be used outside the ring to teach a lesson in basic

human decency.

Back on the mats, the chaos was beginning to

subside as Leon stirred. With a loud, ragged gasp, the

champion's eyes fluttered open. He blinked violently,

staring blindly at the harsh fluorescent lights above

him. The world was spinning rapidly, a nauseating

carousel of faces and voices.

"Leon, hey, look at me," the coach said, snapping his

fingers in front of the fighter's eyes. "Do you know

where you are? What day is it?"

Leon tried to sit up, but a wave of dizzying pain

shot through his skull. He clutched his head, groaning

loudly. His jaw felt as though it had been unhinged and

reattached with rusted wire. Memory crashed back into

his brain like a tidal wave. The documentary. The

broken broom. The old man in the blue jacket.

He pushed the coach away, panic and profound

humiliation rising in his chest. "Where is he?" Leon

slurred, his words thick and clumsy through his swollen

jaw. "Where is that old man?"

The entourage looked at each other nervously.

Nobody had stopped Wilhelm from leaving. Nobody

had even thought to try. The fear of the old man’s power

had paralyzed them all. "He... he went to the back room,

boss," one of the cameramen whispered, avoiding eye

contact.

Leon forced himself to his feet, swaying

dangerously. His legs felt like jelly, and his peripheral

vision was blurred with dark spots. The indestructible

armor of his ego had been shattered into a million

irreparable pieces. The cameras that he had

commanded to roll were now his greatest nightmare;

the footage of his destruction was already secured on

multiple hard drives.

He needed to destroy the evidence. He needed to

find the old man and... and do what? Fight him again?

The mere thought sent a shiver of primal terror down

his spine. He remembered nothing of the punch, only

the darkness that followed. He was utterly terrified of

the janitor.

Before Leon could take a step toward the utility

closet, the heavy double doors at the front entrance of

the academy swung open with a resounding crash. The

sudden noise halted everyone in their tracks. The gym,

which had just begun to recover from one shock, was

about to be subjected to an even greater one.

Chapter 6: The Arrival of the

Legends

Through the doors walked three men whose

presence commanded absolute, terrifying authority in

the world of combat sports. The man in the center was

Marcus, the elusive billionaire owner of the academy.

But it was the two towering figures flanking him that

drew every eye in the room.

On his left was David "The Colossus" Mercer, the

current unified World Heavyweight Boxing Champion.

On his right was Ivan Romanov, the reigning

undisputed Heavyweight MMA Champion of the World.

These were not internet stars; these were living,

breathing titans, men who had forged their legacies in

oceans of blood and sweat. They were the very apex

predators of the fighting world.

Leon, still unsteady on his feet, felt a sudden surge

of panicked hope. Marcus was here. The owner would

protect his star asset. He would fire the janitor. He

would have the footage confiscated.

Leon stumbled forward, pushing past his

entourage. "Marcus! Marcus, thank God you're here.

You need to fire that lunatic in the back. He assaulted

me! He cheap-shotted me while I was distracted!"

Leon’s voice was a desperate, whining plea, entirely

devoid of his former arrogance.

Marcus stopped walking. The two heavyweight

champions stopped beside him. They looked at Leon,

taking in his pale face, his unsteady stance, and the

rapidly purpling bruise on his jawline. David Mercer, a

man who hit like a freight train, narrowed his eyes at