Inside the MMA gym,
The rhythmic thud of gloves against leather echoed. Two fighters danced in the center of the ring, locked in a fierce spar, while other members sat nearby, quietly analyzing every exchange.
Benson stood at the apron, arms crossed, his focus entirely locked on the canvas.
"Mr. Benson?"
A boy walked up beside him. He was a new addition to the gym, only in his second week.
Benson turned, a welcoming smile breaking across his face. "Hi, kiddo."
"How are you, sir?" the boy asked.
"I'm doing good, and I hope you are, too."
The boy nodded, though he hesitated, shifting his weight.
"You can speak. Consider me as your elder brother."
The boy nodded, "Sir... about Enzo..."
Benson's smile faded into a calm, understanding nod. "Well, those were his own actions. There's nothing we can do about it now. Except one thing."
"Which is?"
"Learn from it," Benson said, turning back toward the ring. "We should always learn from the mistakes of others. His father is a good man and a close friend of mine. Enzo is a prodigy, but it was his own arrogance that led him to this."
The boy listened intently, watching the coach's profile.
"I'm also somewhat responsible for what happened," Benson added quietly. "I was his teacher, and I failed to guide him properly."
"But sir, you only trained him in MMA," the boy countered. "Your job is just to teach people how to fight here."
Benson shook his head. He knelt down at the boy and gently patted his head. "Kiddo, how old are you?"
"Thirteen."
"You're growing up," Benson smiled. "So, tell me, is it good for you to keep your body in good shape?"
"Yes, sir. Keeping your body in shape is very important."
"Exactly," Benson nodded. "And just like keeping your body in shape is vital in this day and age, keeping your mind healthy is just as important. In this gym, I don't just teach you how to fight. What I really teach you here is patience, discipline, and decision-making. Physical exercise opens up the mind. Sparring with a friend teaches you how to navigate conflict. But remember—learning to fight is never the main goal."
The boy's eyes widened, a look of profound respect crossing his face. "Sir, you are incredibly wise."
Benson let out a hearty laugh. "I don't even know how to answer that."
"Sir, I've made so many friends since I joined this place," the boy continued, looking around. "Do you have friends?"
"Yeah, I have friends," Benson said, a nostalgic glint in his eye. "But they're all busy with their own lives and careers now. One is a teacher, and another runs a shop—something like that. One has a family now."
Before the boy could respond, a few of his training partners approached. After politely asking Benson for permission, they grouped up and headed out for lunch.
Left alone, Benson's gaze lingered on the empty ring. A slow smile crept onto his face as a rumor crossed his mind.
"I heard there was someone who actually fought Enzo," he murmured to himself, his interest piqued. "Interesting. I want to meet him."
The next day,
Ethan was on his way to the training facility to meet Julian and the others. He was currently on the phone with Julian, asking for an update on Antonio's condition. Julian assured him that Antonio was doing fine and that they would be cleared to leave in a few days.
As Ethan entered the building, Harrison met him with a respectful nod. "Mr. Ethan, welcome. The former chairman is waiting for you."
Ethan stepped inside. Around him, the usual training routines were underway, the air thick with sweat and focus. His gaze swept the room until it landed on Allen.
Allen walked straight toward him, extending a hand.
Ethan shook it firmly.
"Come with me," Allen said, turning to lead the way.
As they climbed the stairs, Ethan's eyes caught a familiar face on the ground floor. It was Steve.
What is he doing here? Ethan thought, narrowing his eyes. He's Yuri's uncle's bodyguard.
Steve spotted Ethan at the exact same moment. His gaze turned instantly sharp, tracking Ethan's movement. Victor came and stood with Steve.
Reaching the upper floor, Ethan found the former chairman sitting comfortably, watching a group of bodyguards undergo rigorous training. The old man's personal security detail stood like a statue right behind his chair.
The chairman looked up, his sharp eyes locking onto Ethan.
"Welcome, Ethan. Please, sit," he said smoothly.
"Thanks for giving me your time," Ethan replied, taking a seat to the right of the old man.
"Allen told me that you wanted to discuss something with me?" the chairman asked.
Ethan nodded. He didn't waste time, opening his mouth to lay out his proposition.
A while later, Ethan finished his explanation.
"That's everything," Ethan concluded.
The old man sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the information, before giving a slow, deliberate nod. "Okay. I agree."
Ethan thanked him, stood up, and made his exit.
As soon as he descended the stairs, Allen was waiting for him. "What happened?"
"He agreed," Ethan said.
A smile broke across Allen's face, and he nodded in relief. "Welcome to our team."
Ethan nodded back, his eyes scanning the immediate area to see if Jake was anywhere around. Instead, he saw Madison walking briskly toward them.
"Ethan? What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised.
As Ethan and Madison struck up a conversation, Ethan caught movement out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't Jake. It was him—the man Yuri called uncle.
He was standing at an elevated vantage point, staring down at Ethan and Madison.
Steve and Victor walked towards the man.
"Who's that guy?" He asked, his voice low.
"A classmate of Madison's," Victor replied, standing right beside him.
He nodded.
"This kid is tough," Steve noted, his tone deadpan. The man gave a curt nod of agreement.
Sensing the heavy gaze, Ethan looked up. His eyes bypassed the Victor and Steve, locking straight onto Madison's father. Neither man blinked, their eyes meeting in a cold, silent evaluation.