A red frisbee slices through the air, propelled by the wind across the grassy field. It slowly loses momentum before beginning its descent. Underneath it is a young Joey, smiling with a chipped tooth, as he snags it just before it lands. After catching it, Joey turns around and sees his father waving towards him, congratulating him. His father then gestures for him to throw the frisbee back. Joey lines up with his father, closes his eyes, pulls back his arm, and releases with tremendous force.

He opens his eyes and sees that the frisbee is still attached to his hand, as if nothing had happened. His pupils dilate with confusion as he looks around, but sees nothing but the field. Where’s Dad? He looks back at the frisbee, only to see red liquid ooze out onto his arm. Joey begins fidgeting, trying to shake it off as it slowly drips. He walks backward and then trips, looking up to see the corpse of his father, a pool of blood spreading. His eyes widen, and he quickly crawls toward the dead body, frisbee still in hand.

“Da-dad! Wake up! I want to play, please… just wake up…” cries a sobbing Joey.

A loud honk sounds, and Joey, startled, looks in the direction it’s coming from. A large truck is heading toward him. His body doesn’t have time to react before it collides—

Joey wakes up in a cold sweat, his dusty bed now littered with puddles of moisture. He gets up and stares at the mirror in his room.

“A nightmare… I haven’t had those in a while.”

Collecting himself, he moves toward the bathroom, brushing his teeth while reaching into his pocket. He pulls out his phone and powers it on, revealing a wallpaper of his family in a group photo. It’s a picture of the five members of the Winger family, smiling in formal suits. This brings back memories, and Joey suddenly realizes what happened yesterday. His brushing stops abruptly as tears stream down his face.

“That’s why I had a nightmare… I’ll never see them again.”

He washes his face and stares at himself in the mirror once more.

“No, I won’t let it get to me. I made a promise to myself. I’ll move on. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

His morning routine continues. He puts on his clothes for school, prepares his siblings' lunches (PB&J sandwiches), and gets himself ready. Even after everything, the cycle must continue. His parents may have died, but they did so on a Sunday.

“RYAAAN! MAAARY!” Joey yells from the kitchen.

The pair slowly walk out of their bedroom, still dressed in pajamas.

“What are you guys doing? You’re going to be late for school!” Ryan is the first to complain.

“What do you mean? Can’t we just not go to school? Mom and Dad aren’t… here.” A small hesitation occurs as he begins piecing together the situation.

“Yeah, I know we aren’t supposed to cry because of Mr. Ethan, but can’t we have a break?” Mary asks, doing her best puppy-dog impression.

Joey sighs. “I know our life has changed a lot now that our parents are… gone. But some things will always remain the same, alright?”

Joey continues speaking as he prepares their things, placing their lunch in brown paper bags and packing their backpacks. “We’ll still eat our three meals a day, still brush our teeth, and still go to school, with or without Mom and Dad. Now go and change your clothes.”

Mary and Ryan reluctantly follow his orders, stomping angrily and slamming the door behind them. Joey notices this and decides to cheer them up.

“Tell you what, I’ll buy you guys some Sparkle Surprise down at Tony’s when you come back from school.” Muffled cheers are heard behind the door, causing Joey to maintain a small smile. Sparkle Surprise is an ice cream flavor his siblings rarely enjoyed due to its price. When his parents could afford it, though, it was always the highlight of the entire week.

Joey reflects on his life just as he finishes getting ready for school. It seems Mary and Ryan have recovered faster than me. It might be slow, but I’m sure we’ll go back to normal even without them, even if it takes a few scoops of ice cream. Expensive ice cream… crap.

Joey suddenly remembers why he was crying in the bathroom—he needed money. After his talk with Ethan, the life insurance guy, he checked the balance after the transaction. Twenty thousand dollars, after taxes, is what’s left from his parents' demise. That’s it. When Joey first heard this number, his heart sank. Ethan made it sound like it would be a truckload of cash, but instead, he was left with only five digits of disappointment.

It’s definitely a sizable amount, capable of covering rent and utilities for a while. But without an income, it will dissipate before he knows it. Joey knows one thing, though: it’s time to take his first steps toward earning money. Ethan promised to give Joey the address of a mixed martial arts gym by the end of the day. The gym used to be popular and well-known but mysteriously lost its reputation, leading to lower prices—perfect for Joey’s situation.

