Leo, however, had a special talent for cruelty when boredom set in.
Chapter Two: The Spark of Hubris
After finishing his heavy bag routine, Leo strode toward the water cooler, stripping off his soaked hand wraps and tossing them carelessly onto the floor directly behind Arthur, who was carefully wiping down the brass handrails of the elevated ring steps.
"Hey, pops," Leo called out, his voice dripping with condescension that echoed off the high brick walls. "Sweep that up, will you? And try not to trip over your own walker while you're at it."
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the surrounding trainers and sparring partners, though most quickly looked away, unwilling to invite the champion's sharp tongue upon themselves.
Arthur paused. He did not drop his rag. Slowly, he straightened his posture, turning his calm, weathered face toward the arrogant young fighter. His eyes were not the watery, faded orbs of a tired old man; they held a deep, unfathomable stillness, like a frozen lake hiding strong currents underneath.
"The floor is clean where it needs to be, Mr. Vance," Arthur replied, his voice surprisingly resonant, carrying a gentle, steady timbre that refused to cower. "And your wraps belong in the bin. A fighter who loses track of his gear usually loses track of his discipline."
Leo’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, dangerous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Public defiance—especially from someone as invisible as the janitor—was an insult his fragile, inflated ego could not tolerate. He stepped closer, invading Arthur’s personal space, radiating the aggressive heat of a primed predator.
"You've got a lot of mouth for someone whose entire life consists of pushing a broom and wiping up other people's spit," Leo sneered, stepping up onto the lower rope of the ring to tower over the older man. "You think you know something about the hurt business, old timer? You think because you watch us train from the sidelines, you understand what it takes to step under these lights?"
"I’ve seen many things in my life, son," Arthur said softly, his gaze steady, unwavering, and entirely unimpressed. "Most of them teach you that the loudest dogs rarely bite the hardest."
That did it. The casual observation, spoken without malice but piercing straight through Leo’s armor of self-importance, struck a raw nerve. The gym fell dead silent. Even the rhythmic thud of the speed bags stopped as trainers and fighters froze, sensing an impending collision.
Leo’s chest heaved. He looked around the room, noting the dozens of eyes fixed upon him, and realized he needed to assert his absolute dominance. He couldn't just walk away; his reputation as the undisputed alpha of the gym was on the line.