impossible to make out.

He couldn’t see any signs of Bull.

“Bull?” Tiger said, head barely poking through the door.

No response.

He gripped the edge of the door tightly.

“Are you in here?”

Nothing.

A lump formed in his throat.

Tiger turned, but just as he was about to close the door, he heard something–

A sound.

Tiger snapped his head back into the room.

“Bull?” Tiger repeated as he stumbled inside.

He heard the sound again.

He didn’t know what it was.

Something falling?

Someone getting hit?

Whatever it was, it’d stop for several seconds before he’d hear it again.

Tiger weaved his way through the seats. He followed the sound, his eyes darted everywhere until they landed on the intense, red glow coming from the emergency exit’s sign.

As he grew closer to the exit, the sound grew louder.

When he passed a set of bleachers and turned a corner, a mix of relief and heartache filled him when he saw Bald Bull sitting against the exit door.

His boxing gloves had been thrown to the side, his posture was hunched, and his face hidden in the shadows.

The sign’s red light gently illuminated the top of his head and ran down his back.

Tiger stepped forward.

Bald Bull didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at him.

Tiger opened his mouth but froze when he saw Bald Bull hit himself.

Then Bull did it again. And again.

He kept hitting the same bruised area on his head, muttering words Tiger couldn’t make out.

“Bull–”

Bull struck himself again. Harder this time. The bruises grew darker.

“Bull!” Tiger snapped and quickly grabbed hold of his friend’s hand. His expression softened when Bull finally brought his tired, puffy eyes to his. Through the darkness, Tiger could just barely see the rest of the bruises that were scattered along Bull’s face and stomach.

Tiger mumbled his friend’s name again. His hands loosened before it carefully curled around Bull’s as he knelt down.

“Tonight has already been so cruel to you,” Tiger whispered, “you shouldn’t be treating yourself this way.”

He felt the way Bull tensed. Tiger tried to sit beside him, but that gesture only seemed to have made Bull feel worse, as he’d strike himself again with his other hand. Tiger jumped and tried to grab it.

“Now that’s enough!” Tiger raised his voice.

Bull tried to bring his fist up again, but Tiger held it back.

“It helps.” Bull finally said, his voice quiet and unsteady.

Tiger stared at him. His mouth hung open for a moment before he asked, “How?”

Bull’s fist lingered in the air before falling.

“It can–it is… I am…” Bull's voice dwindled. He stayed still, shaky breaths filling the silence between them.

“I am a stupid man.” Bull mumbled, “A horribly stupid man.”

“And what makes you believe that? A losing round?” Tiger asked.

Bull said nothing.

“Don’t let this one night define you.” He looked at his friend’s tear streaked face, “You are Bald Bull. One of the greatest boxers in the World Circuit.”

Bull turned his head away.

“I was messing up horribly. Mistake after mistake.”

“Everyone is bound to make mistakes. Do you truly believe–”

Bull cut him off, “I should have known better. I should have noticed what was happening and stopped him, but I did not. I’ve been doing this for years and here–and–and even now, I continue to make such stupid mistakes.”

Tiger hesitated, “Did… Is this because of what the other boxer sa–”

“No.” Bull said, “No, it was not because of him. I do not care for him. I have heard–I can put up with their… No one else cares for–” Bull couldn’t finish a single sentence. He kept rambling. He kept going and going, struggling to piece together whatever it was he wanted to say until his words started to drift apart. Until he was silent again.

He carefully placed his hand over his mouth before he spoke again, “I’m… I know I have mentioned her before, my mother, she–” He swallowed, “When I–I was… I was never a bright boy when I was younger. Always making mistake after mistake. It was the only thing I could do, and my mother would always… She would–she wanted to fix that.” He covered his eyes and breathed in.

Tiger leaned closer to his friend.

Bull slowly ran his fingers across his bruised face, “Was never as smart as my father, was never as smart as my classmates either, so I tried to study. I would study for so long–sometimes I would hardly be able to see what I was reading.” He let out a dry chuckle at the recollection. He didn’t know why. He hated those nights where he stayed up countless hours and skipped meals, where he’d stare at his books until tears started to form just to understand his school work a bit better. He hated it.

He kept going, “My mother, she never believed I was doing anything, so one day she would–she would stand behind me as I studied. She would stare down, she would find the mistakes–she would find them faster than I ever could–and she would strike me.” He grabbed onto the side of his head where his mother would constantly hit.

“That’s horrendous.” Tiger whispered, gently squeezing Bull’s other hand.

“It’d hurt, but it’d help.”

Bull’s mouth lingered open for a moment more before he repeated himself, “It helps.”

It helped in the same way all of his mother’s words would, along with the constant scoldings, the insults, and all the times she’d grab him by the arm and drag him to the corner of a room to talk down to him.

He could still recall his mother’s voice so clearly. He could remember the mixture of distraught and anger she wore on her face as she’d speak to him.

‘Bull, you drive me mad.’ She’d always say, followed by another hit for motivation, ‘You are a horribly stupid boy. I have seen you do better–I know you can do better–why are you doing this to me?’

‘You are doing it all wrong. It’s all wrong. I have never seen another boy do so poorly.’

‘Why can’t you be like your other classmates?’ She’d always ask. His classmates never struggled to finish one page, his classmates didn’t have to read the same line over and over until they were on the brink of tears. His classmates were never as slow as him. They didn’t lose sleep over writing one sentence, they didn’t struggle to spell out a single word, they just did it correctly. But he couldn’t. To this day, he still didn’t know why it was so hard for him, how he made so many mistakes, or why he couldn’t be as good as the them.

‘You can’t read one page!’ His mother used to scream with tears streaming down her face, ‘How do you expect to get anywhere if you cannot even read?!’ There were far too many times she’d grab whatever book he had and throw it to the ground as she cried.

Her outbursts were one of the only things Bull remembered about his mother. They’d always terrify him, yet they’d motivate him. They’d motivate him to push himself past his limits so he could get a decent grade, so he didn’t fall behind the others and be seen as the ‘stupid’ one.

Had it not been for his mother, he’d still be stupid. As much as he despised her hits and shouts, a part of him couldn’t help but believe if she had never been so cruel, he would’ve never gotten anywhere. He probably wouldn’t have gotten a chance at the WVBA.

Now here he was.

Sitting in the ring of the Minor Circuit with horrible bruises from a fight he was too stupid to win.

His hand curled to a tight fist as he asked himself: ‘Why?’

Why couldn’t he be as good as the other boxers? They didn’t struggle as much. They didn’t go down as quickly as he did. They didn’t keep messing up. They didn’t do every little thing wrong.

If he wasn’t stupid, he would’ve won that fight.

If he wasn’t stupid, he’d be in a higher rank.

If he wasn’t stupid, people would love him.

He’s so stupid.

He’s so stupid–

“Bull, please! Enough with this!” Tiger exclaimed, tearing Bull’s hand away.

Bull froze.

His head felt like it had been set on fire. He didn’t even realize he had started hitting himself again.

He stared at Tiger’s expression. The look of hurt and heartache on his face was something he had never seen before.

Bull’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

He knew he shouldn’t hurt himself. He knew it was wrong, but it was all he could do at this point.

There was nothing else he could think of that could possibly help.