All Joey has to do is allocate some money toward training and equipment, then participate in fights called “bouts,” where the winner earns a good amount of cash. Ethan also mentioned that the coach at the gym is well-known for training people who regularly win these fights. Joey checks his phone, hoping for an email from Ethan, but there’s nothing but an empty notification box.

I just gotta make it to the end of the day.

He cups a hand around his mouth. “Alright, you guys, hurry up! Twenty minutes till class!”

The pair quickly stumble out of their room, dressed in wrinkled clothes and with unkempt hair. Joey hands them their brown paper bags containing lunch and leads them toward the door, pushing them along. The two kids are clearly still half asleep, yawning as the group makes their way out. A dimly lit hallway creates a gloomy atmosphere as they walk toward the stairs. Passing each apartment, they hear sounds of people talking and clapping. The doors of the apartments have faded numbers, with clearly fake gold borders.

At the end of the hallway, the stairs are located. The trio has to endure slapping noises, arguments, and other unpleasant sounds as they make their way down. When they finally reach the lobby, they’re greeted by three muscular, bald men with strong facial hair and tattoos covering their skin. They immediately notice Joey and his siblings, glaring at them. Joey’s heart freezes for a second, but when he sees their warm smiles, he realizes they’re no threat.

One of the men, with white hair, greets them. “Have a good day at school, you three!”

Joey waves back. Don’t judge a book by its cover, I guess.

He opens the door to the apartment complex, and a flash of sunlight hits his face like a sledgehammer. He shields his eyes, the noise of the city ambience drowning him in a racket. Joey lives in MoCity, a bustling city with the slogan “Change is the future!” Pictures of MoCity show equality and families walking down clean sidewalks, with vast skylines dotted with buildings. Unfortunately, Joey’s family lives downtown, not uptown where those pictures were taken. The honking of cars and loud yelling echo through the brick buildings surrounding Joey. The environment reeks of garbage, cigarettes, and sadness—a smell the Winger family knows all too well.

Joey pushes his two siblings along. Their school is just a couple of blocks away, so leaving them to go by themselves is fine—it’s daylight after all. He waves them goodbye, laughing at the irony. City of Change, huh? My whole life turned 180 degrees, and yet nothing about me has changed at first glance. I’m still going to school, those guys are still gonna argue, and this city is still gonna remain dirty.

Joey sighs. The world doesn’t wait for anyone to catch up. He’ll have to keep marching forward.

Joey’s school was a bit of a walk, giving him time to think. As he strolled down the littered streets, he observed the chaos around him, casually walking with his hands in his pockets. This was his life—it smelled bad, and you could see a fight almost every day—but at least he had a home. Joey glanced at some homeless people sleeping on cardboard beds and benches, wondering if they had a similar story. One bad turn is all it takes... While staring at them, he noticed small piles of needles, and his expression darkened. For the sake of our parents, hopefully, we don’t end up like them.

As he thought about the grim possibilities, he made one last turn toward his school, MoCity Downtown High. It definitely wasn’t the cleanest, safest, or most prestigious school, but it was functional. It was your average high school—just a bit more rundown. It had all the usual cliques: the nerds, jocks, popular girls, and so on. Joey, a senior, belonged to a rather depressing group: the loners. Most of his friends had moved away, dropped out, or simply grown apart, leaving him stranded as he navigated his last year. He had planned to attend UMC, the University of MoCity, on a loan and find a stable job, but life had other plans. College doesn’t matter anymore. As long as we can live, I’m happy.

Joey maneuvered around the crowds and entered the building, observing his surroundings. No one stared at him, spoke to him, or even acknowledged him, despite the fact that he had just experienced the worst day of his life. He was just another face in the crowd, another fish in the sea, with or without parents. Joey glanced down at his dusty sneakers—ones he’d been wearing since sophomore year—and tried to motivate himself. I’m going to change my situation. I’ll make sure my life doesn’t go south. I can do this. I have to try.

He pulled out his phone and checked for any messages from Ethan. Nothing. Guess I’ll just have to wait.

Just then, someone bumped into him, knocking him back with considerable force. Joey didn’t need to see who it was; he already knew. He looked to his left and saw a tall, clean-shaven high schooler with messy hair. Surrounding him were three other guys with similar haircuts and builds, dressed in varsity jackets. The group’s identity was clear—they were the jocks. After the bump, Joey looked up at them, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, well if it isn’t Joey!” the leader, Derek Rose, sneered.

