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Another day, another loss. Glass Joe slumped over on the gym bench he was sitting on. A thin sheen of sweat coated his body, his entire face ached and looking down, he saw purple bruises beginning to bloom across his torso. He didn’t even want to think about what his face looked like, probably marred with maroon and blood dribbling down his chin if he was especially unlucky tonight. He remembered how he tried to keep his spirits up whenever a new fighter appeared, he was especially spirited when he heard of the newest addition to the WVBA, Little Mac. He was certain he would win or at the very least be on equal footing, they had no credentials to speak of and not even an adult at seventeen years old—Glass Joe at least had experience under his belt. Instead the fight went how almost all of his fights ended with him beaten, bruised, and humiliated. Although maybe it wasn’t as humiliating as it was sadly expected at this point. He slowly moved to take off his too tight boxing gloves, ready to just haphazardly throw on some clothes and leave—he was much more comfortable having a shower in his dingy apartment than here anyways—quickly twisting in the code to his combination lock once his hands were freed. He tossed the hoodie he had come in wearing over him, oversized enough to partially cover his boxing shorts and he pulled the hood down low enough to cover his hair. He got much less media attention than the boxers in the major and world circuits but he found after every fight he had, there was at least one reporter with a backhanded question about his defeat at the ready for him. He tried to avoid any extra blows to his ego as much as possible. Grabbing out a backpack full of extra belongings he had taken with him (water, pain killers, wallet, etc.) and slinging it over his shoulder, Glass Joe carefully peered out the door. He had seen some fighters use this side exit before, it opened into an alleyway unlike the main exit, which just opened up to the sidewalk. It was less used, but great for anyone who wanted to avoid paparazzi. With the sun setting, it was slightly hard to see but he didn’t hear the shutter of cameras and a microphone wasn’t being shoved in his face so the coast seemed to be clear. He took a shaky inhale as he departed from the humid, slightly stuffy gym into the cooler air outside, sweat causing his hoodie to uncomfortably stick to his skin in some areas. He ducked his head down and slightly shivered at the feeling, shoving his hands in his pockets as he started moving.
It was a thankfully short and silent walk home, his hands had come up to massage his sore jaw at times. He ascended the stairs of his apartment complex and fumbled with his backpack to get out the keys to his place. Opening the door, he flicked on the lights and tossed his bag to the side. He closed the door behind him and threw himself face first onto his couch. Instead of any kind of relief, Joe momentarily winced as his chin made contact with the soft cotton. Quickly turning onto his side instead, he brought his knees up to his chest and lay there for a bit. His eyes lazily drifted to the time displayed on his VCR, it was early evening, he still had time to do things. The thought was immediately overtaken by the pain and exhaustion in his bones that felt as if he was being dragged further into his couch. He grimaced as he brought a hand up to his chin. The uppercut he had experienced hurt like hell and if it wasn’t already bruised, the constant prodding and massaging would surely cause it to instead. He didn’t even think any of his own punches could hit that hard when he was Mac’s age… What was Joe’s age again?
He furrowed his brows and his grimace turned into a deep scowl. Of course he knew his age. It didn’t make the truth any better. The truth that he was out of his prime, getting older, getting worse at boxing if that was even possible for him. He's been going at this for years and still only had one win to his name. That one win was nothing to scoff at, Nick Bruiser was a name that still made boxing veterans shudder, but it was all a fluke. A freak accident as many newspapers at the time put it. His one win was an accident, a loss so ridiculous that it wasn’t added to Nick’s record but added as a win to Joe’s for what, pity? Possibly. Why was he still going? It was a question in the boxing community and a question Joe asked himself frequently, usually when he was getting pummeled by the boxer of the week. He had loved boxing for most of his life and he still does. It’s a passion he’s held for years. The reason why he woke up and continued after countless losses to walk into the ring with his doofy hair and crooked teeth turned into a smile was because he simply loved boxing. But he had started to wonder what good was loving something if time and time again, you are proven to be horrible at it. Was he still going due to some sunken cost fallacy? Was it pride? Did he even have any pride left after most of it was knocked out of him? Part of him wondered what his life would be like now if he had set his sights on something else. Something that didn’t involve him getting covered in contusions or ending up in an infirmary overnight. A much more relaxed hobby like cooking or painting. He could almost visualize a happier version of himself smattering paint onto a canvas in this same apartment, looking at least ten years younger since he avoided years of getting his head caved in. He closed his eyes and tried to count his breaths, taking in deep gulps of air to try and ground himself like those self help videos he found online had taught him. He wasn’t about to sob over losing to a kid in a boxing match, he wasn’t about to cry after hounding himself about his life choices, he’s okay. Everything is okay. Joe opened his bleary eyes to see it’s been two hours since he had last checked the VCR. So much for still having time.
