"I assumed you would."
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Because it doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
Arthur looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because I treated you like you were nothing."
Arthur shrugged.
"You weren't the first."
Julian lowered his head.
"I'm sorry."
Arthur nodded.
"Thank you."
Julian hesitated.
"Can you teach me?"
Arthur stared at him.
"No."
Julian looked surprised.
"Why?"
"Because you don't need another coach."
"Then what do I need?"
"Discipline."
Julian frowned.
"I have discipline."
Arthur smiled.
"No."
Julian's pride flared.
"You don't know me."
"I've watched you for six months."
"Watching me mop floors?"
"Watching you fight."
Julian said nothing.
Arthur continued.
"You want to be feared."
Julian looked away.
"You think strength means making people step aside."
Julian remained silent.
"You think winning means proving you're better than everyone else."
Arthur placed the mop against the wall.
"That's why you're weak."
Julian looked at him sharply.
Arthur continued.
"A strong fighter doesn't need people to fear him."
"Then what does he need?"
"Control."
"Control over what?"
"First yourself."
Julian swallowed.
Arthur walked away.
Julian followed.
"Then teach me."
Arthur stopped.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you haven't learned to listen."
Julian stood there.
For several seconds.
Then something unexpected happened.
He nodded.
"Okay."
Arthur looked at him.
"Okay?"
"I'll listen."
Arthur pointed toward the mat.
"Clean it."
Julian blinked.
"What?"
"Clean the mat."
Julian stared at him.
Then laughed.
"You can't be serious."
Arthur picked up the mop.
"You said you'd listen."
Julian stared at the mop.
Then at Arthur.
Finally, he took it.
The first day, he cleaned badly.
The second day, he complained.
The third day, he stopped complaining.
The fourth day, he began arriving early.
For three weeks, Arthur didn't teach him a single fighting technique.
He made Julian clean equipment.
Carry water.
Organize gloves.
Help beginners.
Watch training.
And keep a journal.
Every night, Julian had to write down one mistake he made.
At first, the list was superficial.
"Bad footwork."
"Too aggressive."
"Got tired."
Arthur rejected them.
"Again."
Julian tried again.
"I wanted to impress my father."
Arthur nodded.
"Better."
Another day:
"I got angry when my opponent scored."
"Better."
Another:
"I was more worried about looking weak than actually improving."
Arthur nodded.
"Now you're learning."
Eventually, Arthur began teaching.
Not flashy techniques.
Not secret moves.
Fundamentals.
Balance.
Breathing.
Distance.
Patience.
Julian learned that fighting was not about how hard he could hit.
It was about how well he could remain functional when everything hurt.
Months passed.
Julian changed.
His expensive clothes disappeared.
He stopped filming every workout.
He stopped bragging.
He began helping beginners.
He apologized to Marcus for disrespecting him.
He even apologized to Arthur publicly.
But not everyone appreciated the transformation.
Julian's father didn't understand it.
"You've become soft," he said one evening.
Julian looked at him.
"No."
"I'm trying to help you."
"I know."
"You used to want to win."
"I still do."
"Then act like it."
Julian shook his head.
"I used to want everyone to think I was a fighter."
He paused.
"Now I want to become one."
His father didn't know what to say.
The Last Round
One year after Julian's injury, Apex announced another exhibition.
This time, Julian would compete.
But he would not fight a wealthy member.
He would fight an experienced regional amateur champion named Daniel Ortiz.
Daniel had trained for twelve years.
He had no sponsors.
No famous father.
No luxury lifestyle.
He worked mornings at a warehouse and trained evenings.
He had agreed to the fight because he wanted experience.
Julian agreed because he wanted a test.
The arena was packed.
Arthur stood near the back.
He wasn't wearing his janitor's uniform.
He wore a simple black shirt.
Victor stood beside him.
"You nervous?"
Arthur smiled.
"No."
"You should be."
Arthur looked toward the cage.