Ace Charles didn't count fights the way other people did.
He didn't count bruises.He didn't count victories shouted into cameras.He didn't count applause.
He counted outcomes.
The private gym overlooked the East River, sealed behind biometric locks and nondisclosure agreements thicker than most corporate contracts. It wasn't flashy. No banners. No mirrors meant for vanity.
Just space.
Ace stood barefoot on the mat, suit jacket folded neatly on a chair, dress shirt sleeves rolled up. His frame was all controlled power—muscle built for efficiency, not display.
Across from him stood a man who had headlined arenas.
Jon Jones didn't look impressed.
He looked curious.
"This isn't a fight," Jon said calmly. "This is sparring."
Ace nodded. "Correct."
Jon tilted his head. "Then why does it feel like a test?"
Ace met his gaze, golden eyes steady.
"Because it is."
The bell sounded.
No crowd.No noise.No drama.
Jon moved first—probing, calculating, elite instincts sharp as ever.
Ace moved second.
Always second.
He didn't rush. He didn't chase. He observed angles, timing, balance. Jon was fast. Dangerous. Adaptive.
But predictable.
Three minutes in, Jon stepped back, breathing steady but eyes narrowed.
"You're reading me," he said.
Ace adjusted his stance. "I always do."
They continued.
No knockdowns. No humiliation. Just control. Precision. Disengagement at exactly the right moment.
When the bell sounded again, Jon stepped back and raised a hand.
"That's enough," he said.
Ace nodded.
Fight #112Opponent: Jon JonesResult: Controlled superiority
Jon exhaled, shaking his head. "You don't fight to win."
Ace picked up a towel. "Winning is incidental."
Jon laughed once. "You're dangerous."
Ace didn't deny it.
By the time Ace returned to Pearson Hardman, dawn had broken.
The firm was quiet.
Perfect.
He changed back into his suit, every movement seamless, and stepped into his office as if nothing outside the law existed.
But the law wasn't the only place power gathered.
Jessica Pearson was waiting.
"You're early," she said.
Ace nodded. "Discipline scales."
Jessica studied him carefully. "People are asking questions."
"About my cases?"
"About you."
Ace leaned against his desk. "They always will."
Jessica hesitated. "There are rumors."
Ace raised an eyebrow.
"Combat training. Private bouts. Elite opponents."
Ace's expression didn't change.
"Is that a problem?"
Jessica considered.
"No," she said honestly. "It's an explanation."
Ace nodded.
Fight #119Opponent: Reputation driftStatus: Managed
Harvey found out the hard way.
They were in the hallway when Harvey noticed the faint tape beneath Ace's cuff.
"What's that?" Harvey asked casually.
Ace didn't hide it. "Support."
Harvey smirked. "You get that from filing motions?"
Ace met his gaze. "From preparation."
Harvey studied him more closely now—the posture, the stillness, the absence of wasted motion.
"You've been in fights," Harvey said.
"Yes."
Harvey's smile faded slightly. "Real ones."
Ace nodded again.
Harvey exhaled. "How many?"
Ace thought for a moment.
"A thousand," he said.
Harvey laughed. "Bullshit."
Ace leaned closer, voice low.
"I don't bluff."
Harvey searched his face.
And for the first time since Ace arrived, Harvey didn't see arrogance.
He saw experience.
Fight #131Opponent: Harvey Specter's disbeliefStatus: Resolved
That afternoon, Ace declined three cases.
Too small.Too reactive.Too inefficient.
Louis Litt hovered nervously outside his office.
"You're turning down money," Louis said.
Ace looked up. "I'm refining signal."
Louis hesitated. "You don't need to prove anything."
Ace stood.
"I already did," he said. "Now I enforce standards."
Louis swallowed.
"People think you're unbeatable."
Ace paused.
"Incorrect," he said. "I'm just prepared."
Fight #146Opponent: ComplacencyStatus: Prevented
That evening, Ace received a message.
Encrypted. Private.
Evelyn Vale:Dinner. Tomorrow. No entourage.
Ace read it once.
Then replied.
Ace Charles:Accepted.
His system flagged the interaction—not as threat, but as anomaly.
Interesting.
Fight #152Opponent: Emotional variableStatus: Escalating
Later, alone in his office, Ace reviewed his internal logs.
Physical fights: rare.Legal battles: constant.Psychological duels: daily.
All counted.All measured.
Total Recorded Fights: 998Losses: 0Draws: 3
Two more remained unlogged.
Ace closed the file.
Some fights weren't meant to be recorded yet.
Outside, the city pulsed—unaware, unprepared.
Inside the firm, power continued to realign.
Ace Charles straightened his cufflinks, golden eyes reflecting the skyline.
A thousand ways to win.
And he intended to master every one.