“Hey, Derek... listen, this isn’t a good time to talk,” Joey replied.

Derek and Joey had a history, knowing each other since elementary school. Derek had always tormented Joey—never too harshly, but enough to make him a target. Joey had learned to avoid Derek and ignore the bullying, but today, he wasn’t so lucky.

THUD.

Derek shoved him hard into a locker, causing Joey’s head to rattle. He cried out in pain.

“You’re such a buzzkill, man. Learn to lighten up,” Derek said, his grin widening in sadistic pleasure. His posse joined in, giggling like schoolchildren at Joey’s discomfort.

Joey’s mind raced. I cannot deal with this right now—

Before Derek could shove him again, one of the jock’s friends tapped him on the shoulder. Derek turned quickly. “Whaddya want, Jack?—Ah, I see. Let’s scram, guys.”

Joey noticed a teacher walking by and quickly realized he was safe, for now. He took the opportunity to escape and rushed to class, eager to avoid Derek and his crew.

He sat at his assigned desk in the corner of his math class, resting his head on his arms. Math—specifically precalculus—was never fun, especially after losing his parents. Joey wasn’t good at math; it was his least favorite subject. But there was one bright spot in this otherwise bleak situation: Aira Posey, a sophomore girl. Aira had glasses, straight black hair, and a slightly acne-covered face. She usually sat in the corner, quiet and reserved—definitely part of the “nerd” clique.

Joey didn’t have a crush on someone “hot” like Julia Potter from the popular group. He was realistic—he saw himself as average, and he preferred to crush on someone who was closer to his level of attractiveness. Aira was smart, too—Joey had always wanted an intellectual partner to make up for his own lack of intelligence.

But at this point, all Joey cared about was becoming a fighter and pulling his siblings out of poverty. Still… it wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, zoning out as he stared at his empty desk.

As the room filled with noise from other students, the door opened, and a man walked in. He was bald, well-dressed, and gave off an air of professionalism. “Good morning, class,” he said, his voice cutting through the chatter.

No one responded, but the teacher didn’t mind. He scanned the room, noting the lifeless faces of the students. No one’s enthusiastic to learn precalc in the morning. Big surprise. He caught a glimpse of Joey, who appeared to be half asleep, daydreaming. That senior’s back at it again. Might as well be sleeping. At least make it less obvious…

The teacher cleared his throat. “Alright class, take your seats, settle down, and get out your notes.”

Joey didn’t hear him. He kept staring at his desk, lost in thought. Then, something hit him on the head. A crumpled paper ball rolled behind him. He looked around to see Julia Potter and half the class staring at him. Some were smiling; others were blank-faced.

Joey’s heart raced. They’re laughing at me. They’re all laughing at me.

The teacher turned and noticed Joey sitting upright. “Ah, looks like you’re up. Mind telling me what eccentricity is, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Uhhhh…” Joey scrambled through his notes, still distracted by the paper ball. Even the teacher’s on me. I can’t catch a break.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Is it how excited someone is?” Joey stammered, feeling heat rise to his face.

The class went silent. Joey knew the answer was wrong. He felt the weight of everyone’s judgment.

“That is… incorrect,” the teacher said, his voice cold. “Does anyone else want to help him?”

Julia’s hand shot up, and she smirked. “I know it, Mr. Birch!”

Mr. Birch gestured to her. “Eccentricity is how much a conic section deviates from being a circle. You went over it last class, it should be pretty OBVIOUS.”

Julia’s smug expression was aimed directly at Joey, and he lowered his head, his thoughts clouded with self-loathing. Why does life have to be so cruel?

After that exchange, Mr. Birch continued the lesson, purposefully avoiding Joey. The bell rang, and the students rushed out of the room. Joey quickly stood up, eager to escape.

Before he could leave, Mr. Birch placed a hand on his shoulder. Joey closed his eyes, fighting the urge to bolt. The teacher began talking, but Joey wasn’t listening. He was staring out the window, lost in thought until he heard four golden words:

“…How’s everything at home?”

Joey snapped back to reality, meeting Mr. Birch’s warm, concerned gaze. I could tell him about the accident. Maybe he could help me out or even give me a grade boost…

He hesitated, weighing the options, but then realized what was happening. Pity. That’s what he’s offering. I don’t need it. If I need pity to get something, then I don’t deserve it.