Getting up from the couch and making his way to the bathroom, Joe flinched when he saw the state of his face. Black eye, swollen lip, and his chin was all sorts of colors ranging from a reddish purple to a sickly shade of yellow. Peeling off his hoodie and shorts, he was relieved when he turned the shower on and the warm water washed over him and eased his muscles. This was usually the best part of his day, washing away the failures and cleaning himself for a hopefully brighter and better tomorrow. He gently rolled a shoulder under the stream and bit back some kind of embarrassing yelp as he heard his bones creak over the sound of the running water. After showering, he had shuffled around his apartment, putting on pajamas and taking some pain killers and tea before collapsing onto his bed, fatigue finally claiming him as he drifted off to sleep.
Joe awoke early. He almost always did when he wanted to train, entering the gym early enough where it would be mostly empty so he can get a good amount of work in before noon when the heavy hitters would usually come in. He wasn’t in the mood for Aran Ryan’s teasing or Super Macho Man’s gossip which would undoubtedly be about his loss yesterday. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stretched, feeling something pop in his back. He was a bit wobbly getting up and still a bit sore but he recalled times where he felt worse and still went in. He could only get better if he trained, right?
He threw on a t-shirt and a different pair of shorts from his usual ones. He made a mental note to probably stop by the laundromat later on to get his shorts and hoodie cleaned along with some other articles of clothing that were strewn about his room. He silently cringed at the state of disarray his apartment was in but quickly brushed it to the back of his mind. That wasn’t important right now. Instead, he focused on the routine that was practically clockwork at this point. Joe let his mind run on autopilot as he grabbed an apple from his kitchen and left his place, backpack slung over one shoulder just like it was last night. By the time he got to the gym, he disposed of the apple’s core and put his backpack in his locker, retrieving his gloves and a bottle of water to take with him over to the punching bags. He hated how he almost stumbled walking up to it, quickly righting himself and thankful nobody saw that, the day being early enough for him to be the only one there. Despite the throbbing pain in his thighs and calves, Glass Joe got into a good position and started punching. With every punch thrown, he had thoughts about how he should've landed hits like that in the ring yesterday. If he had just tried harder, wanted to win more, then he would have. He wasn’t trying hard enough. He landed blow after blow, the worn punching bag started to make squeaking sounds as the stand it was attached to struggled to keep hold of it as it swayed. He just had to try harder. Joe grit his teeth. That’s why he wasn’t winning. He's not a failure, he just had to put in more work. He continued to strike the punching bag until his fists burned, his hair clung to his face with sweat, the pounding in his legs became too much, and he collapsed to the floor as the roaring in his head started to subside. Roaring he quickly realized was the sound of his blood rushing through his body from overexertion. The only sound now in the empty gym was his heavy panting and the savage beats of his heart. His gaze was fixed on the floor as sweat dripped down to the gym mat below from his nose. He raised a gloved hand up to uselessly dab at his face. When his breathing started to calm down he could smell it—smoke. His breath hitched as he got up from the floor despite the angry protest of his body. He knew he wasn’t alone and he knew exactly who was here.
He knew of Von Kaiser. A fellow minor circuit boxer, known for having a bit more of a respectable record. He’s a boxing teacher for kids and despite being one of the older boxers, he was still able to be seen as a threat, usually due to his militaristic approach to the sport. Joe was able to recall times where Kaiser would mutter about discipline and dedication and precision when it came to boxing–usually after matches with an unfavorable outcome on Kaiser's end–almost as if his life revolved around it. And when Joe really thought about it, that was probably all the information he knew about him. They were more colleagues than friends as most members of the WVBA were. They knew each other's names and faces, basic information regarding stances and fighting styles, and maybe a general idea on their personalities based on behaviors in the ring or in the locker rooms. It’s not like they were having brunch after trying to demolish each other in the ring. If you asked all the boxers in the WVBA what another boxer’s favorite color was, most of them would get it wrong—some probably would on purpose—but for something as seemingly intimate or technical as how to counter one of their moves or how good their footwork is, everyone would be able to provide a mostly concise, correct answer. It was the nature of boxing to analyze your next possible opponent, to know them and not fraternize with them.
