“Come on old man, you can do better than that,” the kid jeered and Happy only smiled back, patient in the face of youth’s boast and bluster. The boy was about nineteen or twenty, built like a brick house, but quick on his feet. He had stamina and power and a lot of glory days ahead of him- worst of all he knew it. Humble was not a word in this boxer’s vocabulary. On the other hand, humble was the word that defined Happy’s whole life, and so he wasn’t too bothered by the laughter of his friends watching the fight or the ribbing of his opponent. He’d fought arrogant assholes before and he’d fight them again all for the feeling of the gloves on his fingers and the canvas stretched out beneath his feet. It wasn’t about winning the fight, it was about playing the game. He wasn’t going to win this one, that was obvious, but he didn’t mind.
Still grinning, Happy moved forward and felt a strange prickle, but he ignored it. He pulled back his fist and threw a punch not putting much effort into it. He really didn’t expect the guy to get knocked out cold but there he was, sprawled on the mat, blood spurting from a burst lip. There was a silence from the onlookers and as Happy leaned down over his opponent he felt the sleeves of his shirt tight over his arms. He straightened for a moment to stare at one of the mirrors on the wall. The body he was staring at didn’t look right at all, didn’t even look like his. It was like he’d suddenly gained several pounds of muscle and, thinking about it, he felt stronger too. If that hit he’d just given was any indication, he was stronger. Shaking his head in bewilderment he helped the kid’s coach, who had climbed into the ring, try to revive him. Looked like Happy had won the fight after all.