“Marcus, is it true you offered an old man money to take punches because you thought it would make you look powerful?”
The final question produced a murmur among the reporters.
Marcus leaned toward the microphone.
“I made a stupid decision. I apologized to the man involved, and I've learned from it.”
A reporter called out, “But do you think he could beat you?”
Marcus looked toward the back of the room.
For a moment, he imagined Samuel standing there in his work boots, quietly observing the spectacle.
“I don't know,” Marcus answered.
The room became noticeably louder.
His manager, Victor Hale, stared at him.
Daniel Cross raised his eyebrows.
The promoter leaned forward, clearly delighted by the unexpected answer.
“You don't know?”
“No,” Marcus said. “I've never fought him. He never agreed to fight me. Anything else would be speculation.”
Daniel studied him with renewed interest.
“That might be the most sensible thing you've said all afternoon.”
A few reporters laughed.
Marcus smiled faintly.
“Don't get used to it.”
The tension eased, and the conversation returned to the scheduled bout. But something had changed. Marcus had refused to turn Samuel into a publicity stunt, even though doing so would almost certainly have generated headlines.
Victor noticed.
After the conference, he pulled Marcus aside.
“You handled that well.”
Marcus looked surprised.
“Is that a compliment?”
“Don't make me regret it.”
Victor adjusted his jacket.
“You understand that people will still ask about the farmer, don't you?”
“I know.”
“And some of them will accuse you of being afraid of him.”
“Let them.”
Victor studied him carefully.
“That's new.”
Marcus shrugged.
“Maybe I'm tired of answering questions that don't matter.”
Across the corridor, Daniel Cross was speaking with his coach. Marcus approached him.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
Daniel folded his arms.
“About the farmer?”
“No. About our fight.”
That caught Daniel's attention.
Marcus continued.
“I've been reviewing your previous bouts. I know you prefer to counter when your opponent overcommits. I also know you've been working on your wrestling defense.”
Daniel smiled slightly.
“Trying to figure me out?”
“Trying to understand what I need to improve.”
“That's a better reason.”
Marcus hesitated.
“If I lose, I lose. But I don't want to spend the fight trying to prove something that has nothing to do with you.”
Daniel's expression became thoughtful.
“Then don't.”
The answer was simple.
They shook hands.
For years, Marcus had viewed opponents as obstacles between himself and the next stage of his career. He had studied their weaknesses with the single-minded purpose of exploiting them.
Now he was beginning to recognize something else.
Daniel Cross was not a villain waiting to be defeated. He was another athlete who had spent years refining his abilities, overcoming setbacks, and preparing for a dangerous contest.
Respecting him did not make Marcus weaker.
It made the contest more honest.
That evening, Marcus returned to the gym and told Adrian that he wanted to change the final weeks of his training camp.
Less unnecessary sparring.
More technical work.
More attention to recovery.
And no more chasing demonstrations simply to satisfy his pride.
Adrian listened, then nodded.
“Good. Now let's see whether you can maintain that attitude when somebody hits you.”
Marcus grinned.
“I'm counting on you to try.”
For the first time in weeks, the fighter felt ready to prepare for the right reason.
He was not training to silence the internet or erase an embarrassing memory.
He was training because a difficult challenge deserved his full attention.
And whatever happened on fight night, he intended to meet it without hiding behind an image.
The bank's representative arrived at the Bennett farm on a cold Tuesday morning.
Her name was Elaine Porter. She had handled agricultural loans for twelve years and had developed a reputation for being direct without being unkind. She arrived carrying a folder thick enough to contain every financial problem Samuel had tried to manage alone.
Rebecca met her at the kitchen table.
Samuel sat beside his daughter, wearing his cleanest work shirt and the expression of a man preparing to receive a difficult diagnosis.
Elaine opened the folder.
“I've reviewed the revised figures,” she said. “Your daughter has put together a reasonable proposal. However, the bank still needs evidence that the farm can generate sufficient income over the next twelve months.”
Samuel nodded.
“What kind of evidence?”
“A realistic production plan, a breakdown of repair costs, and a schedule for repayment. We also need to understand whether you intend to continue operating the farm at its current size.”
Rebecca glanced at her father.
“We're prepared to reduce some expenses and lease part of the north field.”
Elaine made a note.
“That would help. But it won't solve the entire shortfall.”
Samuel folded his hands.
“How much time do we have?”
“Thirty days to submit a complete proposal. If the committee approves it, we can discuss restructuring the loan. If not, the bank may have to begin formal recovery procedures.”
The words were delivered calmly, but their meaning was unmistakable.
Thirty days.