The gym smelled of sweat, leather, and effort. It wasn't glamorous, but it was home to Lucas. He had spent years training here, pounding bags until his knuckles bled, working the pads until his arms burned. Today, though, everything felt different. Today, he wasn't just training—he was preparing for a war.
The sound of leather gloves hitting the punching bag echoed through the air as Lucas attacked it relentlessly. His fists were sharp, his movements precise, but inside, he could feel the tension gnawing at him. **Two months.** That was all he had to turn himself into the fighter he needed to be for the elite tournament.
Across the room, **Seu Zeca** watched him carefully, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The old trainer had seen hundreds of fighters come and go, but none had shown the same fire Lucas had. He had watched the boy grow from a skinny kid with raw talent into a powerful young man with something to prove. And now, more than ever, Zeca knew how much this meant to him.
— **"Lucas, slow down,"** — Zeca barked, his voice sharp. — **"You're not going to get stronger if you burn yourself out in the first week."**
Lucas stopped, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his face onto the mat. His ribs still ached from the last fight, but he refused to let the pain slow him down. **Pain was weakness leaving the body**—that's what he always told himself. But sometimes, it felt like the pain was endless.
— **"I don't have time to slow down,"** — Lucas replied between breaths, glancing at Zeca. — **"I need to push harder. I need to be ready."**
Zeca walked over, his face stern, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes.
— **"I get that you're hungry for this, garoto,"** — Zeca said, his tone softening. — **"But if you push too hard now, you're going to end up in worse shape than when you started. Training smart is more important than training hard. Trust me."**
Lucas sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. He knew Zeca was right. The old man always seemed to know when to pull him back, just as he knew when to push him forward. But the pressure was suffocating. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw himself in the ring, facing opponents stronger, faster, more experienced than he was. Every second that ticked by felt like a countdown to his destruction.
— **"I just don't want to waste any time,"** — Lucas muttered, rubbing his hands together. — **"This could be my only shot."**
Zeca placed a hand on Lucas' shoulder, gripping it firmly.
— **"Listen to me, Lucas. I know what you're feeling. The fear, the pressure. But that's what makes a champion. It's not just about how hard you can punch or how fast you can move. It's about how well you can keep your head in the game when everything's on the line. You need to trust the process."**
Lucas nodded, though the weight of his doubts still hung over him. Zeca's words made sense, but it didn't make the fear any easier to deal with. As he grabbed a towel to wipe off the sweat, the door to the gym creaked open.
In walked **Leandro**, grinning as usual, with a small plastic bag in his hand.
— **"Brought you something,"** — Leandro called out, tossing the bag to Lucas.
Inside, Lucas found a bottle of supplements and a couple of protein bars. **Leandro always knew how to take care of him.** The two of them had been through so much together—fighting on the streets, struggling to survive in the favela, and now, climbing the ranks of the boxing world.
— **"You're going to need all the energy you can get if you're gonna make it through Zeca's torture sessions,"** — Leandro joked, giving Zeca a wink.
— **"He'll be fine if he listens,"** — Zeca replied with a small smirk, his eyes softening slightly as he looked at Leandro.
Leandro turned back to Lucas, his usual carefree expression growing serious for a moment.
— **"You've got this, man. Just don't forget why you're doing it. You're the best fighter I've ever seen, Lucas. And I've seen a lot of them."**
Lucas smiled, grateful for his friend's support. Leandro always had a way of cutting through the noise in Lucas' mind, reminding him of what really mattered. **The reason behind the fight.**
— **"Thanks, bro. I needed that,"** — Lucas said, taking a deep breath.
The gym fell into a quiet rhythm as Lucas resumed his training, this time more controlled, more focused. He worked on his footwork, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, remembering Zeca's advice to stay light, keep moving. The next hour passed in a blur of jabs, hooks, and footwork drills, each movement sharpening his skills and deepening his focus.
---
That night, back in his small apartment, Lucas lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the distant sounds of the favela outside—the hum of motorbikes, the distant laughter, the occasional bark of a dog. It was a comforting sound, a reminder of where he came from and why he fought.
His body was exhausted, every muscle aching, but his mind wouldn't let him rest. Every thought revolved around the tournament, the looming fights, the possibility of failure. But then, his thoughts drifted to his mother. **Dona Maria**. She had sacrificed so much for him, always believing in him even when he doubted himself. She had worked tirelessly, never asking for anything in return, and now, this tournament could be his chance to give back to her.
Lucas knew he couldn't afford to let fear get the better of him. This wasn't just about him anymore. It was about her. It was about proving to himself and to the world that he could rise above his circumstances.
But the doubt still lingered. What if two months wasn't enough? What if he wasn't ready when the time came?
He rolled over, his mind churning, and reached for his phone. Opening the messages, he found a text from Leandro.
— **"You got this. We all believe in you. Now it's time for you to believe in yourself."**
Lucas smiled faintly. **Belief.** That was the hardest part. But if Leandro, Zeca, and even his mother could believe in him, then maybe it was time for him to start believing too.
---
The next morning, Lucas woke up early, the rising sun casting a soft glow through his window. He felt sore, but there was a new resolve in him. As he got dressed and prepared for another day of intense training, he caught his reflection in the cracked mirror by his door.
He didn't see the scared, uncertain boy he had been. Instead, he saw a fighter. Someone who had been through hell and was ready to go through it again. He wasn't just fighting for a title, for money, or for recognition. He was fighting for everyone who believed in him—and most importantly, for himself.
Stepping out of his apartment, Lucas took a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air fill his lungs. **The journey was far from over.** But now, more than ever, he knew he was ready to face whatever came next.
---
This chapter builds on Lucas' internal struggle, highlighting the immense pressure he faces while also showcasing the support from his friends and mentor. The tension between self-doubt and belief continues to grow, setting the stage for the trials ahead.