He noticed that Arthur never startled when a heavy bag swung unexpectedly toward him.
He noticed that Arthur could catch a falling mop bucket before it tipped.
Most strangely, Marcus noticed that Arthur always seemed to know when someone was about to move.
One afternoon, Marcus was standing near the cage when a young fighter threw a medicine ball backward without looking.
The ball flew directly toward Arthur.
Arthur caught it.
One hand.
Without turning his head.
Marcus stared.
Arthur looked at the ball.
Then at Marcus.
"Careful," Arthur said.
Marcus nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
Arthur placed the medicine ball down and returned to mopping.
Marcus watched him walk away.
There was something strange about that man.
Something Marcus couldn't explain.
But Marcus wasn't the only person watching Arthur.
There was another.
Julian Vance.
And unlike Marcus, Julian didn't watch Arthur with curiosity.
He watched him with contempt.
The Trust Fund Champion
Julian Vance was twenty-two years old and had never been told no for very long.
His father owned a multinational investment company.
His mother sat on the boards of several charities.
Their family had a house in the city, another in the mountains, and a vacation property on the coast.
Julian had attended private schools.
He had driven expensive cars since he was sixteen.
He had never needed a part-time job.
He had never worried about rent.
He had never wondered whether he would have enough money for dinner.
But Julian wanted something his family couldn't simply buy.
Respect.
He wanted people to look at him and see a fighter.
So he joined Apex.
He trained six days a week.
He hired a private nutritionist.
He used the best recovery equipment.
He bought custom gloves.
He wore designer training clothes.
And he quickly became one of Apex's most visible members.
His social media was filled with videos of him hitting pads.
Slow-motion shots of him lifting weights.
Photographs beside professional fighters.
Captions about discipline.
Hustle.
Warrior mentality.
People online called him "The Prince of Apex."
Julian loved it.
He believed he deserved it.
His father had even promised him a professional fight sponsorship if he could prove himself in competition.
That promise transformed training into an obsession.
Julian wanted to become Apex's youngest professional prospect.
He wanted everyone to know his name.
And he especially wanted Coach Victor Hale to recognize him.
Victor was Apex's head striking coach.
Former professional fighter.
National champion.
Respected throughout the combat sports community.
Victor had a reputation for being brutally honest.
He didn't care about money.
He didn't care about family names.
He cared about skill.
That was why Julian desperately wanted his approval.
One afternoon, Julian finished a hard sparring session and walked toward the locker room.
Arthur was cleaning the floor.
Julian stopped.
"Move."
Arthur continued mopping.
Julian frowned.
"I said move."
Arthur looked up.
"Give me a second."
Julian laughed.
"You work here."
Arthur nodded.
"That's right."
"So move."
Arthur slowly moved the mop aside.
Julian walked through.
Then stopped.
"You know, you should probably clean around the cage too."
Arthur looked at him.
"It'll be done."
Julian smiled.
"Good."
He walked away.
Marcus watched from across the room.
"Why do you let him talk to you like that?"
Arthur shrugged.
"He's young."
"That's not an answer."
Arthur returned to cleaning.
Marcus sighed.
"You're strange."
Arthur smiled faintly.
"So I've been told."
The next week, Apex announced an internal exhibition.
Several members would compete in controlled amateur bouts.
Julian immediately entered.
He told everyone he was ready.
He posted about it online.
His father hired a photographer.
His friends organized a private viewing party.
Julian became obsessed with the idea of winning.
Victor warned him.
"You aren't ready."
Julian stared at him.
"What?"
"You have power."
Julian smiled.
"I know."
"You have speed."