Ethan sat in his dimly lit apartment staring at the envelope full of money on the table. His heart felt like it was being squeezed inside a vice. The amount was enough to cover overdue rent and finally pay for the tuition for the semester at Mia's school, but what he had to do to win it was a burden upon him. The underground fight was still fresh in his mind—the blood, the roaring crowd, the way his opponent collapsed after one brutal strike. He'd won, but the victory felt hollow, tainted by the murky world he'd stepped into.
A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Ethan opened it to find Frank standing there, arms crossed, his face a mix of anger and concern. "You've been dodging me," Frank said, stepping into the apartment without waiting for an invitation.
Ethan sighed and closed the door. "I've had a lot going on."
No kidding," Frank said, seeing the envelope. His face grew darker. "Is that what I think it is?"
"I didn't have a choice, Frank. The bills don't pay themselves.
"There's always a choice," Frank snapped. "You think I don't know what's going on in those underground fights? You're risking everything we've worked for. All it takes is one wrong move, one shady promoter spilling the beans, and your career is over before it's even started."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "It's easy for you to sit there and preach when you're not the one drowning in debt."
Frank's expression softened a little, but his tone was unyielding. "I know you're under pressure, Ethan. But this?" He motioned toward the envelope. "This isn't the way. You're better than this."
"What do you want me to do, Frank?" Ethan shot back. "Go back to struggling? Watching Mia give up on her dreams because I couldn't pull it together?"
"No," Frank said. "I want you to keep your eye on the prize. You got a chance at something real here, Ethan. Don't blow it for a quick pay-out."
Frank turned to go, but then stopped in the doorway. "You've got a fight in two weeks. Train or don't. It's up to you. But remember who you're fighting for."
Ethan spent the following days in a haze of guilt and uncertainty. Frank's words continued to echo in his head, but so did the memory of Victor Kane's proposition. Victor made it clear—throw the fight, and the payday would make his underground winnings look like pocket change. The offer hung over Ethan like a dark cloud.
One evening, while Ethan pounded away at the heavy bag in the gym, Victor strode in, looking large and unaccountably composed. He leaned against the ropes of the nearest ring, an amused smirk on his face, watching Ethan.
"You've been avoiding my calls," Victor said.
Ethan did not stop punching. "Didn't realize we had anything to talk about."
Victor chuckled. "Don't play coy. You know why I'm here. Have you thought about my proposal?
Ethan finally stopped, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'm not interested."
Victor's smirk faded for a moment, becoming something colder. "You'd better think twice before you respond to that. Opportunities such as this do not often present themselves."
"I'm not selling out," Ethan stated, his voice firm.
Victor's face grew hard. "Principles are well and good, Ethan. But they do not put bread on the table. Don't forget that next month when you are back here begging for crumbs."
He disappeared without another word, but the unsaid threat continued to loom in the air.
As the fight approached, Ethan threw himself into training. Frank's training sessions were relentless, pushing him to his limits and even beyond them. His opponent, Darren "The Machine" Marsh, was a powerhouse — a fighter known for his knockouts, brutal and incessant. The media would paint the fight as a mismatch, many doubting if Ethan could survive more than two rounds.
The night of the fight, energy filled that arena as people roared with cheers, giving out mixed sentiments of support and disbelief. On the opposite end was Darren who appeared more than the others-a giant of a man. Nothing shook his confidence, especially that of the underdog facing him in the ring.
The first round was brutal. Darren came out swinging, his punches heavy and deliberate, forcing Ethan onto the defensive. Each blow felt like a sledgehammer, and by the end of the round, Ethan's ribs ached, and his vision blurred.
Frank's voice cut through the haze as Ethan sat in the corner between rounds. "You're letting him dictate the pace. You've got to stay light on your feet, make him work for it. He's a machine, but machines break down."
Ethan nodded, taking deep breaths as the bell rang for the second round.
This round, he adjusted. He danced along the perimeter of the ring, ducking the heavy Darren's strikes, but countering those with swift jabs and hooks. The energy of the crowd changed because Ethan was finally landing some clean shots to chip away at Darren's armor.
In the third round, the fight turned into war. Both men were battered and bloodied, but Ethan refused to back down. He found his rhythm, taking advantage of Darren's mistakes to land precise combinations that left him staggered.
Adrenaline and determination blurred the last moments of the fight as Ethan saw his chance as time was running out. With Darren's guard down for the briefest of moments, he threw an uppercut so devastating that it sent Darren crashing to the mat.
The referee's count was interminable, but as he reached ten, the entire arena exploded. Ethan's arm was raised high; underdog once again had bested the odds.
In the rear, where reporters yelled to be interviewed and fans hollered his name, Ethan felt a fleeting pride in the victory. It wasn't a lasting emotion, however. Victor Kane stood there against the wall, a cold smile, calculating.
"Congratulations," Victor said. "You've made quite a name for yourself. But remember, fame comes with a price. Watch your back."
Ethan stared him down, his fists clenching. The fight in the ring was over, but Ethan knew the real battle was just beginning.