Looking up, he saw Von Kaiser on one of the benches not too far away. It seemed he might have just arrived, dressed in his usual attire but still shining his cherished combat boots, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Joe could tell he was looking at him even with his head down and bangs covering his eyes. You could always tell when Von Kaiser was looking at you, he always held a cold and judgmental look in his eyes that you could feel. Joe looked away as he turned to face the punching bag again. It was fine, Von Kaiser was usually pretty silent and kept to himself. Only speaking to ask for a cigarette and at points he would wordlessly offer Joe his lighter when he would pull out a cigarette for himself. Joe lifted a fist, ready to resume his attack on the punching bag.
“Your stance is off.” Joe thought he had hallucinated at first. Kaiser’s voice was low but lacking the sternness it usually had. There was a softer quality to it. It didn’t make it any less jarring and it caught Joe off guard.
“Quoi?” Joe heaved out. Maybe he’d have to leave after all, he didn’t want to be lectured. He briefly wondered if he would even be able to make the walk home in his current state, every limb abuzz with pain and soreness.
“Take a break, Genosse. Sit down and drink some water.” Kaiser was looking directly at him now, thick brows knit together over a severe gaze. It almost felt like being scolded by a parent. But even from here, Joe could see just a small twinge of… concern. Kaiser had stopped shining his combat boots and seemed to move a bit on the bench, patting the empty space next to him for Joe to sit down. Joe wanted to glower or spout obscenities at the older man or even just ignore him, anything to just get him to go away. He couldn’t stop. He had to get better. He made the move to say something, to move towards him to get in his face, to shout and scream but stopped when he felt pain shoot down his calves. He glared at Kaiser as he clumsily made his way over to the bench and sat next to him with his water bottle held in his gloved hands, taking off his gloves to twist off the cap and hastily take in a few gulps. His entire body was soaked with sweat and he could feel it seeping into the bench. He reached a shaky hand up to brush his hair back from his face and cringed at how his face felt especially soaked. Maybe he had been crying. It was hard to tell.
Just barely in his peripheral vision, he saw Von Kaiser hold out a small towel towards him. Joe muttered a low thanks before taking the towel to wipe away the wetness of his face. He wondered if any of the other boxers were here yet, if they saw how he managed to work himself into a helpless heap on the ground in front of one of the punching bags. Just Glass Joe doing what he does best: failing. He almost wanted to laugh from the hysteria of it all, he wasn’t getting anywhere like this. Instead he wheezed out a barely audible sigh and slouched, trying to release some of the tension in his body. Looking over to Kaiser, he had gone back to shining his shoes but Joe could clearly see his eyes flit over to him occasionally, obviously distracted. Eventually, Kaiser stopped what he was doing to look at Joe, a heavy and warm hand being placed on his shoulder. “Do… you want to talk about it?” Kaiser’s words were slow and stilted, obviously not used to the phrase. It was undoubtedly awkward but Joe supposed this was an extremely awkward situation. The loser of your circuit working themselves to the verge of a breakdown in the gym wasn’t the kind of scenario you could prepare for.
Joe gripped the small towel in his hands, carefully running his fingers over the now damp fabric and keeping his eyes on it instead of Kaiser. “I lost a match yesterday.” Kaiser didn’t bristle, didn’t even seem to react to that information. Of course he wouldn’t, not like it was anything new. Joe took a deep breath. “That new boxer, that kid. Little Mac. I just…” Joe hunched in on himself, the embarrassment weighing heavy on him. It wasn’t always embarrassing when he lost. The WVBA had extremely lax rules and Joe found himself getting knocked out by boxers far above his weight class and rank more times than he would like to admit. Getting knocked out by someone like Bear Hugger or Bald Bull was unfortunate but ultimately predictable. But a 17 year old newbie… “He was young and new and I really thought I had a chance to win.” He shook his head and brought up one of his hands to cover his eyes. “Je ne suis pas assez… I love boxing but I don’t know why I still try.” He heard his voice crack and for just a moment he was wondering why he would ever let his guard down enough to be vulnerable like this in front of Von Kaiser of all people. He wasn’t known to be particularly empathetic or kind, quite the opposite with the way he carried himself and how standoffish he was with the other boxers. The fact that he even said anything to Joe to try and comfort him was out of character to say the least. Kaiser’s hand gently squeezed Joe’s shoulder and Joe looked up to meet Kaiser’s gaze. He couldn’t really decipher the look on his face, he still looked the way he usually did; tired, flinty, but there was that uncharacteristic softness still there when he first saw him in the gym earlier.
