but invisible presence in the gym. He was the man who cleaned the mats,
restocked the chalk, and made sure the locker rooms were spotless.
As Victor paced the cage, demanding a challenger, his eyes locked onto
Elias. The old man was currently sweeping near the entrance of the octagon,
seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. A cruel, arrogant smile spread
across Victor’s face. The adrenaline was still pumping, demanding an outlet,
and if no fighter would step up, he would make an example of the weak.
"Hey, old man!" Victor barked, pointing a taped, heavily padded finger
through the chain-link fence. "Yeah, you. Elias. Stop sweeping and look at me
when I'm talking to you."
Elias paused. He didn't flinch or show surprise. He simply rested his
hands on the handle of his broom and slowly looked up, his dark, serene eyes
meeting Victor's aggressive glare. "Yes, Mr. Victor?" Elias asked, his voice
calm, polite, and completely devoid of fear.
“I’m bored, Elias,” Victor sneered, stepping closer to the fence. “These so-
called fighters are a joke. They can't even give me a warm-up. But you...
you’ve been watching us for years. You must have picked up something,
right? Why don’t you step in here and show us what a real man is made of?”
The gym erupted into nervous laughter. The fighters, relieved that
Victor’s wrath was directed elsewhere, joined in the mockery. They knew it
was a cruel joke, a display of pure bullying, but in the hierarchy of the Apex,
Victor’s word was law.
"I am just a cleaner, Mr. Victor," Elias said softly, offering a polite bow of
his head. "My battles are with dust and dirt. I have no place in your arena."
“Oh, come on, Elias! Don't be a coward,” Victor taunted, leaning against
the cage. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you half a minute. Thirty seconds to
survive in this cage with me. If you can stay on your feet for just half a
minute, I’ll personally give you ten thousand dollars. That’s more than you
make in a year pushing that stupid broom.”
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Ten thousand dollars
was a life-changing amount of money for a man in Elias’s position. The
cruelty of the offer was palpable; Victor knew the old man would be
destroyed in seconds, but the temptation of the money was a wicked twist of
the knife.
The owner of the gym, a burly man named Coach Davis, stepped forward,
a deep frown creasing his forehead. "Victor, that's enough," Davis growled, his
voice authoritative but cautious. "He's an old man. Let him do his job. You're
out of line."
"Shut up, Davis," Victor snapped, not even looking at the coach. "This is
my cage. My rules. I'm making a generous offer here." He turned his burning
gaze back to the janitor. "What do you say, old man? Thirty seconds. You, me,
and ten grand. Or are you going to prove that you're nothing but the trash
you sweep up?"