Chapter 112: A Broke Man
Steven stepped closer, one slow step at a time. His eyes scanned the room, and the more he took in, the worse it got.
Blood spattered across the mat.
A few students writhing on the floor, clutching their arms or shoulders, joints clearly twisted or dislocated.
At first, Steven thought maybe there’d been a fight between them. An argument that went too far.
But then he looked again, and he knew .
This wasn’t a brawl. It was clean. Efficient. Someone had come in and deliberately inflicted maximum damage in minimum time.
The students had been taken down fast.
But Joe... Joe was different.
The hits on him weren’t meant to end a fight. They were meant to draw it out. Keep him conscious. Force him to feel every second of it.
"Some guy in a beret hat and camo pants!" one of the students burst out. "He just walked in and started taking everyone down!"
Who did this? And why? Steven thought, kneeling down beside Joe.
He leaned in close. Joe was still breathing, but barely. His eyes were shut tight, body tense, locked in pain. A low whimper escaped his throat.
"The blood from your nose is going into your mouth," Steven said quietly. "This is gonna hurt, but I need to turn you on your side."
Carefully, he shifted Joe’s body. Joe groaned through gritted teeth as Steven rolled him over. The second his cheek hit the mat, a thick gush of blood poured from his mouth.
Some of the students turned away, wincing at the sight.
They felt it. The pain. The helplessness. A few of them clenched their fists, ashamed they hadn’t done more. That they couldn’t stop it.
Was it because of me? Steven wondered. Did they come here looking for Max... or for me?
One of the students, still shaken, finally spoke.
"The guy came in asking for the ones who took out Dipter. I think... I think they were after Max."
Another added, "Maybe you too, Coach."
Steven stood in silence for a moment, replaying everything in his head.
He had been part of the group that went after Dipter. Maybe not in the spotlight like Max or Jay, but still involved. So, no, it wasn’t because of him. But he was definitely part of the reason.
"Some of you were with Dipter before, right?" Steven asked, scanning the students. "None of you recognized the guy?"
They shook their heads.
"The guy was an adult," one of them said. "It wasn’t Dipter or anyone we’ve ever seen before."
That tracked. The attacker didn’t even seem to know who they were. He wasn’t here to send a message to them . He was hunting someone else.
After checking Joe again, making sure he was still breathing, still hanging on, Steven made his decision.
"Did any of you call an ambulance?"
Again, silence. Then more head-shaking.
Steven sighed and pulled out his phone, beginning to dial.
But just before he pressed call, a hand reached up and grabbed the tip of his phone.
It was Joe. His fingers were streaked with blood.
"What are you doing..." he croaked, voice barely audible. "I don’t need an ambulance. And who’s gonna pay for it when they show up? I don’t want to owe a broke man any favors."
Steven gently took Joe’s hand and placed it back at his side.
"Are you an idiot?" he asked flatly. "Don’t answer that, I already know."
He looked down at him, eyes sharp.
"You think money’s more important than this? Than you ? The whole reason we earn money is for situations like this. There’s no point hoarding it just to watch people around you suffer."
Steven stood up, the phone still in hand.
"I spend my money the way I want, how I want, and right now, I’m using it to make sure you’re okay."
He paused, letting the words land.
"If I had money sitting in my pocket and you ended up messed up for life because I didn’t make one damn phone call... do you really think I’d feel good about that?"
He raised the phone to his ear.
"So shut up... and let me, as the adult in the room, do what needs to be done."
The ambulance arrived in about fifteen minutes.
The paramedics moved quickly, stabilizing Joe, cleaning what they could, placing him gently onto a stretcher. Then, they loaded him into the back of the vehicle.
"Here, take these," Steven said, handing the paramedic a small stack of cards. "When he gets to the hospital, I’ll cover the deposit for now."
"We only need one, sir," the man replied politely.
"I don’t know which one will actually work," Steven said, voice tense. "So I’m giving you all of them. The last thing I want is for him to be refused treatment because of some payment issue."
He started digging through his pockets.
He knew he had it somewhere.
Finally, he pulled it out, a specific business card. One he’d been given a while ago. One that came with a promise.
"If nothing else works, use this. If you tell them Max sent you, they’ll cover everything."
The paramedic looked at him for a moment, uncertain, but nodded and took the cards. Then the doors shut, and the ambulance drove away, sirens off but urgency heavy in the air.
Steven stood there for a moment, watching it disappear down the street.
Then he turned and walked back into the gym.
"The rest of you, take the day off," he said, voice carrying across the mat. "If you’re hurt, go to the hospital. If you get a bill or anything like that, bring it to me tomorrow. I’ll cover it."
His tone was firm. But it was laced with guilt.
"You all got hurt under my roof. That should’ve never happened."
He was ashamed. While he’d been on the phone, someone had walked into his gym and wrecked his students.
He wouldn’t be surprised if none of them came back after this.
And Joe, his top student, was barely hanging on.
The room was quiet. Even the students who hadn’t been injured were too shaken to stay. One by one, they filtered out, leaving Steven alone.
He stood there for a long time, staring at the blood on the floor. Letting it burn into his memory.
"I’m a useless adult," he muttered under his breath. "A broke, useless adult who couldn’t even protect a few kids."
The door creaked open behind him.
Steven didn’t turn around.
"We’re closed for today," he said flatly.
"Oh, really?" came a voice. Calm. Familiar. "Didn’t realize you were the one calling the shots now."
Steven’s chest tightened.
He turned.
Max and Jay were walking toward him. Max stopped short when his eyes landed on the floor.
His gaze locked onto the dark stains on the mat.
"...Why is there blood?" Max asked, his tone shifting. "Whose blood is that?"
His voice wasn’t angry, not yet. But it was tight. Controlled. Like a wire ready to snap.