Tyler stepped into his path.

“Not now.”

“I'll only need a minute.”

“This is training time.”

Martin looked at the floor.

Sweat had collected near the fountain.

“I need to clean it before someone slips.”

Tyler laughed.

“You hear this guy?”

Amanda immediately raised her phone.

Several other fighters reached for theirs.

Tyler saw the cameras.

His personality changed.

He became a performer.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “apparently maintenance has decided he runs the gym.”

Nervous laughter.

Martin remained silent.

Tyler moved closer.

“You're getting too comfortable.”

Sarah stepped forward.

“Tyler, leave him alone.”

Tyler ignored her.

He jabbed a finger toward Martin.

“You don't belong in the ring.”

Martin looked at him.

“I never said I did.”

“Exactly.”

Tyler cracked his knuckles.

“You're a janitor.”

Martin nodded.

“Yes.”

“And I'm a professional boxer.”

“Yes.”

“So you understand the difference.”

Martin's expression didn't change.

Tyler smiled.

Then he said the sentence that changed everything.

“I'll throw one punch.”

The gym became quiet.

“If you dodge it,” Tyler continued, “I'll bow down and apologize.”

Amanda grinned at her camera.

Tyler was enjoying himself.

“But if I hit you,” he said, “you get on your knees and admit you don't belong around real fighters.”

Jake shifted uneasily.

“Tyler, that's enough.”

Tyler turned.

“What? You scared for him?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Martin looked around the gym.

Twenty-eight fighters.

Nearly all watching.

Some uncomfortable.

Some excited.

Some recording.

Some pretending this wasn't happening.

Martin looked at Tyler again.

“One punch?”

“One punch.”

“And if I move?”

“I apologize.”

“Publicly?”

Tyler laughed.

“Absolutely.”

“On camera?”

“Every camera.”

Martin nodded.

“Then I accept.”

Silence.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then the gym exploded with whispers.

Amanda stared at Martin.

Sarah's eyes widened.

Eddie's expression became intensely focused.

Tyler looked surprised.

Then he laughed.

“You're serious?”

“Yes.”

Tyler slapped his gloves together.

“Thirty minutes.”

Martin waited.

“I want a proper warm-up.”

“Fine.”

Tyler walked toward the ring area.

The spectacle had begun.

People started texting friends.

Within minutes, fighters from nearby gyms heard about it.

Someone posted a clip.

Then another.

The story changed with every retelling.

Professional boxer challenges 68-year-old janitor.

Old man accepts knockout challenge.

One punch decides everything.

Amanda's livestream numbers climbed rapidly.

Tyler loved it.

He spent thirty minutes performing.

He hit the heavy bag.

He shadowboxed.

He threw combinations.

He shouted his statistics.

“My right hand has dropped men twice my age!”

“Forty-three miles per hour!”

“Fifteen years of training!”

Every statement reinforced the story he wanted everyone to believe.

He was young.

Strong.

Fast.

Dangerous.

Martin was old.

Slow.

Weak.

Invisible.

But Martin wasn't preparing physically.

He was remembering.

He remembered championship nights.

He remembered opponents.

He remembered the sound of bells.

He remembered the feeling of entering a ring while thousands of people screamed.

He remembered Sarah watching from the stands.

And he remembered the lessons age had taught him.

Don't chase.

Don't panic.

Don't fight the punch.

Let the punch miss.

Martin breathed slowly.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

His heartbeat settled.

His eyes watched Tyler.

Shoulder.

Hip.

Foot.

Again.

Shoulder.

Hip.

Foot.

Tyler always dipped his left shoulder before throwing his right.

Every time.

He did it during combinations.

He did it on the heavy bag.

He did it during shadowboxing.

He had no idea he was announcing his intentions.