“It’s hard to understand the reason we keep going despite losing. Sometimes I often wonder myself why I still come here.” His hand moved from Joe’s shoulder and dropped down to rest on the bench, his other hand seemed to idly fiddle with a curled end of his mustache as he looked down. “But before I have time to think about it too much… I realize I’m already here.” Von Kaiser turned to Joe. “And you’re here too. You still have that drive to go on. You still have…” He trailed off, trying to find his words. “You have discipline. You’re brave.” It was probably the first time anyone has called Joe brave before. Out of all the words people have used to describe him, it usually consisted of stupid, cowardly, insane or synonyms of those words. The only word they used that came even remotely close to brave was “durable” which although slightly true wasn’t nearly as flattering. The way Von Kaiser had said it, it made it sound like it was such an honest statement, as obvious as stating “the sky is blue” or something similar. It left Joe speechless, still twisting the towel in his hands but with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. He took a slow inhale of air before remembering where he was and who exactly he was talking to. He furrowed his brows. “Why are you saying all of this to me?” It was frankly baffling that Von Kaiser was saying all of this now. Perhaps it was just to stop Joe from passing out from sheer exhaustion in the middle of the gym, maybe it was pity and in that case, who’s to say he truly thought any of what he had said?
“Because it seems like you needed it.” It seemed as though he was going to say something else but he stopped and closed his mouth. Joe saw his mustache twitch minutely before he continued. “We’ve both been at this for years and even if it seems we’ve hit rock bottom, it’s not a reason to give up.” It seemed as though he was going to say something different but the sentiment of what he said still resonated with Joe. Kaiser always said everything so factually, so assured and confident. That was an admirable quality of the man. He was blunt but poised in whatever he said, as if his word was infallible. And the truth that yes, they’ve both been in the bottom ranks of the minor circuit for some time but still showed up, still trained, still hopped into the ring, despite streaks of losses, they never gave up. “Tearing yourself down won’t help either. You need to pace yourself. That’s an important thing I’ve learned through the years. You need to take care of yourself.” He slightly jerked his head towards Joe, indicating his water bottle he had set down next to him. Joe got the hint and opened his water bottle once again, taking a few small and measured sips this time rather than guzzling down half of the bottle. His breathing had evened out significantly and Kaiser’s positive reinforcement actually did make him feel better even for how seemingly out of place it felt. Even so, Kaiser’s face looked pensive and Joe could clearly hear the tapping of his steel toed combat boots against the floor as he anxiously bounced his leg. He pursed his lips and let out a sigh, looking away from Joe on the bench. “… I’m a boxing teacher. Would you like me to help train you?” The words sounded odd coming out of his mouth. Like he wasn’t used to it. Perhaps this was the first time he offered to help train an adult rather than the children Joe had heard of Kaiser training in passing conversation in the locker room.
Joe paused to consider it. Sure, Kaiser had taught kids about boxing but it wasn’t like he had no qualification to teach adults. He had a significant amount of wins to his name, his record being nothing to scoff at and despite how harsh he usually came off as, seemed actually interested in helping Joe. Admittedly, Joe never really had a teacher per se, training himself and coming more into the sport as a hobbyist. Maybe now it was time for a change. Besides, he could use a friend, or at least somebody who felt like a friend, someone who cares about him. “Oui. I would like that very much.” Kaiser immediately spun his head around and he looked stunned. Joe chanced a small smile. Perhaps his acceptance was a boost to Kaiser’s confidence as he had done so for Joe, his kind gesture reciprocated. It was the first time Joe was seeing it, but he could just barely catch a glimpse of a toothy grin peeking out from beneath Von Kaiser’s mustache. Joe held out his hand for a handshake and Kaiser had to look at it twice before grasping it in both his own hands, eagerly shaking Joe’s hand in a way that slightly jostled him about. Joe let out a small chuckle. “G-great! We can start tomorrow, here, at 7 AM sharp! You need to rest for today- warten.” Kaiser briefly stopped his somewhat flustered rambling—clearly ecstatic from Joe’s approval—to get up from his space on the bench and rummage around in his locker, pulling out a wrapped protein bar and offering it in an outstretched hand towards Joe. “Eat. You look pale.” Joe gingerly took the protein bar and opened it up, taking a bite. He inwardly grimaced at the simultaneously chalky and grainy texture but his body seemed to be thankful for the extra nutrients after Joe had eaten so little today. It felt nice to be cared for like this, he probably looked like a bit of a wreck, already pallid and shaky as he usually is combined with his breakdown and exhaustion didn’t paint a pretty picture. He took another bite to help rejuvenate himself, choosing to ignore the unpleasant consistency.
