The Iron Legacy: Reincarnated as Mike Tyson's Son

Chapter 5: A Natural Gift

Chapter 5: A Natural Gift

The gym was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of fists striking heavy bags and the occasional grunt of exertion. The faint scent of sweat and leather filled the air, familiar yet intense. Malik stood in the center of the ring, his muscles tense as he eyed the boxing gloves wrapped around his hands. His father, Mike Tyson, stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, watching closely.

"Alright, Malik. You ready?" Mike's voice was calm, but there was an undeniable edge to it — the kind that only came from years of experience in the ring.

Malik nodded, his eyes never leaving the heavy bag that hung in front of him. He had been in this gym for days now, absorbing everything his father had to teach him. At first, Mike had shown him the basics — the footwork, the stance, how to throw a punch without losing balance. But as the days passed, it became clearer that Malik wasn’t just learning. He was flowing.

The body he now inhabited — the one that had once been the son of a legend — seemed to remember the sport instinctively. Every movement, every jab, every cross, felt like second nature. His footwork was light, his movements fluid. The punches landed with a precision that was uncanny for someone who was still technically new to boxing.

"You got the stance right," Mike said, his voice low but approving. "But let’s see if you can move with it."

Malik didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he adjusted his position, shifting his weight slightly to his back foot. He began to move, pivoting around the ring with a smoothness that made it seem like he’d been doing this for years. His feet barely made a sound as he moved, dodging the invisible punches in his mind, practicing the flow of the sport.

His father raised an eyebrow. "Not bad. You’re a natural, Malik. I’m not just talkin’ about the punches, either. It’s the rhythm. You’ve got something. Now, let’s see if you can take it up a notch."

Mike stepped into the ring, the familiar sound of his boots echoing on the canvas floor. He wasn’t planning to hold back. Malik knew that. This was the real test. If he could keep up with his father, then he would know exactly where he stood.

"Alright, kid. Let’s see you block my shots."

Without warning, Mike threw a quick jab toward Malik’s head, testing his reflexes. Malik didn’t hesitate. He ducked under the punch effortlessly, his movements sharp and fluid. Mike followed with a powerful right hook. Malik was already stepping back, anticipating the blow, and dodged it with ease, his body moving almost instinctively.

Mike paused, eyeing his son. “You’re damn fast. But speed ain’t enough. Let’s see how you handle power.”

Malik was ready for whatever came next. He knew this was where his father was going to push him. Mike Tyson wasn’t known for going easy on anyone, especially his own son. The next few minutes were a blur of punches, hooks, and jabs that came from every angle. But Malik was there every step of the way. His body reacted like it had been trained for this his entire life.

Right hook. Blocked.

Left jab. Slipped.

Uppercut. Countered with a perfect jab of his own.

Each time his father threw a punch, Malik’s body seemed to react before his brain even processed the motion. The natural instincts of the body were taking over. It was almost like a different part of him had been awakened — a part that was born for this, destined for this kind of fight.

"Good," Mike grunted, his voice laced with surprise. "Real good. But don’t get cocky. It’s about endurance now."

Malik took a deep breath, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. His muscles were sore, but there was no hesitation in his movements. This body, this life, it was made for this. He didn’t have to force it. He didn’t have to think twice. It just happened.

Mike circled him slowly, eyes narrowed, observing his every movement. Malik’s stance was still solid, his eyes sharp, his breath even. It wasn’t about power right now — it was about endurance, focus, and maintaining control.

"Alright, kid," Mike said, stepping back. "I’m impressed. You’ve got everything you need to be great in this game. But what makes a champion... What makes you stand out... is what you do with it. You’ve got the talent, but talent alone won’t get you through the grind."

Malik nodded, sweat dripping down his face, but there was no fear, no uncertainty in his heart. He had found his rhythm, his balance. He knew this was where he was meant to be.

His father’s words rang in his mind as he stepped out of the ring. He wasn’t just learning the fight — he was becoming the fight.

"You’re not just Mike Tyson’s son, Malik," Mike said, as they walked toward the side of the gym. "You're the next one. You don’t have to live in my shadow. But you do need to make your own name in this world. You got the talent. Now you gotta earn it."

Malik looked up at his father. The intensity in his eyes was matched by his own growing resolve. This wasn’t just about the fights. This wasn’t about the fame. It was about the respect — respect that could only be earned in the ring.

He would take everything his father had taught him and build on it. He would show the world who Malik Tyson was, not just as Mike’s son, but as a fighter, a champion, someone who had the skill and the heart to rise above everything that came with the name.

He wasn’t just a natural — he was destined.

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This chapter continues Malik’s journey of discovering his natural ability in boxing, as his father teaches him the ropes. The focus is on Malik’s instinctive grasp of the sport, building on the foundation of his father’s legacy, and showing how he’s ready to forge his own path. It emphasizes the intense training, Malik’s development, and the growing realization that this life, this fight, is his to control.