The uncomfortable reality of watching fighting is that ugliness is often a precursor, if not a prerequisite to beauty. At its core, boxing is mutually agreed upon harm, but the nuances of what it takes physically and mentally to afflict that harm provides the elegance of the affair. But try as we might to feel as though the sport is siloed from broader society, boxing is still made up of human beings, ones with flaws, flaws that can sometimes be more ghastly blemishes that can threaten to taint the twisted beauty of the sport.

There was more than a little discomfort heading into Keyshawn Davis’ WBO lightweight title opportunity against Denys Berinchyk on Friday night. During fight week, Davis had been the victim of a racist incident, finding a box of bananas and watermelon outside his door with a handwritten message attached. For those watching the bout at home on ESPN, the incident was leading and central to the broadcast narrative of the fight. As the online community grappled with theories of who might have been the perpetrator, commentator and writer Mark Kriegel reported on the air that Davis’ team had seen hotel security footage of the incident and declared that the person or persons “looked familiar.” Though Berinchyk and his team claimed to have no involvement, viewers were expected to settle in with the understanding that Davis was potentially about to physically battle a person who at best was connected to the racist assailant.

But with this grotesque piece of fabric to work with, Davis chose to weave an exquisite tapestry. Though he spoke sternly and threateningly during fight week, denouncing the incident and tweeting “it’s Black History month Friday and I’m doing it for the culture,” Davis gave no pre-fight interview to further weigh-in on the topic. At the pre-fight press conference two days earlier, Davis wore a dark jacket, turtleneck, horned rim glasses and gloves, perhaps an ode his “Businessman” moniker, but also giving assassin vibes as he threatened Berinchyk with an index finger to the neck. On fight night, he set the dark attire aside for an all-white ensemble. The menacing scowl was replaced with an ear-to-ear grin, a brightness in his eyes as he bounced to the ring to the tune of gospel music.

“I've been through the trials and tribulations before I even got on this platform, so now that I'm on this platform, I'm just gonna go out and handle myself. I always say like, anything that happens in that ring, it's just business. I stand on business,” Davis during a post-fight scrum with reporters. “At the end of the day, I fight, bro. I really fight. I was telling bro that at the press conference, I really fight. Putting the gloves on is nothing. In there is my happy place.”

Prior to the fight, Davis made declarations of hunting for a first-round knockout, couched with the more generalized promise of an early stoppage. As it’s always been, the only impediment to Davis going full bore to affirm his deeply held beliefs has been the intelligentsia assembled around him as a safety net. A year and a half ago, Davis, who was just 8-0 at the time, told me for an article for Boxing Scene, “A lot of fighters that feel like they're ahead of me. Feel like they're ahead of me. They're saying stuff, he's still this, he's still that, he needs to do this, take his time here, take his time there. I just feel like in reality, me knowing me, those guys can't f--- with me now, and when it comes time to actually fight them, they damn sure can't f--- with me then. I'm gonna make them eat their words.” As a professional novice, he felt as though the only thing stopping him from winning a world title immediately were the conventional levels and tests one is expected to pass before that opportunity is granted, but that if those expectations were stripped away, he was the best in the world already.

The bout against Berinchyk turned out to be a microcosm of that very scenario. Davis stepped through the ropes believing that he could stop Berinchyk in less than three minutes. His training staff, led by esteemed cornerman Brian “Bomac” McIntyre, probably believed that was possible too, but they, like the matchmaking and promotional staff above them, are tasked with ensuring results, not just taking calculated guesses. But by the time the second round was halfway done, Berinchyk was bleeding heavily from the nose already. As Davis walked back to the corner, he had a look of intensity in his eyes, the look of someone anxious to be truly turned loose. McIntyre suggested he begin adding a right hand to the body, and his close friend and mentor Terence Crawford seated ringside suggested body work as well, curbing Davis’ potential compulsion to head hunt his nimble opponent.

The next round, Davis dropped Berinchyk with a left hook to the body, the effects of which he endured to make it to the end of the round. The ensuing conservation in the Davis corner could be easily decoded.

“He ain’t got nothing,” said Davis with a smirk as he sat on his stool.

Translation: “Alright, lemme finish him.”

“Okay, you can step to him,” said McIntryre. “But you’ve gotta step to him behind that jab though, okay?”

Translation: “Okay, go do it, but I am obligated as your coach to at at least tell you to be somewhat careful.”

About ninety seconds later, Davis put it all together. The right hand to the body, followed by a devastating left hook folded Berinchyk in half, as Davis stood in the corner waving his arms in the air, pre-emptively declaring the world title to be his, just as he had a year and a half ago.

“I mean I ain't gonna lie, it was one of those rounds where his nose starting bleeding, I think it was the second,” said Davis on when he knew the fight was on the verge of being over. “Once I seen that, I'm like yeah, it's gonna be time. And it was, you know, two rounds after that.”

As Davis danced jubilantly in the corner and leaped up and down with his arms triumphantly overhead, there was certainly no denying that he was in his happy place. Whether you watched the fight feeling that this was an act of direct comeuppance, or simply a fighter competing in the wake of an ugly attack perpetrated by someone utterly disconnected from the fight, you had watched Davis perform defiantly and beautifully in the face of humanity’s nastiest frown. A man unwilling to let his happy place be sullied. In doing so, he’d established himself as the prodigious operator he’d prophesized that he was since he came out of the Olympics.

“I'm a fighter that's just been through a lot in my life. I lost myself, and I found myself again,” said Davis. “I just went in there and just kicked his ass.”