The Iron Legacy: Reincarnated as Mike Tyson's Son

Chapter 13: The Weight of Legacy

Chapter 13: The Weight of Legacy

The roar of the crowd still echoed in Malik’s ears as he walked back to the locker room, his body pulsing with adrenaline. He’d done it again—another victory, another step toward proving to the world that he was more than just Mike Tyson’s son. But as he sat in front of his locker, the thrill of victory faded into something deeper—something heavier.

He couldn’t ignore it anymore. The weight of the legacy he carried was beginning to feel suffocating. Every win, every knockout, every move he made was compared to his father. Mike Tyson’s name was synonymous with greatness in the ring, and Malik was constantly reminded of that fact.

“Malik,” a voice broke him from his thoughts.

It was his father, standing in the doorway of the locker room, his hands in his pockets, his presence as commanding as ever. Mike Tyson had always been a giant in the sport of boxing—one of the greatest to ever do it. But Malik wasn’t just trying to live up to his father’s expectations. He was trying to carve out his own path.

“You good, son?” Mike asked, his voice softer than usual.

Malik sighed, rubbing his face. “I’m fine, just... tired.”

Mike sat next to him, studying him carefully. “I can see it. The pressure’s hitting you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Malik admitted. “It’s just... everything’s happening so fast. Everyone’s watching me. Every fight, every move I make, they expect me to be perfect. They want me to be you.”

Mike smiled, but it wasn’t the usual confident grin. This one held understanding, even vulnerability. “That’s the price of greatness. People will always try to compare you to me, son, but you’re not me. You’re Malik Tyson. And that’s the only person you should ever try to be.”

Malik nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his father’s words. He’d spent so long trying to separate himself from his father’s shadow, but the more he fought, the more people saw the resemblance. Not just in the way he fought, but in his ability to captivate the audience. To command the ring.

Mike leaned in, speaking with the authority of a man who’d been through it all. “The world’s gonna try to put you in a box, make you a copy of what I was. But you’re your own fighter. You don’t need to carry the weight of my legacy. You create your own. It’s your time now, Malik.”

Malik met his father’s gaze, feeling a sense of clarity settle over him. This wasn’t just about being the son of a legend. This was about his own journey, his own fight. He wasn’t just fighting for a name or a legacy. He was fighting for himself.

---

The next day, Malik stood in front of a press conference. Cameras flashed as journalists fired questions at him, all eager to know what was next for the “young Tyson.”

“Malik,” one reporter asked, “You’ve now had back-to-back victories, but do you feel the pressure to live up to your father’s legacy?”

Malik paused for a moment, his mind racing. He could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, waiting for him to give the expected answer. But instead, he leaned forward, speaking with a calm confidence.

“I’m not my father,” Malik said, his voice clear and unwavering. “I respect what he did in this sport, but I’m Malik Tyson. And I’m creating my own legacy. So, don’t expect me to be a replica. Expect me to be something new.”

The room went silent for a moment, the tension palpable. But Malik held his ground, refusing to back down. This was his moment. The world would have to accept that.

---

Later that evening, Malik walked through the city streets, the night air cool against his skin. The weight of the day—the press conference, the expectations, the growing pressure—was starting to feel overwhelming. But it was also freeing in a way. He wasn’t going to let the world define him anymore.

He was going to define himself.

As he passed by a small gym, he stopped. Inside, he could see the lights were still on, and the sounds of punching bags being hit echoed from within. Malik knew exactly who was inside.

He pushed open the door and walked in. Tony, his trainer, looked up from where he was working on the heavy bag.

“You okay?” Tony asked, wiping the sweat off his face.

“I just need to get a few rounds in,” Malik said, his voice determined.

Tony nodded and stepped aside, giving Malik space to move. Malik slipped off his jacket and wrapped his hands. He wasn’t here to train for a fight. He was here to train for himself. To clear his mind and remind himself why he started this journey in the first place.

As he threw punches, he felt his focus sharpen. The tension from the press, the weight of the expectations, the pressure to be perfect—they all faded away with every strike. Malik was in the zone, his body moving instinctively, his mind free.

When the round ended, he stood there, breathing heavily but with a sense of peace settling in. He wasn’t fighting for approval anymore. He was fighting for something deeper.

---

The next day, the phone rang. Malik picked it up, expecting it to be another interview request or a brand deal. But it wasn’t.

“Malik, this is Sam from HBO,” the voice on the other end said. “We’re interested in having you headline the next big fight. We’ve been watching you closely. Your potential is... undeniable. But it’s not just about potential anymore. We want you to fight for the world title.”

Malik felt a rush of adrenaline surge through him. This was it—the moment he had been working for. The fight for the title.

But more than that, it was the fight for his future. For his own legacy.

“I’m in,” Malik said, his voice steady. “Let’s do it.”

---

As he hung up the phone, Malik couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with determination. This was his shot. The weight of legacy would no longer hold him back. He was about to carve his own name into the history books, and nothing—nothing—was going to stop him.

The world was about to see the rise of Malik Tyson, and he was ready to show them exactly who he was.