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Chapter 4: Rise of the Little King
The transformation over the past three months was remarkable. Lex Navarro, once scrawny and overlooked, had grown lean and strong. His hands, now rough with calluses, were no longer a boy's hands—they were tools of precision and power.
Don Raul's training had instilled not just strength but discipline. Lex's days were a relentless cycle of school, cleaning, and boxing drills. Each punch, each dodge, each grueling exercise was a step closer to his goal: never to feel weak again.
At school, Lex's bruises had long since faded, but the memory of the beating burned fresh in his mind. He avoided confrontation, biding his time as he honed his craft. Every glare from Miguel and his gang felt like a promise—a promise Lex intended to keep.
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The Confrontation
It was a Friday afternoon, the air thick with the smell of fried food from a nearby cart. Lex stood outside the school gates, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He wasn't waiting for anyone in particular—he was waiting for an opportunity.
Miguel and his gang emerged, laughing loudly as they shoved each other around. They hadn't paid Lex much attention in recent weeks, assuming he had been cowed into submission. Lex smirked as he stepped into their path.
"Hey, Miguel," he called, his voice calm and steady.
The laughter stopped. Miguel turned, a sneer spreading across his face. "Well, look who it is. The genius. What do you want, Navarro?"
Lex dropped his backpack to the ground and cracked his knuckles. "I want to finish what you started."
The other boys exchanged surprised glances before breaking into laughter. "You serious?" Miguel asked, stepping forward. "You're gonna fight me?"
Lex didn't answer. He simply shifted into the stance Raul had drilled into him a thousand times. Hands up. Feet steady. Eyes locked on his opponent.
Miguel lunged, swinging wildly, but Lex was ready. He sidestepped the punch, his movements fluid and controlled. Before Miguel could react, Lex's fist connected with his ribs in a precise, powerful blow. Miguel staggered back, gasping for air.
The other boys moved to intervene, but Lex turned to them, his voice sharp and commanding. "Stay out of this, or you're next."
Something in his tone—cold, confident, unyielding—made them hesitate.
Miguel, furious and humiliated, charged again. Lex met him head-on, ducking under his swing and landing a clean uppercut to his jaw. Miguel crumpled to the ground, clutching his face.
Lex stood over him, his breathing steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Get up," he said.
Miguel struggled to his feet, his face red with anger and shame. But the fight was gone from his eyes.
"From now on," Lex said, his voice low but firm, "you work for me. All of you."
The gang stared at him in disbelief. "You're crazy," one of them muttered.
Lex stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Do you want to find out how crazy I am?"
The boy shook his head quickly, and Miguel remained silent, his pride shattered.
"Good," Lex said, picking up his backpack. "I'll let you know when I need something. Don't disappoint me."
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As Lex walked away, his heart pounded with a mixture of triumph and exhilaration. He had done more than just beat Miguel—he had claimed control. The boys who had once tormented him were now under his thumb, their loyalty born of fear rather than respect.
At home that evening, Lex stared at his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror. The boy looking back at him was different. Harder. Stronger. He didn't flinch anymore.
"This is just the beginning," he murmured to himself.
At school, word of the fight spread quickly. The other students avoided Lex, their eyes darting away whenever he passed. Even the teachers seemed wary, sensing the shift in his demeanor. Lex didn't mind. Fear was just another form of power, and power was all that mattered.
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That weekend, Lex returned to the gym, eager to tell Raul about the fight. As he swept the floor, he recounted the story, leaving out the part about making the gang his lackeys.
Raul listened quietly, his expression unreadable. When Lex finished, the older man leaned against the ring ropes, his arms crossed.
"You handled yourself well," Raul said. "But let me ask you this—why did you fight him?"
Lex hesitated. "He needed to learn a lesson."
Raul nodded slowly. "And what lesson did you learn?"
Lex frowned, unsure how to answer.
Raul stepped closer, his voice firm but not unkind. "Boxing isn't about proving you're better than someone else. It's about proving you're better than who you were yesterday. Remember that."
The words stayed with Lex long after he left the gym. He respected Raul, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the fight had been necessary. Miguel and his gang had to be put in their place, and Lex had to show the world that he wasn't someone to be trifled with.
As he walked through the streets of Colima that night, the city lights casting long shadows across the pavement, Lex felt a sense of purpose unlike anything he had known before.
He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was building something more