The first morning of the new year!
Compared to the hospital, home felt infinitely more comfortable. Jason Luo had finally enjoyed a good night's sleep. But just past seven in the morning, his phone began ringing. When he checked the caller ID, it was his coach. Jason hurried to answer.
"Ha ha! Jason, Happy New Year! Thank goodness Sonny reminded me—I nearly forgot to call and send my greetings!"
Jason laughed. "Coach, you've got it backwards! In our tradition, it's the younger generation who offers New Year's greetings to their elders. If you greet me first, I don't deserve it! So let me say it properly—Happy New Year, Coach! And please send my wishes to Sonny and Mr. Brown too!"
On the other end, Jason could faintly hear Brown complaining, "See? I told you we'd mess it up! And you call yourself an expert on local customs…"
Pedro's laughter came through. "All the same! Raul told me your father supports you continuing to fight—that's wonderful news! We were all so happy to hear it. Now, rest for two more days. Brown's already booked his flight; he'll be back the day after tomorrow. Jason, if you really want to walk this path, training can't stop for even a moment. Start with light exercises first."
Jason replied immediately, "No problem, Coach! You make sure to follow your doctor's orders too. I'll be waiting for you to come back and help me sharpen my technique."
Pedro hesitated, then chuckled. "Ha! You brat. I'm afraid it'll be hard for me to return anytime soon, so I'll have Brown take over. Listen carefully—it's Coach Brown now, got it? I'm giving him full authority to kick your butt if you slack off!"
Jason grinned. "Understood! From now on, it's Coach Brown! But Coach, I've got money now. You should use the best medicine available. I'll transfer the money to you today—"
The line suddenly went quiet.
When Pedro finally spoke again, his voice had changed. "Nonsense! What kind of ideas are you getting? Do you think I can't afford my own treatment? Put that energy into your boxing. Winning matches—that's the best medicine for me. Remember, I'm still watching you. Now, I have to start my treatment. Just keep my words in mind."
The call ended abruptly.
Since he was already awake, Jason got out of bed and began warming up with simple exercises in his room. Sure enough, after just a few days without training, his joints already felt stiff.
Half an hour later, Henry Luo came downstairs and found his son moving through his routine. He nodded approvingly. "Good boy, full of energy! Training on the very first day of the new year—now that's a good sign. I'll go make some chicken soup to build up your strength."
Jason smiled, enjoying the warm feeling of being home. "Happy New Year, Dad! Now, where's my red envelope?"
"You brat! How old are you, still asking for red envelopes? It's already under your pillow."
Jason stuck out his tongue, grinning happily. At that moment, Grace pushed open the door. "Dad! Jason! Happy New Year! Wishing you prosperity and good fortune—I'm here to give my New Year's greetings!"
She stretched out her delicate hands expectantly. Henry laughed and handed her a thick red envelope. Grace quickly pulled one hand back, then looked pitifully at Jason.
"Wait—you expect me to give one too?"
"Of course! I'm the youngest in the family!"
Jason sighed, reaching under his pillow for his own envelope and placing it in her hands. What bad luck—first no one gave him one, and now he had to give them out himself!
Grace beamed, holding up her two red envelopes with a mischievous grin, while Jason could only shake his head helplessly.
Just then, a knock came at the door. The three of them froze. Who could it be this early on New Year's morning?
Grace quickly stuffed her envelopes away before opening the door—and nearly jumped in surprise.
It was Carl Frazier!
How did this guy find their home?
Startled, Grace ducked behind Henry. Jason frowned and stepped forward. "Can I help you?"
Henry followed. "Jason, mind your manners. It's New Year's Day—guests are guests. Young man, please come in and sit down if there's something to discuss."
Carl nodded politely. "Sorry to intrude. I just wanted to say a few words to Jason—I'll be on my way after that."
Henry glanced at him. "Alright, you two talk. We'll give you some privacy. Come on, Grace, let's head to the kitchen."
Carl stepped inside but didn't sit down. "Jason, I'll be direct. When I heard how you were cheated with those rigged gloves, I was furious. But even so—I still can't accept losing to you."
Jason had already guessed what Carl wanted to say. "So, what do you want, Carl?"
"A rematch. Do you dare?"
"Now?"
"Of course not. You can name the time. However long it takes, I'll wait."
Jason thought for a moment. "Alright, Carl. I'll accept your challenge. But right now, I've got a bigger goal to focus on. Give me one year—let's have our rematch then."
Carl nodded slowly. "Fine by me. I'll wait a year. Don't let me down."
"Deal."
They both extended their fists, pressing their thumbs together in mutual agreement. The pact was made. Carl smiled, satisfied, and turned to leave.
Jason never imagined that a year later, this rematch would set the boxing world ablaze...
...
Two days later, Brown returned. This time, Jason greeted him properly as "Coach," which greatly pleased him.
"Good lad, looks like you've recovered well. Don't worry—we'll take it slow. Even if you sign your contract soon, you probably won't have a match for a while."
Jason frowned in confusion, and Brown chuckled. "Sit down, I'll explain."
"Jason, professional boxing is very different from the amateur circuit. First, you have to register and get your professional license. Professional boxers are divided into three levels. Level Three is the entry level—you can only fight six-round bouts. Level Two boxers can compete in eight to ten-round matches. Only Level One boxers can take part in twelve-round fights."
Jason asked, "Can't I just register as a Level One boxer directly?"
"You can—but only if you've won an Olympic medal. Otherwise, it doesn't mean much anyway."
Brown leaned forward. "There are too many factors involved, Jason. Professional boxing is a business built on profit. Just because you have a Level One license doesn't mean you can challenge for a world title. You'll understand that soon enough."
"As a coach, my job is training. The biggest hurdle in pro boxing is physical conditioning—then come power and technique. Without a strong foundation of stamina, you'll never make it in this sport. So for now, our main focus will be on physical training."
"I understand," Jason said, though a hint of disappointment crossed his face. Without real matches, it would be hard for his Strength to improve quickly...
"But Coach Brown," he asked, "will I actually get signed?"
Brown laughed. "You're a semifinalist from a major tournament, and with the Tutkason scandal blowing up everywhere, your reputation has skyrocketed. Raul's become a big name himself. You think no one will want you? Relax. Raul will handle everything. Your only job is to train."