Two Weeks Later
The alarm clock's harsh buzzing cut through the pre-dawn darkness at 5:30 AM, exactly as it had every morning for the past six weeks. Liam rolled out of bed with the mechanical precision of someone whose body had adapted to a routine that would have killed his previous incarnation. His muscles felt loose and ready, his energy levels stable despite the early hour. Even his sleep had improved—no more tossing and turning, no more nightmares about Tommy Morrison's final punch.
ARP's interface materialized as he pulled on his training clothes, displaying the kind of comprehensive progress report that would have seemed impossible when he'd first awakened in this teenage body
CURRENT ASSESSMENT - Week 6:
Power: 38/100 (+15 from baseline) Speed: 46/100 (+15 from baseline) Reflex: 35/100 (+17 from baseline) Stamina: 52/100 (+23 from baseline) Ring IQ: 42/100 (+27 from baseline) Mental Toughness: 38/100 (+30 from baseline)
Technical Progression:
Jab Accuracy: 48/100 (+29 from baseline) Combination Fluency: 44/100 (+25 from baseline) Defensive Positioning: 41/100 (+29 from baseline) Footwork Integration: 46/100 (+32 from baseline)
"Steady improvement across all metrics," ARP noted with what might have been satisfaction. "Your development curve suggests proper training methodology rather than artificial enhancement."
The numbers told a story of consistent work rather than dramatic breakthroughs. Every statistic had improved, but none had jumped unrealistically. To outside observers, Liam's progress would look like the natural result of dedicated training under good coaching—exactly what he needed to avoid suspicion about his unusual circumstances.
The walk to Santino's had become automatic, his feet finding the familiar route through South Philadelphia's empty streets without conscious navigation. The city felt different at this hour—cleaner somehow, full of potential rather than the accumulated wear of daily struggle. Even the autumn air seemed sharper, carrying the promise of winter and the satisfaction that came from honest work performed consistently.
Carmen was already in the gym when he arrived, working through her warm-up routine with the fluid precision that marked everything about her approach to boxing. Over the past two weeks, their training partnership had evolved into something that felt almost telepathic—she anticipated his mistakes before he made them, and he responded to her corrections with the kind of immediate adjustment that usually took months to develop.
"You're getting predictable," she said without looking up from her stretching. "Same time, same routine, same focused expression. It's like training with a robot."
"Consistency breeds excellence," Liam replied, pulling on his hand wraps with the efficient technique that had become second nature.
"Consistency breeds boredom if you're not careful. Boxing requires adaptation, not just repetition." Carmen finished her stretching and moved to the focus mitts, her expression carrying the kind of mischief that usually preceded challenging training sessions. "Today we're doing something different."
"Different how?"
"Today you're going to learn to think while you're boxing instead of just reacting." She held up the mitts in an unfamiliar position—high and tight, presenting minimal target area. "I'm going to move these around randomly. You have to find the openings and adjust your combinations on the fly."
The exercise was more complex than anything they'd attempted before, requiring him to abandon the predetermined combinations that had characterized their previous training sessions. Instead of throwing pre-planned sequences, he'd have to read Carmen's movement and adjust his offense accordingly.
His first attempt was a disaster. Liam threw a jab toward where the mitt had been rather than where it was, missed completely, and nearly lost his balance when his punch found only air.
"Stop thinking like a machine," Carmen said, repositioning the mitts. "Boxing isn't a programmed response. You have to see what's happening and adapt."
The second attempt was marginally better, but still felt mechanical and forced. Liam was trying to calculate the best response to each mitt position rather than letting his body flow naturally into the available openings.
"You're overthinking it," Carmen observed. "Trust your instincts. Your body knows what to do if you let it."
But that was exactly the problem. Liam's instincts belonged to his previous timeline, eight years of muscle memory that had been built on poor fundamentals and desperation rather than proper technique. His current body had only six weeks of training, nowhere near enough time to develop reliable instinctive responses.
"I don't have instincts yet," he admitted. "Just muscle memory from drills."
"Then let's build some." Carmen began moving the mitts in slow, predictable patterns. "Follow my movement. Don't think about combinations, just throw whatever punch matches where the mitt is."
The exercise forced him to abandon conscious planning in favor of reactive boxing. When the mitt moved left, he threw hooks. When it moved center, he threw straight punches. When it moved low, he went to the body. Gradually, his responses became faster and more natural.
"Better," Carmen said after several minutes of the drill. "You're starting to flow instead of calculating."
As they continued working, Liam began to understand what she was teaching him. Boxing at its highest level wasn't about memorizing combinations—it was about developing the ability to read opportunities and respond appropriately without conscious thought. The best fighters didn't plan their offense; they simply reacted to what their opponents gave them.
"This is how you have to think about sparring," Carmen explained during a water break. "You can't pre-plan everything. You have to be ready to adapt when your opponent does something unexpected."
The observation hit closer to home than she knew. Liam's psychological problems during his first sparring session had stemmed largely from trying to impose his previous timeline's expectations on his current situation. When Miguel had thrown a combination that triggered traumatic memories, Liam had frozen because he'd been fighting ghosts instead of responding to present reality.
"Speaking of sparring," Carmen continued, "Vinny wants to set up another session for you. This time with someone closer to your own experience level."
"Who?"
"Tommy Nguyen. He's been training here for about three months, similar size and skill level. Should be good practice without the intimidation factor of working with Miguel."
Liam knew Tommy from his previous timeline—a dedicated amateur who'd eventually turned professional with modest success before retiring to become a trainer himself. Tommy was technically sound but not particularly powerful, exactly the kind of opponent who would provide good learning experience without serious danger.