The bench he was on let out a pitiful whine as Von Kaiser sat down next to Joe again as he ate, the extra weight causing a considerable strain on the old thing. Something still seemed to be on Von Kaiser’s mind. As Joe continued to eat, he eyed him expectantly and Kaiser took notice as his eyes seemed to dart to him. With a nervous twitch of his mustache, he opened his mouth to speak. “There’s a German saying. Aller Anfang ist schwer.” Joe raised an eyebrow. He was unfamiliar with the phrase, but then again he’s not German himself. “The gist of what it means is that all beginnings are hard. The reason why I bring that up is…” Joe paused his eating to look over at Kaiser, noticing the oddly abrupt stop in what he was saying. Was he… blushing? Von Kaiser drummed his fingers against his knees and Joe noticed him twitch his head a bit, it was a nervous tic that he had witnessed many times in the locker room and in the ring from time to time. He heard Von Kaiser try to stammer out something and noticed how he was trying to avert his gaze when everything seemed to click. He was embarrassed. Joe almost wanted to chuckle—being embarrassed around him of all people was something he deemed nearly impossible—but repressed it and instead gave Von Kaiser what he hoped looked like an encouraging smile even with his mouth stuffed with granola. “I bring it up because it must have taken a lot of courage to talk about how you feel… inadequate. And now that we can work together-“ Von Kaiser interlocked his own fingers as he spoke, probably thinking his English wasn’t doing a good enough job conveying what he was trying to say. “That in of itself is a new beginning. To better ourselves.” Von Kaiser ended the speech he floundered through with a hopeful grin. Joe knew what he was trying to get across and it was oddly poignant and touching, especially from someone who was usually so stone faced. Despite himself, Joe felt the corners of his eyes crinkle as he beamed at Kaiser. That looked to be the expression Kaiser was looking for as his own smile seemed to brighten and widen as well. “Merci, monsieur Kaiser. What you’ve done for me today means a lot.” Joe meant it. He couldn’t recall the last time one of the other boxers had treated him with so much kindness, if there was even a last time at all.
He heard a soft, deep chuckle from Kaiser before he cleared his throat, rising from his seat with his usual stoic expression back in place. His eyes seemed warmer than before, more empathetic. “I’m glad. Now, go home and rest. Tomorrow will be busy.” A strong hand was clapped on Joe’s back that made him lurch forward a bit but his smile stayed in place, albeit a bit wobbly now. He got up to go to his locker and hummed La Marseillaise to himself as he opened it, putting on his hoodie and hastily stuffing the now empty protein bar wrapper into one of the pockets. He placed his gloves and his water bottle into his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder and closing his locker, getting ready for the journey home. Maybe he’d take care of the laundry once he got back or cook something for himself. That sounded nice. As he turned from his locker and made to go for the side door of the gym, Von Kaiser cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re alright getting home on your own? I can drive you if it’s not too far.” A sincere smile swept across Joe’s face and he felt his eyes go glassy. The lengths Kaiser was going to may seem minimal, maybe even laughably so to an outsider, but the kind gesture was greatly appreciated. Joe stood up straight and didn’t feel any burning pain in his calves anymore. A bit sore, but nothing he hadn’t handled before. He’s made the walk home in a much worse state many times prior. “I’ll be fine. Thank you again, monsieur Kaiser.” Von Kaiser gave him an affirmative nod and Joe went to the side exit that opened to the alley.
Stepping outside, he took a deep breath of the fresh air. It felt crisper than usual. As the door closed behind him with a whine he caught just the faintest sound of the front entrance opening and a hearty greeting from Soda Popinski to Kaiser, Soda’s gruff, Russian accent being hard to miss. He heard Kaiser give his own greeting, albeit his was a lot more subdued. Joe smiled to himself as he walked away, his steps feeling somewhat lighter than usual. There was a bit of a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest but it was hard to describe. Belonging? Hope, maybe? Joe couldn’t really tell. Maybe it was due to the fact he had an amicable conversation with someone else other than a family member for the first time in… months probably? It was odd. He wasn’t the type to stay up at night and pine for a companionship to land in his lap, but he realized he was a bit of a loner over the years. It never really bothered him that much and so he was passive towards that realization. He was more focused on training and if not that, then the normal mundanities of life. But in spite of that, he was actually looking forward to tomorrow. Perhaps he could spend more time with Von Kaiser out of the ring as a friend. And even if his training and lessons didn’t work, even if Joe got beaten a hundred more times, he knew he wouldn’t be alone and would have someone to turn to. And maybe that would be more than enough.