The gym was buzzing with energy. Fighters moved from station to station, their routines as fluid as clockwork. Lucas had been sharpening his skills under Zeca's watchful eye for weeks now, and the tournament was looming ever closer. Every muscle in his body ached, but every day, he felt himself getting stronger, faster, more precise. Yet, there was something gnawing at him.
His opponent in the tournament's first round had been announced. **Gustavo "The Beast" Rocha**, a hulking figure with a notorious reputation. He was an enigma—unorthodox, unpredictable, and ferocious in the ring. Many called him unbeatable, a title Lucas was determined to challenge. But that didn't make him any less dangerous.
— **"Lucas,"** Zeca called out, pulling Lucas from his thoughts, — **"we've got something different today."**
Lucas raised an eyebrow as Zeca gestured toward the far end of the gym. There, standing like a mountain of muscle, was **Ricardo**—one of the gym's heaviest fighters. His physique resembled that of Gustavo: broad shoulders, tree-trunk arms, and a chest that looked like it could deflect bullets.
— **"You're sparring with Ricardo,"** Zeca said, crossing his arms. — **"If you're going to beat Gustavo, you need to get used to fighting against raw power. Ricardo's not going to hold back."**
Lucas swallowed hard. Ricardo was a few weight classes above him, and even though it was just sparring, Lucas knew there would be nothing friendly about it. But this was exactly what he needed. If he wanted to stand a chance against Gustavo, he had to experience the brute force firsthand.
The ring felt smaller today, more confined. As Ricardo stepped inside, Lucas could feel the temperature rise. He stretched his arms, mentally preparing himself. Zeca's words echoed in his head: **"Fight smart, not just hard."** He couldn't outmuscle Ricardo, but he could outthink him.
The bell rang.
Ricardo wasted no time, charging forward like a freight train. Lucas barely had time to react before a thunderous jab came crashing toward his face. He slipped under it, his instincts taking over, and countered with a quick hook to Ricardo's ribs. It landed, but it felt like hitting concrete.
Ricardo didn't even flinch. Instead, he smiled—a sinister, predatory grin that sent a chill down Lucas' spine.
— **"You've got speed, garoto, but that won't save you when I catch you,"** Ricardo growled, pressing forward with another barrage of punches.
Lucas danced around the ring, dodging and weaving, using his agility to avoid the powerful blows. Every time Ricardo's fists missed, they cut through the air with a terrifying whoosh. Lucas could feel the pressure building. Ricardo was relentless, and Lucas was running out of space to move.
Then, it happened.
A quick feint from Ricardo threw Lucas off balance, and before he could reset, a crushing left hook slammed into his side. Pain shot through his ribs like fire, and Lucas gasped, stumbling back. The crowd around the ring went silent for a moment, watching to see if Lucas would fall.
But he didn't.
Gritting his teeth, Lucas steadied himself, his vision blurring slightly from the pain. He had trained too hard, sacrificed too much to be taken down like this. He knew he couldn't afford another direct hit, but if he didn't start mounting an offense, Ricardo would overwhelm him.
Zeca's voice cut through the haze. — **"Keep moving, Lucas! Stick and move!"**
Lucas took a deep breath, his mind racing. He needed to change the rhythm of the fight. Ricardo was too comfortable, too sure that his power would win. That was his weakness—he wasn't used to fighters who could keep up with him. Lucas decided to use that.
He began to circle Ricardo faster, his footwork becoming more erratic. Each time Ricardo swung, Lucas darted out of range, making him miss by inches. Ricardo's frustration started to show. His punches became wilder, less precise, as he tried to land a decisive blow.
Then, Lucas saw his opening.
Ricardo threw another massive right hand, but this time, Lucas ducked low and slipped inside the punch. In one fluid motion, he unleashed a rapid combination to Ricardo's body—left hook, right uppercut, left cross—each punch landing with precision. Ricardo grunted, taking a step back, surprised by the sudden flurry.
Lucas pressed the advantage. He stayed close, refusing to let Ricardo reset. Another quick series of punches to the ribs and jaw followed, each one chipping away at Ricardo's defenses. The big man swung back, but Lucas was already gone, his feet carrying him out of danger.
The momentum had shifted.
Ricardo was breathing heavier now, the constant movement wearing him down. Lucas could see it in his eyes—the frustration, the disbelief. He wasn't used to being outmaneuvered. And that's when Lucas knew: he had to end it before Ricardo regained his composure.
Lucas faked a jab to the body, drawing Ricardo's guard low, then snapped his right fist up in a lightning-fast uppercut. It connected squarely with Ricardo's chin, and the force of the blow sent the big man stumbling back into the ropes.
The gym erupted in cheers, but Lucas didn't let up. He had to finish it. He charged forward, unleashing a final barrage of punches—straight rights, hooks, and jabs—each one landing cleanly as Ricardo struggled to defend himself. The giant of a man was fading fast, his strength no longer enough to keep up with Lucas' speed and precision.
Finally, with a devastating right cross, Lucas knocked Ricardo's head back, and the big man slumped to the canvas, gasping for breath. The sparring session was over.
Lucas stood over him, panting, his body drenched in sweat but alive with adrenaline. He had done it. He had gone toe-to-toe with a powerhouse like Ricardo and come out on top. But more importantly, he had learned that it wasn't about matching power with power. It was about staying calm, finding openings, and using his speed and strategy to break down his opponents.
Zeca clapped his hands from the corner, a rare smile on his face.
— **"That's what I'm talking about, Lucas,"** Zeca said, walking over to him. — **"You fought smart. You stayed patient. That's how you're going to win against Gustavo."**
Lucas nodded, still catching his breath. His ribs throbbed with pain, but it didn't matter. He had proven something to himself today. He wasn't just a fighter who could take hits—he was a fighter who could adapt, who could outthink his opponent. And that was exactly what he needed to beat Gustavo.
As he climbed out of the ring, Lucas felt a surge of confidence he hadn't felt before. There was still work to be done, still miles to go before the tournament, but now, more than ever, he believed he could do it.
The Beast might have been a monster, but monsters could be beaten. And Lucas was ready to prove it.