Ernest poured water into his mouth.
“Spit.”
Tommy spat red water into the bucket.
“He is stronger than you. He hits harder than you. But did you see what happened in the last ten seconds? Did you hear him?”
Tommy blinked, trying to clear the fog in his head.
“He was grunting,” Ernest said.
“He’s throwing everything with one hundred percent power. He expects you to fall down so he can go back to his private club and brag. He does not know how to fight a ghost. He only knows how to hit a wall. Stop being a wall.”
Ernest grabbed Tommy by the cheeks, forcing eye contact.
“He telegraphs the right. He drops his left shoulder. He bites down on his mouthpiece and he throws it. You saw it on the tape. You saw it in the ring just now. When he drops that shoulder, you step outside. You don’t block it. You let it miss. And you dig the left hook into his liver. Understand?”
“Liver?” Tommy wheezed.
“He hasn’t taken a punch yet,” Ernest said grimly.
“Let’s see what a billionaire’s son looks like when he finds out he bleeds like everyone else.”
“Seconds out!” the referee yelled.
Ernest pulled the stool.
“Go drown him.”
The bell rang for round two.
Hunter stalked out of his corner, rolling his shoulders.
A cocky smirk plastered across his face.
He thought the fight was already over.
He thought the first round had broken Tommy’s spirit.
Tommy walked to the center of the ring.
He didn’t raise his guard as high this time.
He kept his hands loose, his knees bent.
He looked lighter.
Hunter threw a lazy jab.
Tommy slipped it effortlessly, snapping a quick, stiff jab of his own straight into Hunter’s nose.
Pop.
It wasn’t a devastating punch, but it was fast, and it landed perfectly on the cartilage.
Hunter blinked, his eyes watering instantly.
He touched his glove to his nose.
It was a humiliating little sting.
“Lucky shot, rat,” Hunter hissed, his face flushing red with sudden venomous anger.
He lunged forward, throwing a furious one-two combination.
Tommy caught the jab on his glove and stepped backward, keeping the distance perfectly measured.
Hunter was swinging at air, expending massive amounts of energy.
From the corner, Ernest watched Hunter’s feet.
They were heavy.
The kid was dragging his back foot.
He was loading up.
