OLEKSANDR Usyk reigns over the heavyweight division as though born to rule, a solitary figure in a landscape still struggling to grasp his full measure.
His latest act of regal violence – a fifth-round erasure of Daniel Dubois in their rematch – did little to clear the confusion. If anything, it sharpened the question that has followed him since he rose to this weight: where, now, does the champion go?
It was a knockout of chilling precision. Dubois, bullish and emboldened by his youth and power, had stalked forward only to find himself systematically disassembled, as though every stride carried him closer to inevitability.
When the decisive punch landed, the arena’s noise seemed to collapse into a strange silence – not disbelief, but the momentary awe of watching a great fighter conclude a night’s work with cold efficiency. The crowd erupted a beat later, but for a heartbeat, it felt like watching history, the kind where the ending is already written before the pen hits the paper.
The names emerged in the post-fight chatter like old ghosts unwilling to lie still. Anthony Joshua, Tyson Fury, Derek Chisora – men he has already reduced to supporting roles in the drama of his career.
Joshua, conquered twice and lately humiliated by Dubois, is a faded figure, unable to disguise the scars of those lessons. Fury, twice sent back to his stool, shaking his head at the Ukrainian’s solutions to puzzles he thought unsolvable, still carries an aura but is now coming off consecutive defeats, each one a chiselling of his myth.
Chisora, game as ever, at least arrives buoyed by small victories, yet a second meeting with him would offer little more than nostalgia for afternoons already had. For Usyk, this is hardly a unique dilemma. Lennox Lewis, after completing his epic series with Evander Holyfield, faced a similar crossroad.
He could have chased dangerous unknowns or prioritised legacy-defining names. In his case, the endgame proved respectable – victories over men like Michael Grant and the dramatic stoppage of Vitali Klitschko added gravitas rather than taking it away. It is a path Usyk will now consider, balancing the glory of risk with the comfort of status.
Joseph Parker offers one of those risks, even if his presence comes without the glamour of old rivals. Without fanfare, Parker has built a six-fight winning streak that, taken coldly, is the most impressive in the division outside of Usyk’s own run.
It includes the public dismantling of Deontay Wilder, a man who once held the WBC belt with a punch that frightened the brave, and a resilient decision over “Big Bang” Zhang, in which Parker overcame two knockdowns to finish the stronger man.
When late substitute Martin Bakole was dropped into his path, Parker erased him with ruthless brevity, a two-round cameo that underlined his readiness.
The WBO has seen enough to order Parker into Usyk’s path. Yet politics, as ever, clouds the view. The Saudi backers who have reshaped heavyweight boxing’s economic centre have expressed little appetite for Usyk–Parker, preferring the gold-plated theatre of familiar names like Fury and Joshua.
That reluctance could push Usyk towards voluntarily vacating the WBO belt, or force the organisation itself to act, stripping him in the name of mandatory obligations. In an era where purse strings often pull harder than championship belts, Parker’s legitimacy as a challenger may not be enough to bring the fight to life.
And yet, another name stirs the blood in different ways. Agit Kabayel is a man whose reputation has risen like smoke from a sudden fire – unexpected, difficult to catch, and impossible to ignore.
Unbeaten at 26-0 with 18 knockouts, he has not courted the spotlight, choosing instead to build his craft largely in Germany, away from the bright lights and English-speaking hype machines that fast-track some fighters to fame. As a result, his profile is muted, almost anonymous on the wider stage, yet those who look closer see a fighter of quiet menace.
His style is distinctive, forged in the discipline of the German gyms yet fuelled by a Balkan fire. There is a patience to him, a kind of Germanic composure masking Balkan aggression, waiting for the perfect moment to detonate.
Kabayel fights differently to anyone Usyk has encountered at heavyweight – a pressure fighter who does not chase blindly, but who stalks with incremental steps, like a man closing the door on winter, shutting out the space until his opponent suffocates.
His record proves the effect. Against Arslanbek Makhmudov, an undefeated puncher many considered too dangerous to risk, Kabayel delivered a masterclass of dismantling cruelty. He moved with a predator’s calm, targeting the body with such precision that Makhmudov looked diminished with every passing second. By the time the Russian giant fell, the fight felt less like an upset than an execution.
The Frank Sanchez victory told a similar story. Sanchez, lauded as a technical craftsman, was worn down physically and emotionally, his slick defences gradually stripped away. Kabayel’s combinations, short and venomous, snapped upstairs before crashing into the ribs, until Sanchez collapsed from another of those withering body shots.
Even “Big Bang” Zhang, whose punches fall like masonry, could not halt the march. Kabayel was dropped by a sledgehammer left in the fifth but rose unflustered, resumed his measured hunt, and eventually broke Zhang to pieces under the same ceaseless body assault.
Yet the brutal arithmetic of styles intrudes. Kabayel has prospered against what might be called the division’s “stationary might” – hard men, yes, but essentially still targets.
Usyk is another breed entirely: elusive, inventive, and versatile in ways that erase strength advantages and mock pedestrian footwork. There is a suspicion, difficult to ignore, that Kabayel could suffer the same cold awakening Dubois endured, his fine winning streak suddenly rendered irrelevant against the brilliance of a different order.
For Usyk, the choice lies starkly ahead. One road, wide and paved with gold, leads back to Fury or Joshua, fights that promise wealth and attention but little novelty. The other road, narrower and darker, winds toward the likes of Parker and Kabayel, men who offer intrigue rather than certainty and whose rewards are more legacy than bank balance.
This is not to suggest Usyk’s legacy, as it stands, is anything to be sniffed at. He has already conquered cruiserweight with rare distinction, unified heavyweight against the biggest names of his time, and delivered masterclasses that will live in the archives. Yet greatness, like appetite, can be insatiable, and history rarely applauds those who close their final chapters with cautious echoes of their prime.
But boxing is a business as much as it is a theatre of courage, and Usyk is at a point where decisions are not merely about opponents, but about endings. The safe road will pay; the fascinating road might shape how he is remembered when the gloves are hung up for good.
Kabayel, for now, remains the dark horse at the gate – the one fighter whose youth, size and malice might, on a night heavy with theatre, make the unthinkable flicker across the eyes of the undisputed champion. Parker stands as the deserved challenger, Kabayel as the dangerous one, and Saudi influence as the unseen hand tipping the scales.
These are the choices presented to a champion who has already achieved more than most could dream of. And if one day Usyk steps toward that dangerous unknown, it will reveal whether his reign is an empire still expanding or a fragile crown trembling before the march of youth.