“Everything’s fine at home. I just played video games too much last night,” Joey lied.

Mr. Birch gave him a disapproving frown but quickly returned to a smile. “Alright, make sure to play those games in moderation. Focus on your studies.”

“Will do!” Joey said, forcing a smile. As soon as he left the classroom, he let the smile drop. Studies don’t pay the bills, though.

Joey’s other classes were normal, he barely paid any attention and snuck peeks at his phone to see if the text from Ethan arrived. Unfortunately, it was all quiet from him, that was until lunch arrived. After his third block Spanish class, Joey made his way into his usual spot in the cafeteria, a small table with four seats where he quietly ate his food in peace. As he munched on his school-issued pile of “edible” foodstuffs, he spotted Derek again. The jock walked by, staring at Joey before turning back to his posse and laughing. Normally, Joey would feel anxious about what they were laughing about, but now he doesn’t care.

Those idiots are probably talking about me… who cares? I need that damn text. Joey whipped out his phone and began scrolling through social media when all of a sudden a notification came up. It was from Ethan Marshall. Joey’s pupils expanded, it was finally time to begin his fighting journey and put his life back on track. He tapped on the text, and analyzed what Ethan wrote. 43310 on 7th street, that isn’t too far away! 7th street was only around a 15 minute walk from the Winger apartment which was one 5th street, this was big news as it meant transportation wouldn’t be an issue which allowed both time and money to be saved. Joey also didn’t own a bike, so the walkable distance was huge. Joey then went on to his phone’s map app, checking the gym’s reviews. The gym was called “Chris’ MMA” and had a staggering… 2.3 stars. Most of the reviews were relatively recent too, almost all of them mentioning how the coach wouldn’t accept students. He was confused until he saw the price of a class, $80 a month, affordable enough to not be a liability. Surprisingly, there were many 5 star reviews from satisfied customers, although they were many years old. Every single one of them though all talked about the connections the coach had and his “unique” lessons.

That might be a red flag… but I’ll take it! It’s time for my first steps on my fighting journey. Thought a smiling Joey. Seeing his large grin, Derek turned to his friends and whispered, “Look at that npc, the hell is he smiling about?” One of his friends pitched an idea, “He probably got a match on grindr.” This caused a chain reaction of everyone at the lunch table discussing what exactly made Joey happy while staring at his phone. They didn’t even try to hide it, making sure it was within earshot of Joey. He didn’t care or at least, he didn’t show it on his face. Lunch ended without incident, Derek and his posse soon grew bored of their antics, and moved on to talk about sports. Everything around Joey was a blur, oblivious to the world around him. It was as if time was passing on fast forward, in the blink of an eye Joey was in his English class right before the bell rang. His teacher, Mrs. Beauford, talked about the lesson as Joey finally focused.

“...And the essence- oh it seems like class will be over very soon. Make sure to do your reading homewor-”

RIIIINNNNGG

The school bell rang, marking the end of the day and the sudden end of students’ attention. They all flocked out of the classroom, but a stunned Joey still remained confused on what just happened. His brain finally caught up with his body, and the sudden influx of his actions had him dazzled. The teacher noticed him and smiled at his eagerness to learn.

She decided to compliment his desire to learn, “Wow, at least one student…”

Joey immediately put his stuff in his backpack and left the class quickly. She stares at an empty classroom, I hate teaching fourth block. The excitement of Ethan’s info gave Joey a boost of energy, he dashed between people, dodging and weaving high schoolers. His dodging did cause some turmoil though, many students cursing at him for cutting them. The door of the exit was nothing more than a blinding wall of light, running into it he opened his arms wide and breathed in the air.

Embarrassingly, he yelled out his inner thoughts, “Life’s BACK ON TRACK! WOOO HOOOO.”

He started sprinting down the streets towards the gym, having memorized the directions in his head while zoned out. People stared at him, Joey didn’t care though, he didn’t have time to care about something as irrelevant as other’s opinions. He ran and ran and ran, the citizens of MoCity’s downtown looking at the crazy guy running. His mind raced with the directions, Turn left here, keep going, turn right at 11th street, it’s just straight ahead. Joey noticed the sign, but his legs were starting to slow down. Just a little…. Finally, he arrived at the gym.

