"Alright, grandad," Leo hissed, a wicked, cruel grin spreading across his face as a reckless idea formed in his mind. "You think you're a philosopher? Let's test those wise old reflexes of yours. Let's see how much wisdom you have when the lightning starts striking."
Chapter Three: The Wager
Arthur didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head slightly, folding his cleaning rag and tucking it into the front pocket of his overalls. "I don't box, Mr. Vance. My fighting days are long behind me."
"Oh, you don't even have to throw a punch," Leo laughed, stepping fully down onto the concrete floor and squaring his shoulders, his biceps flexing under the gym lights. "In fact, I insist you keep your hands right where they are. In your pockets. Or holding your broom. Take your pick."
The gym murmur grew louder. Coach Martinez dropped his roll of athletic tape and hurried over, his face etched with concern. "Stop this right now, Leo. Have you lost your absolute mind? The man is twice your age!"
"Stay out of this, Coach!" Leo snapped, waving Martinez away without breaking eye contact with the custodian. "I'm just offering the gentleman a practical lesson in modern athletics. Education is important, right, pops?"
Leo turned back to Arthur, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. He tapped his own right temple, then his ribs. "Here is the deal, old man. I'm going to throw ten clean, straight punches at you. Rapid fire. Combinations. Jabs, crosses, hooks. Everything in the arsenal. And all you have to do is dodge them. Just move your head. Step out of the way. If you don't get hit by even one of my punches—if you can avoid every single one of them—I’ll hand you five thousand dollars in cash right now. My entire training purse for this week."
Gasps echoed through the room. Five thousand dollars was a small fortune to a gym custodian whose weekly paycheck barely covered groceries and rent. For a moment, a tense, electric disbelief hung in the air.
Arthur looked at the young man, his expression neither greedy nor fearful, but carrying a heavy, sorrowful weight, as if he were looking at a child running toward a sheer cliff edge with his eyes wide shut.
"And if I do get hit?" Arthur asked quietly.
"If you get hit—even grazed by a knuckle—you drop that broom, get on your knees right here in front of everyone, and apologize for running your mouth to your betters," Leo barked, his voice echoing triumphantly. "You admit that youth and skill always reign supreme over old age and cheap philosophy."
Martinez stepped between them, grabbing Leo’s forearm. "Leo, this is sick. This is bullying, plain and simple. Walk away before you do something you'll regret for the rest of your life."