Night had fallen, and the small gym in the heart of the community was pulsing with energy. The walls, covered in graffiti and yellowed posters of old fights, seemed to vibrate with the screams of the crowd crowded around the ring. Up above, under the uncomfortable glare of the spotlights, **Lucas "Iron Fist" Almeida** took a deep breath, feeling the sweat run down his forehead and drip onto the canvas floor.
His eyes focused solely on the man in front of him: **Rodrigão**, a mountain of muscle over seven feet tall and an intimidating presence. Each punch Rodrigão threw was a death sentence, and Lucas knew that if he got hit one more time, it could be the end.
The previous round had been brutal. Rodrigão had caught him off guard with a right cross that nearly sent him sprawling. The sound of the impact still echoed in his head, mixed with the roar of the fans and the incessant buzz of adrenaline coursing through his body. In the corner of the ring, his trainer, **Seu Zeca**, a former boxer who knew the darkest corners of life, watched him carefully. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened with each passing second. "**Get your guard up, kid!" shouted Seu Zeca, his hoarse voice brimming with urgency. "**He's breaking your defense!" Lucas knew his trainer was right. Every punch he took seemed to chip away at a piece of his confidence. But he also knew that this fight was the only chance to change his life. Winning meant visibility, sponsors, and the possibility of taking his mother and siblings out of the community. Losing… losing meant continuing to be trapped in the same cycle of violence and poverty. The bell rang again, announcing the start of the fifth round. The sound was like a blade cutting through the tension in the air. Lucas clenched his fists inside his worn gloves, took a deep breath, and advanced. Rodrigão smiled, that evil smile that made many fighters' knees tremble. But Lucas couldn't let himself be shaken. Not today.
The giant moved first. His jab came quickly, a test to see if Lucas was still fit to fight. Lucas dodged it by a hair's breadth, feeling the wind from the blow brush his face. The next attack was a powerful hook, which Rodrigão threw with the intention of finishing. Lucas managed to block it, but felt the impact reverberate in his arm, as if a truck had hit him.
" **It's going to be over soon, kid!" Rodrigão taunted, his smile ever present, as if he knew the fight was already won.
Lucas gritted his teeth. His eyes focused on the movements of the giant in front of him. He knew he had to be smart, use his head. Rodrigão was a monster of brute strength, but that also meant he tired faster. The plan was simple: resist, dodge, and find the right opening.
Rodrigão advanced again, throwing a series of blows. A well-aimed jab found Lucas's cheek, who felt the taste of blood fill his mouth. The world seemed to spin for a moment, but he planted his feet on the ground, backing away while trying to keep a cool head.
Lucas needed an opening. Just one.
His body was already at its limit. His ribs were throbbing, and he knew some had been broken since the third round. But he remained standing. **Iron Fist**. The nickname he had been given at the gym now seemed like a burden, a constant reminder of the responsibility he carried.
Suddenly, Rodrigão advanced with a right cross. Lucas saw the movement, saw the giant's arm move in slow motion. And, in that moment, everything became clear. He crouched, dodging it by a millimeter, and saw Rodrigão's fist fly through the air.
That was it. The opening he had been waiting for.
Lucas stood up quickly, using all the strength he had left in his body. His left fist moved almost instinctively, straight at Rodrigão's exposed stomach. The impact was like hitting a concrete wall, but he saw the giant's body double for a second.
Wasting no time, Lucas spun around and threw a right hook with everything he had. His fist found the side of Rodrigão's face, and the sound of the impact was drowned out by the screams of the crowd.
Rodrigão staggered. The giant looked confused, trying to understand what had happened. Lucas knew he didn't have much time. He advanced again, throwing a series of quick punches, each one finding its target. His right jab hit Rodrigão's eyebrow, opening a deep cut that began to bleed immediately.
Now he was the one applying the pressure. **Iron Fist** was in control.
Rodrigão tried to fight back, but his blows were uncoordinated, desperate. Lucas saw the fear in his opponent's eyes, the fear of losing control. He continued to attack, not giving Rodrigão any room to breathe. Dodge, jab, hook. The pace was frantic.
Rodrigão's blood flowed freely, staining the ring floor.
Then, Lucas saw the final opportunity. Rodrigão ducked.
.