Joey immediately stopped, putting his hands down on his knees and breathing heavily. He wiped down his sweat and needed some time to recuperate. After he rested for a little, he looked up where he arrived. It definitely met up to his expectations, it was a little dusty, but there wasn’t any broken windows or graffiti, a good sign. He looked through the wide window, as he got close he began to see the inside… It was disappointing. There were four people in the gym, one old guy with a scruffy beard wearing a beanie and a sweat suit. The rest were people much younger, they looked around Joey’s age and older, all dressed up in workout clothing such as tank tops and shorts. As he peers in, he notices the old man talking to them as they performed the same punching motions over and over again on some punching bags.

Must be in the middle of a lesson, do I bother them? Joey ponders. He quickly shakes his head, he came all the way out here, he’s gotta try at least. Joey grabs the cold door handle and pushes the door open, a bell rings as he does so. The four people quickly stop what they’re doing and stare at the unwelcome visitor. Joey immediately gets embarrassed and awkwardly waves, “Hello?”

The man with the beanie begins to walk over, Joey’s pulse rises. “Whaddya wa- hold on, give me a second.”

The man turns around to the three guys, “Who said you could stop? Keep going! Anyway, why are ya here son?”

Joey can’t make eye contact, his eyes wander around the gym’s equipment, “Ummm… I’m here to sign up for some classes. I want to learn to fight.”

The old man continues staring at Joey, “Yeah, no duh. If you want classes just sign up over there, we can negotiate prices later. But first, why do you want to fight?”

Joey stops staring away from him and begins eye contact. Why I want to fight… well for money, but do I be honest? Joey scratches his chin and looks down, causing the old man to be impatient. “Well, hurry up then! I’m in a class here!” Joey quickly responds under pressure, “Oh yeah, uhhh I want to fight for… money.”

The man sighs after hearing his answer, “Money, it is always for money. Everyone thinks fighters can easily become rich, welp, that’s all I need to hear, door’s right there pal.” He points out towards the door.

“Wait, I think there’s been a misunderstanding-”

“Yeah, it’s you misunderstanding basic directions. Leave. Now.”

The man begins walking towards Joey, forcing him to back up towards the door.

“You don’t understand, I really need…”

He goes faster now, chasing Joey out of the gym.

“Nah ah, don’t want to hear it, now get… OUT.”

Joey goes backwards to the point where there’s nowhere to go but outside. The man pushes him out the door, then quickly closes it. A shuffle and a click is heard, signaling Joey’s been locked out.

Joey sat down on the curb outside the gym, the weight of defeat sinking into his chest. He had given everything—his time, his energy, and his hopes—to this one shot. This was his final opportunity to secure a way out of his situation, to find a path forward in life. And now it was slipping through his fingers. It’s over, he thought. I’m done. At least, that’s what most people would say.

But Joey wasn’t most people.

He had made a promise to himself. A promise to his father. There was nothing, no matter how harsh, that was going to stop him from becoming a fighter. This isn’t the end, he thought, his resolve hardening. I’m not quitting here.

Determined, he stood up and marched back toward the door. He pounded his fists against it, the sound echoing in the gym. The knocks rang out like the beat of his own heart—loud and insistent, refusing to fade. Inside, the beanie-wearing man turned, irritated, but told his students to ignore it. Joey didn’t care. The banging continued, relentless. Minutes passed, but it didn’t stop. His arms were starting to ache, but Joey ignored the pain. Every thud against the door pushed him forward, the fear of homelessness driving him to keep going.

Just as he felt his strength begin to waver, he sensed something. The air grew thick with tension, a feeling of something—or someone—approaching. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, the heavy presence drawing nearer. His body tensed, preparing for whatever was to come. The door swung open with a harsh creak, and the man with the beanie glared down at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” the man spat, his voice harsh and demanding.

Without thinking, Joey dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a desperate, pleading gesture. “Please, please, please let me explain myself!” he begged, looking up at the man, his heart racing.

The man sighed, rolling his eyes. “Ugh… fine. What’s your deal?”

Joey’s face lit up with hope. “Well, I want to fight... for money, of course!”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and he began to close the door, but Joey’s hand shot out, blocking it. “Wait, just hear me out. Please, it’s not what you think.”

The beanie-wearing man paused, hand still on the door, and finally, with a sigh, stopped trying to shut him out. “Alright, I’m listening,” he said, his tone softer but still cautious.

Joey quickly spilled his story, his entire situation—the struggle, the desperation, the need to support his family. The man listened intently, his expression unreadable, while the other students silently observed behind him.

