Marcel sat on the cold wooden bench, the smell of disinfectant and air freshener heavy in the locker room air. His gloves rested on his knees, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that betrayed none of the chaos waiting for him beyond those doors.
He pushed his damp hair back, eyes unfocused, lost in thought. He was calm, too calm for a man about to step into a fight that promised blood.
When he moved to Marico, his dream had been simple. He wanted a quiet life, a small business, and a safe home for his sister Lira and her son, Leo. He wanted to give Leo something better than the shadows he and his sister had grown up in.
Yet, the moment he signed the papers for the space and the house, he realized that peace was not something men like him were allowed to keep. Trouble had a way of sniffing him out, no matter how far he ran.
It didn't take long before Lira caught some rich moron's attention and the man wouldn't take no for an answer stalking Lira everywhere she went.
After she refused him time and time again, he grew bold. Lira, trying to protect Marcel from more burdens, kept silent about it. That is until the day Leo vanished from daycare. Her panicked call had nearly broken him.
While Marcel was mobilizing every resource he had to find his nephew, it turns out that it was that man who grabbed Leo. He even smugly messaged Lira that he was "kind enough" to pick him up, Marcel saw red. Negotiation was never his way. He retrieved Leo, but the retaliation came swiftly. That man was no ordinary person, he was the mayor's son-in-law.
Marcel had survived his upbringing by learning how to bend without breaking. He smoothed things over, struck an agreement, and kept his family safe. It was then he realized that without power there was no way he was going to live a peaceful life. Without power, peace was an illusion.
Thus, over the years, Marcel had been entangled with the elite of Marico providing them protection, negotiating their rivalries, and keeping the peace when tempers flared. Yet here and there, trouble still found him.
Like this Ren fellow. It wasn't about the nephew he had clashed with earlier that afternoon; it was about pride, about putting Marcel "in his place." But Marcel had no intention of letting that happen.
The door creaked open, and Archie stepped inside, gauze and tape in hand. His pink hair was damp, his expression tight. "Boss, you really don't have to do this," he said, his voice heavy with concern.
Marcel didn't look up. "How many times do you have to say it?"
Archie sighed, shoulders slumping. He knew Marcel's body carried scars from the past, wounds that never fully healed. That was why he tried to convince him to stay clear of the ring. But Marcel was stubborn, and stubbornness was carved into his bones.
Archie began wrapping Marcel's hands, his movements careful. "Fine, just end it as fast as you can. And watch out for dirty tricks. Anyone who hangs around that douchebag isn't upright."
Marcel smirked. "You are acting like an old mother. You worry too much."
Archie's expression stiffened. "Yeah, yeah. I am an old mother. If I don't worry about you, who else will?"
Marcel chuckled, the sound low. "Don't worry. I will end it quickly, and then we can all go have dinner together."
Archie's eyes lit up. "Are you paying?"
Marcel raised a brow. "What do you think?"
Archie grinned. "There's a new place two streets over. A BBQ joint. I have always wanted to try it."
"Mm," Marcel replied, flexing his wrapped hands.
Archie checked his work and nodded. "Good."
Suddenly, a knock rattled the door. A curly head poked through, eyes wide. "Boss, they are here. And they are making a raucous."
Archie scowled, folding his arms. "They better not break any shit, Curly."
Toni, the curly-haired man, bristled. "Quit calling me that."
Archie smirked. "You called me Pinkie. Don't think I didn't hear that shit."
Toni's mouth opened, then closed. "…" He finally muttered, "I will tell them to behave." With that, he slipped out, leaving Archie to watch Marcel pull on his gloves.
"Break a leg, boss," Archie said.
Marcel's glare was sharp enough to cut steel. Archie winced before correcting himself. "Oops—I meant kick ass."
Marcel smacked him upside the head and strode out. Archie yelped, rubbing his scalp, and hurried after him. "Boss, I was wrong!"
When Marcel entered the gym, the place was packed. The air was thick with tension, the kind that could ignite with a single spark.The two sides were separated, but barely. One wrong word and the whole room would erupt.
From across the crowd, Marcel met Ren's gaze. Ren lounged with a cigarette pinched between his fingers, a wisp of smoke curling upward. He puffed out a cloud, smirking.
"Finally, the man of the hour arrives," Ren drawled. "I thought you ran off crying like a little bitch."
Marcel didn't bother responding. His silence was sharper than any insult. He walked straight to the ring, his steps steady, his presence commanding.
Ren's voice followed him. "How about this. You apologize to my nephew, and I can let this go. The apology has to be very sincere though."
Marcel leaned against the ropes, his eyes sliding to the so-called nephew. The man's face was red with anger, humiliation burning in his cheeks. The incident earlier must have been so embarrassing that he had gone crying to his uncle.
Marcel's lips curled into a devilish smirk. He pointed straight at the nephew, his tone dripping with disdain. "Seems like the only little bitch in here is him."
The words struck like a match. The nephew, Miso, as Marcel now knew, exploded on the spot, lunging forward with fists clenched. Chaos erupted instantly. Curses flew, insults rained down, and the crowd surged like a storm breaking loose.
"Enough."
Marcel's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that silenced the room. The authority in it was undeniable. The noise died almost immediately, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing and shuffling feet.
Miso was yanked back by the scruff of his neck, his uncle Ren's grip iron-tight. Ren's eyes narrowed, his voice calm but sharp.