Tommy stepped forward and swung his right arm.
It was a looping, awkward strike.
The glove slapped against the leather with a pathetic thud.
The heavy bag didn’t even sway.

Tommy dropped his arms, his face flushing red.
“I can’t do this.”

“Stop,” Ernest said sharply.
He stepped behind Tommy, grabbing his hips.
“You’re throwing from your shoulder. Your arm is just the whip. Your legs and your hips are the handle. Power comes from the floor. Up through the legs, twisting the hip, extending the shoulder. Try again. Step into it.”

Tommy squared up.
He took a breath, twisted his back foot, and snapped his right hand forward.

Smack.

It wasn’t a knockout blow, but the bag swung backward an inch.
Tommy’s eyes widened.
He had felt the kinetic transfer.
He had felt the power generate from the ground up.

“Better,” Ernest said.
“Now do it ten thousand more times.”

The first week was agony.
Tommy came home every night covered in bruises, not from sparring, but from sheer clumsy exhaustion.
His shoulders ached so badly he couldn’t lift his fork at dinner.
His knuckles were raw beneath the wraps.

Ernest pushed him relentlessly.
There was no coddling.
If Tommy dropped his guard, Ernest would tap him on the forehead with a focus mitt.
Hard enough to sting, soft enough not to damage.

“Keep your hands up,” Ernest would bark.
“Cole’s kid hits harder than that. You want to eat a straight right because your arms are tired? Keep them up.”

While Tommy learned the mechanics of suffering, Richard Cole was busy constructing a spectacle.

Ernest received the official contract via courier on a Tuesday.
It was thirty pages of dense legalese printed on heavy stock paper.

Cole had rented out the grand ballroom of the Zenith Athletic Club.
He had hired professional referees, a ring announcer, and independent judges.
He was turning a schoolyard bullying incident into a private gladiator match for his wealthy friends.

Ernest sat at his kitchen table, a single yellow bulb buzzing overhead, and read the contract.
It was airtight.

Clause 4.2 explicitly stated that the one million dollars would be transferred via wire into Ernest’s designated account within twenty-four hours of a victory.

Clause 7.1 detailed the penalty of a loss.
Ernest would sign a non-disclosure agreement, waive all rights to sue Oakridge Academy, and legally agree to relocate out of the county within thirty days.

Ernest signed it.
His signature looked small and messy next to Cole’s flowing, confident script.

By week three, Tommy started to change.
The fear hadn’t left him.
Ernest didn’t want the fear to leave.
Fear kept you sharp.