“So you want money, but only to support your family, right?” the old man asked, a touch of understanding in his voice.

“Correct,” Joey responded, nodding fervently.

“Alright, that makes sense,” the man muttered. “But why not just get a normal job? Why fighting?”

Joey shifted uneasily. “I’m not exactly the brightest, and I can’t exactly kickstart a career. Minimum wage jobs don’t cut it for what I need. Fighting... fighting brings in money fast, and I have some experience.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Experience? What kind of experience?”

Joey hesitated for a moment before replying. “I took boxing classes when I was 10.”

“Really? How many?”

“Two,” Joey muttered, a sheepish smile crossing his face.

The man stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright, fine. Go sign up over there on the sheet.” He motioned toward a tattered signup sheet on the wall.

Joey’s excitement was palpable, but something nagged at him. He paused before heading over to the paper. “Wait, I don’t get it. Why do you need a good reason? Why not just accept anyone who’s willing to pay?”

The old man sighed, clearly ready for a lecture. “You see, this gym used to have a lot of students. I had a reputation. One of my students, my star pupil, he was exceptional. He won fight after fight. People knew him, respected him. But he started fighting for quick cash, for fame, for easy money. He abandoned everything I taught him—everything I believe in. He brought shame to my name, and now... I can’t just take anyone. I need to know if they’re here for the right reasons. If they’re just in it for the money, like he was, then I can’t train them. I won’t create another fighter like him.”

Joey’s eyes widened. Wow... this guy actually has integrity. He was willing to sacrifice profits, to turn away money, just to preserve his values. Joey nodded slowly, taking it all in. “I get it now. That... that really puts things into perspective. I’ll sign up now.”

Joey walked over to the sign-up sheet, where three boxes were marked for name, date of birth, and phone number. It was simple, straightforward. He filled it out quickly and returned to the man, who was now berating his students for taking an unauthorized break.

“Pain is good in this building! If it hurts so much, go back to your damn cradle!” the man yelled, clearly frustrated. Then, noticing Joey, he gave him a pointed look. “Oh, it’s you.”

Joey, still riding the high of his success, stretched his arms and smiled. “So, what’s the lesson today?”

The students burst out laughing. “Lesson? Today? Dude, you just signed up,” one of them chuckled.

The beanie-wearing man placed a hand on Joey’s shoulder. “Listen, I’ll text you when the first class is. You can head home for now.”

Joey’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. I thought I’d at least do some sparring today… Just as he was about to leave, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

His heart leaped. Yes! He’s joking! I’m actually starting today!

He turned around with a hopeful look on his face. But the man just shook his head. “As I said, no lesson today. But before you go, let me introduce you to everyone. I’m Coach Chris, but you can just call me Coach... or Chris. Whatever feels better.”

Coach Chris pointed to a bald guy with glasses. “This is James. He’s a father of two and fights to protect his family. It’s... a work in progress.” Then he gestured to a younger kid with curly brown hair and freckles. “That’s Zack. He’s a sophomore at another school. He comes here to fight, says it’s for defense... but I think he just wants more confidence.” Finally, he pointed to a tall blonde man with a beard and a combover. “And this is Paulson. He came here because his dad was a fighter, and he wants to follow in his footsteps after his dad passed away.”

Joey’s heart softened. “Oh, my condolences. When did he pass?”

“Last week,” Coach Chris replied flatly.

An awkward silence fell over the group before Coach Chris broke it with a forced cheerfulness. “Anyway, that’s everyone. Make sure you pay your dues. If you miss a payment, well... you’ll miss a few teeth,” he warned with a grin.

Joey chuckled nervously, but his attention was drawn to a photo on the wall—one showing a younger Coach Chris with a championship belt around his waist. Suddenly, the threat didn’t seem like a joke anymore.

“Alright, I’ll see you around, then. Don’t forget to pay up!” Coach Chris waved as Joey turned to leave.

Joey made his way out of the gym, still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions. As he stepped onto the busy streets of MoCity, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He had taken the first step toward his goal, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was moving in the right direction.

As he walked toward home, humming a quiet tune, he couldn’t help but smile. Today was a good day. I’m on my way to becoming a fighter.

Then, as his hand subconsciously went to his chin, he remembered. The ice cream! He sighed in frustration. Mary and Ryan are gonna be so pissed…

End of Chapter 1

Next Chapter: Pain is Gain