The first rays of sunlight barely touched the windows of Sophia's gym when Ethan arrived, still sore from the previous night. He had spent hours tossing and turning, reliving the humiliation of their sparring match. His body screamed at him to rest, but his pride refused to let him stay in bed.
He stepped inside the gym, expecting to find it empty. Instead, Sophia was already there, shadowboxing in the middle of the room. Her movements were smooth and precise, each punch snapping through the air with startling speed.
She didn't stop when she noticed him.
"You're late," she said, her voice cold.
Ethan checked his phone. "It's 6 a.m.!"
Sophia turned to face him, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Winners don't watch the clock. They show up before it starts ticking. Drop your bag and start warming up."
Ethan muttered under his breath but obeyed, tossing his duffel onto a bench. He started with some light stretches, but Sophia wasn't having it.
"Stop pretending you're on vacation," she snapped. "Push-ups. Now."
Ethan hesitated. "How many?"
"All of them," she replied without missing a beat.
For the next hour, Sophia put him through hell. Push-ups, squats, planks, burpees—every exercise was a test of endurance. She watched him like a hawk, correcting his form and barking orders whenever he faltered.
Ethan's muscles burned, and sweat poured down his face. By the time Sophia finally told him to stop, his arms felt like jelly.
"You're weak," she said bluntly. "That's the first thing we're going to fix. Strength is your foundation. Without it, you're just a punching bag."
Ethan glared at her, too exhausted to argue. "You don't have to rub it in."
Sophia folded her arms. "This isn't about me tearing you down, Cruz. It's about showing you how far you have to go. You want to win in the underground circuit? Then you need to realize something."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Nobody cares how tired you are. Nobody cares about your excuses. The only thing that matters is whether you can stand up when the bell rings."
Ethan listened to her carefully.
After the grueling warm-up, Sophia moved on to the basics. She walked Ethan through the fundamentals of footwork, showing him how to position his feet for balance and mobility.
"You've got decent instincts," she admitted as he shuffled back and forth across the mat. "But instincts aren't enough. You need discipline. You need precision."
She demonstrated a simple one-two combination, her punches snapping out with machine-like efficiency. "Do it like this. Slowly. Don't try to impress me—just get it right."
Ethan tried to mimic her movements, but his punches felt clumsy in comparison. Sophia corrected him constantly, adjusting the angle of his fists or the positioning of his shoulders.
"You're thinking too much," she said after his third failed attempt. "Stop trying to make it perfect. Just feel it."
He took a deep breath and tried again, focusing on the rhythm rather than the mechanics. This time, his punches felt smoother, more natural.
Sophia nodded. "Better. Now keep doing it until it's second nature."
Sparring—Round Two
After hours of drilling, Sophia threw Ethan a pair of gloves. "Time to see if you've learned anything."
Ethan's stomach tightened. "You want me to spar with you again?"
Sophia smirked. "Not me. Him."
Ethan turned to see a stocky man stepping into the ring. He was older, maybe in his late 30s, but his muscular frame and the scars on his knuckles told Ethan he wasn't a beginner.
"This is Luis," Sophia said. "He's one of my former students. He'll take it easy on you. At first."
Luis grinned, sliding on his gloves. "Don't worry, kid. I'll leave your face intact—for now."
Ethan climbed into the ring, his heart pounding. Sophia stood outside, leaning against the ropes.
"Remember what I taught you," she said. "Footwork first. Stay balanced. And don't get cocky."
The bell rang—an actual bell Sophia had rigged to the side of the ring—and Luis came at him immediately.
Ethan tried to backpedal, but Luis was too fast. A quick jab snapped his head back, followed by a hook to the ribs that sent him stumbling.
"Keep your guard up!" Sophia barked.
Ethan gritted his teeth and raised his hands, blocking the next flurry of punches. He tried to counter with a one-two combo, but Luis easily dodged and retaliated with an uppercut that left Ethan seeing stars.
"Focus!" Sophia shouted. "You're letting him control the fight. Take it back!"
Ethan shook off the daze and forced himself to think.
"He's so fast," He thought, "How will I be able to even land a hit on him?"
