Henry gently redirected Logan's arm downward, breaking Logan's posture. In a panic, Logan threw a left hook.
Henry ducked seamlessly, weaving under the punch with the practiced rhythm of a ghost. As he came up, Henry didn't strike. He merely placed his open palm flat against the center of Logan's chest.
It wasn't a punch. It was a push.
But the timing, the leverage, and the sheer structural perfection of that push were devastating. All of Henry's body weight, channeled through his hips and into that single palm, collided with Logan's forward momentum.
Logan felt his feet leave the mat.
He flew backward through the air, traveling nearly five feet before crashing onto his back with a loud, resounding THUD that shook the mirrors. The wind was instantly knocked out of his lungs. He lay there, staring up at the fluorescent lights, his brain struggling to process the physics of what had just occurred.
The gym went dead silent. The only sound was the hum of the lights and the rain on the glass. Derek’s phone had slowly lowered, his mouth hanging wide open in shock.
Trevor was staring, wide-eyed.
Marcus Reed was still leaning against the wall, but he was smiling now. A small, satisfied smile.
Logan gasped for air, his face turning red with humiliation and rage. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the burning in his chest. His ego was entirely shattered. The camera was watching. He couldn't let this happen.
"You old..." Logan snarled, completely forgetting his promise to go light.
He charged forward, throwing a violent, full-power overhand right, intending to take Henry's head off.
This time, Henry didn't dodge.
As the punch came in, Henry stepped into Logan's guard. The old man's left hand snaked upward, parrying the heavy strike with a perfectly timed deflection that sent Logan's fist sailing harmlessly over his shoulder. At the exact same moment, Henry's right hand shot forward like a viper.
He didn't make a fist. He extended his first two fingers, striking a cluster of nerves located just beneath Logan's collarbone and right shoulder joint.
Logan didn't feel pain. He felt electricity.
A sudden, paralyzing shockwave ripped down his right arm. His entire limb went completely numb, dropping uselessly to his side like a dead weight. His brain sent the command to lift his arm, but the muscles refused to respond.
Panic seized Logan's throat. Before he could retreat, Henry's left leg—the "bad" leg—swept behind Logan's ankle. With a subtle twist of his upper body, Henry completely removed Logan's center of gravity.
For the second time in less than a minute, Logan Pierce was airborne.
He hit the mat even harder this time, landing flat on his back. As he tried to scramble up, he found a knee pressing gently but firmly into his sternum, pinning him to the floor. Henry was looking down at him. The old man hadn't even broken a sweat. His breathing was perfectly even.
Henry looked into Logan's wide, terrified eyes.
"That was thirty seconds," Henry said softly.
He stood up, removing his knee from Logan's chest. He turned his back on the humiliated fighter, walked off the mat, picked up his mop, and went back to scrubbing the floor near the heavy bags.
Chapter 4: The Truth Unveiled
Logan lay on the mat for a long time, staring at the ceiling. His right arm was finally starting to tingle, the feeling slowly returning like pins and needles. His chest ached where Henry had pinned him. But more than anything, his pride was completely obliterated.