"When?"
"This afternoon, if you're up for it. Three rounds, same rules as last time." Carmen studied his expression, looking for signs of the anxiety that had characterized his previous sparring session. "How do you feel about it?"
"Better than last time," Liam said honestly. "I understand what to expect now."
The morning training session continued with the kind of intensity that had become standard for their work together. Carmen pushed him through increasingly complex drills, testing his ability to maintain technique under fatigue and pressure. By the time they finished, Liam was breathing hard but felt the deep satisfaction that came from productive work.
As the regular gym crowd began arriving, Liam noticed changes in how other fighters interacted with him. Where before he'd been largely invisible—just another beginner working through basic drills—now he received nods of acknowledgment from experienced fighters who'd witnessed his development over the past six weeks.
The shift was most apparent with Demetrius, who'd continued his own technical rebuilding following his humbling sparring session with Carmen. The cocky swagger was gone, replaced by a focused professionalism that reminded Liam of the fighter Demetrius could have become if he'd approached the sport with proper respect from the beginning.
"You sparring with Tommy today?" Demetrius asked as he prepared for his own training session.
"Yeah. Should be interesting."
"Tommy's good. Technical, patient, won't try to take your head off." Demetrius paused, his expression carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "Take it from someone who learned the hard way—respect every opponent, even in sparring. The moment you think you know what to expect is when you get caught."
The advice was solid, coming from someone who'd recently discovered the gap between confidence and competence. Liam appreciated the absence of condescension or competition in Demetrius's tone—just one fighter offering guidance to another.
The afternoon sparring session drew a smaller crowd than his first bout with Miguel, but the atmosphere was more relaxed. Tommy Nguyen was already warming up when Liam arrived, shadowboxing with the kind of technical precision that spoke to solid fundamental training.
"First time working together," Tommy said as they touched gloves before the session. "I'll match whatever energy you bring. We're here to learn, not prove anything."
The first round was exploratory, both fighters testing each other's reactions and defensive capabilities. Tommy's style was methodical and patient—he threw single shots and simple combinations, always maintaining proper distance and defensive positioning. His punches weren't hard, but they were accurate and well-timed.
Liam found himself relaxing into the rhythm more quickly than he had with Miguel. Tommy's approach was less intimidating, more collaborative. When Liam made defensive mistakes, Tommy would pause to explain what he'd seen rather than simply taking advantage of the openings.
"Your guard drops when you throw hooks," Tommy noted during a brief break in action. "Leaves you open for counters."
The observation was accurate and helpful. Liam made a conscious effort to keep his right hand up while throwing left hooks, and immediately noticed improved defensive positioning.
The second round was more active, with both fighters throwing longer combinations and moving around the ring more aggressively. Liam's confidence grew as his defensive work proved effective against Tommy's clean technique. He even managed to land several clean counter-punches that drew approving nods from ringside observers.
But it was the third round that proved most educational. Tommy increased the pace significantly, throwing faster combinations and pressuring Liam's defense in ways that tested his ability to think under pressure. This was exactly the kind of adaptive boxing Carmen had been teaching him that morning—responding to changing circumstances rather than relying on predetermined patterns.
For most of the round, Liam handled the increased pressure well. His movement remained sharp, his defensive work stayed disciplined, and he even managed to counter-punch effectively when opportunities presented themselves.
Then Tommy threw a combination Liam hadn't seen before—a double jab followed by a left hook to the body and a right cross to the head. The sequence was perfectly timed and executed with the kind of fluidity that marked experienced fighters.
Instead of freezing or panicking as he had during his previous sparring session, Liam found himself responding instinctively. He slipped the first jab, parried the second, stepped back to avoid the body shot, and countered the right cross with a left hook that caught Tommy cleanly on the side of his headgear.
The exchange was over in less than two seconds, but it represented something significant. For the first time since returning to boxing, Liam had responded to unexpected pressure with genuine ring intelligence rather than panic or muscle memory from his previous timeline.
"Beautiful counter," Tommy said as the round ended. "That was some seriously smart boxing."
As they touched gloves and climbed out of the ring, Liam felt a sense of accomplishment that went beyond mere technique or conditioning. He'd proven to himself that he could adapt and respond under pressure, that his psychological scars from his previous life weren't permanent limitations.
"That was much better than your first session," Carmen observed as he pulled off his gloves. "You looked like a real boxer out there, not just someone going through the motions."
"It felt different," Liam agreed. "More like a conversation than a fight."
"That's exactly what good sparring should feel like. You and Tommy were teaching each other, not trying to hurt each other." She paused, studying his face with the analytical intensity that characterized everything about her approach to boxing. "I think you might be ready for something more challenging soon."
The suggestion carried implications that made Liam's heart rate spike. More challenging sparring meant working with more experienced fighters, possibly even preparing for actual competition. His previous timeline had taught him that rushing into competition before proper preparation was a recipe for disaster.
But his current development suggested something different. His technique was solid, his conditioning was adequate, and most importantly, his psychological approach to boxing had fundamentally changed. Instead of fighting to prove something, he was training to learn something.
Maybe that difference would be enough to avoid the mistakes that had destroyed his previous career.
As he walked home through the Philadelphia afternoon, Liam found himself planning for a future that felt increasingly possible. Six weeks of consistent training had proven that his second chance was real, that progress was achievable through proper methodology and patient work.
The road ahead was still long, but at least now he could see it clearly.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, that vision filled him with hope rather than fear.