Luis was quicker, stronger, and more experienced, but he wasn't invincible. If Ethan could just find an opening...
Luis threw another jab, and this time, Ethan sidestepped it. He countered with a straight punch that clipped Luis's jaw.
"Good!" Sophia called. "Now keep moving!"
The small victory fueled Ethan's determination. He started to find a rhythm, dodging Luis's attacks and landing a few of his own. His punches weren't as strong or as clean as Luis's, but they were enough to keep the older fighter on his toes.
But Luis wasn't done. He switched tactics, feinting a jab before slamming a hook into Ethan's ribs. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, but Ethan refused to go down.
He staggered back, gasping for air, but kept his guard up. Luis advanced, ready to finish him, but Ethan saw it coming. At the last second, he ducked under the punch and drove his fist into Luis's gut.
Luis grunted, doubling over slightly, and Ethan followed up with a wild hook to the side of his head. It wasn't pretty, but it was effective. Luis stumbled, and for a brief moment, Ethan thought he might actually win.
Then Luis straightened up, his grin returning. "Not bad, kid," he said. "But you've still got a long way to go."
With that, he immediately disappeared and unleashed a devastating counter on Ethan's back, sending him flat.
Sophia climbed into the ring as Ethan struggled to sit up. She crouched beside him, her expression unreadable.
"You lasted longer than I expected," she said. "But you're still sloppy. You let your emotions take over, and that's why you lost."
Ethan groaned, rubbing his bruised ribs. "Thanks for the pep talk."
Sophia smirked. "Get used to it. Tomorrow, we do it all again."
As Ethan hobbled out of the ring, he glanced back at Sophia. Despite her harsh words, there was something in her eyes—something almost like respect.
He didn't know if he could become the fighter she wanted him to be. But as he limped out of the gym, one thought kept him going:
"I'm not giving up."
Little did Ethan know, the city was a ring too.
The city was eerily quiet as Ethan walked home, his body aching from Sophia's brutal training. The cold air bit at his face, but he kept his hood up and his head down, lost in thought. Sophia's words haunted him: "Nobody cares how tired you are. Stand up when the bell rings."
He turned down a dim alley, a shortcut he'd used dozens of times. Halfway through, he stopped. Three men stepped into his path, their faces obscured by hoods, while two more blocked the exit behind him.
"Yo mate, you got any cash on you right now?" one of them growled, flashing a knife. "You might wanna empty your pockets, pal,"
Ethan's heart raced. His instincts screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go. His training flashed in his mind: Stay balanced. Stay calm.
"I don't want trouble," he said, his voice steady. "But I'm not giving you anything."
The leader sneered. "Wrong choice."
The leader lunged, knife aimed at Ethan's stomach. Without thinking, Ethan sidestepped, his footwork sharp. The thug stumbled, and Ethan snapped a jab into his jaw.
A second man swung a pipe at him. Ethan ducked low, stepping inside the swing, and drove his elbow into the man's ribs. The thug collapsed, wheezing.
The third grabbed him from behind, locking his arms. Another thug advanced, throwing a punch aimed at Ethan's head. He twisted sharply, breaking free just in time, and the punch glanced off his shoulder. Ethan retaliated with a wild hook that sent the man reeling.
The leader recovered and charged again, slashing wildly. Ethan stayed focused, stepping back to avoid the blade. When the moment was right, he grabbed the leader's wrist, twisting it hard. The knife clattered to the ground.
With a burst of desperation, Ethan delivered a vicious punch to the thug's face, knocking him flat. The remaining men hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances.
"Come on!" Ethan barked, fists clenched.
They scattered, dragging their leader with them. Ethan stood there, chest heaving, adrenaline surging through his veins.
As the echoes of their retreat faded, the pain set in. His fists throbbed, and his ribs ached, but he was still standing. He leaned against the wall, his breath visible in the cold air.
"I did it," he whispered, disbelief giving way to a flicker of pride.
The fight wasn't clean or graceful, but it was real. The drills, the sparring—it had all worked. For the first time in years, Ethan felt like he was more than just a washed-up fighter.
He straightened, adjusted his hood, and walked away. Tomorrow, Sophia would push him even harder. And for the first time, he looked forward to it.