Alan, the Champion — Chapter 9 — The Panther
Facing that kid was never just about honor. Alan finds out why.
Before he was King, he was cannon fodder, a convict, a killer. At thirteen, he ran grown men.
Taking on that kid was never just about honor.
I needed him out of my way, any way possible, as fast as possible. If a slap would do it, great. If it took more, fine too. That's how my first fight with the Kid started.
The first of many.
The first thing I noticed was that he dropped into a stance.
Feet in the right place, hands at the right height, weight balanced. Somebody had taught him that, or he'd copied it off somebody — no way to tell. A kid that size, half my age, and still his body already knew something mine took years and a lot of beatings to learn.
I went at him careless. Wasn't taking it seriously.
I paid for it.
He came in fast, and the hook he landed in my stomach made it clear the slap-and-bye plan wasn't going to work. It hurt for real. If he'd put more weight into it, turned his hips more, used the drive from his legs, maybe that first punch would've really backed me up.
But he didn't have that yet. He had the idea and not the experience. He had the knack and not the technique. You buy those things with time.
What he had was something else. Something you can't buy.
My counter just grazed him. Just enough to open the tiniest gap for him to land a kick on me.
From there on I got serious.
I couldn't waste time, so I wanted to finish it fast. Harder shots. An elbow here, a knee there. And from the moment I got serious, he didn't lay another finger on me.