Three weeks in, Blaze's body felt like it belonged to someone else.
The soreness never left—it just moved around. Legs one day. Arms the next. His knuckles were raw, red beneath the wraps. But his form was getting sharper. His feet lighter. His jab faster.
He didn't complain. Not once.And Mason noticed.
"You're stubborn," Mason muttered one morning, watching Blaze work the bag. "You ever get hit in the face?"
Blaze shook his head. "Not properly."
Mason grinned, the way wolves grin before they bite. "Good. That's about to change."
The next morning, Blaze stepped into the sparring ring for the first time.
It wasn't the main ring. No cameras. No audience. Just cracked leather gloves, beat-up headgear, and a kid named Rico standing across from him. Rico was short, stocky, maybe nineteen, with quick hands and something nasty in his smile.
"Fresh meat," Rico said, tapping his gloves together.
Blaze wasn't scared. Not exactly. Just alert, heart hammering hard enough to shake his ribs.
Mason leaned against the ropes, arms crossed. "Light spar. Just get a feel. Don't be stupid."
Blaze nodded. Gloves up. Chin down.
The first punch caught him before he even realized Rico had moved.
Whap.
A clean right hook to the jaw, spinning his head sideways. Blaze's legs wobbled, his mouthpiece nearly falling out.
So this is what it's like.
Rico didn't stop. Another jab. Another body shot, folding Blaze like an old lawn chair. His stomach felt like it was collapsing inward.
Mason didn't say a word. He just watched.
Blaze swung back, wild, desperate. Missed by a mile.Rico countered with a sharp shot to the temple. Pop.
Blaze hit the canvas before he realized he was falling.
The ceiling looked very far away.
"Stay down, rookie," Rico laughed, pulling his gloves off. "Go back to jump rope."
Blaze's vision blurred at the edges, but inside—something boiled. Humiliation, yeah. But something else too. A burn. A fury aimed not at Rico—but at the version of himself still too slow, too weak, too small.
This is why they forget you.This is why they walk over you.Not anymore.
His glove hit the mat. Then his knee. Then he stood.
Mason's lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.
"You done?" the old man asked.
Blaze took out his mouthguard, spat blood to the floor, and grinned for the first time in weeks.
"Again."