The heavy oak door of the locker room swung open.
The hinges didn’t creak.
At Zenith, everything was oiled and perfect.

Richard Cole stepped into the room.
He wore a charcoal bespoke suit that draped over his frame without a single wrinkle.
Two men in dark suits flanked him. Private security.

Cole looked around the barren locker room, his nose wrinkling slightly as if the very air was contaminated.

“Ten minutes,” Cole said, checking a Patek Philippe watch.
He looked at Tommy, his gaze lingering on the boy’s small frame.
“Try not to make it too short. My guests paid for a show.”

Ernest stood up slowly.
He positioned himself between Cole and his son.

Cole smiled.
“May the best bloodline win.”

He turned and left.

Ernest turned back to Tommy.
“Forget him. Breathe.”

The walk to the ring felt like a funeral procession.
The crowd parted as they approached.
Whispers followed them.

Tommy climbed through the ropes.
The canvas felt soft under his shoes, almost luxurious.
He stood in his corner, staring across at Hunter.

Hunter was already in the ring, bouncing lightly, shadowboxing.
His gear was pristine white with gold trim.
He looked like a professional.

The announcer’s voice boomed.
“In the blue corner… weighing one hundred and forty-two pounds… Hunter Cole!”

Polite applause.

“And in the red corner… weighing ninety-one pounds… Tommy Penhallagan!”

Silence.
A few scattered, awkward claps.

The referee called them to the center.
“I want a clean fight. Protect yourselves at all times. Obey my commands. Touch gloves and go back to your corners.”

Hunter slammed his gloves into Tommy’s hard enough to knock him back a step.
He smirked.

Tommy just nodded and walked back.

The bell rang.

Hunter came out fast.
He threw a hard jab that snapped Tommy’s head back.
Tommy’s eyes watered.

Hunter followed with a right cross that caught Tommy on the cheek.
Tommy staggered.

The crowd murmured with approval.

Hunter pressed forward, throwing combinations.
Tommy covered up, absorbing shots on his arms and gloves.
He was being driven back.

Ernest’s voice cut through the noise.
“Hands up! Move your feet!”

Tommy circled left.
Hunter cut him off and threw a left hook to the body.
Tommy exhaled hard and stepped in, landing a short right to Hunter’s chest.

It barely registered.

Hunter laughed and continued the assault.

By the end of the first round, Tommy’s left eye was swelling.
His lips were bleeding.
He sat on the stool, breathing hard.