Stephen’s first loss changed everything.
It wasn’t just a mark on his record, or a number added beside his name. It was something far deeper than that. It shifted the way he saw boxing, the way he saw himself, and the future he had once believed was set in stone.
Yet even after that night, Stephen still went to the gym.
He didn’t know how not to.
The gym had always been his world. It was where he learned how to survive, how to fight, and how to endure pain. Without it, he had nothing else to fall back on. He didn’t have education, connections, or another trade waiting for him. Boxing was the only thing he knew how to do, and it was the only way he knew how to earn money.
So he kept training.
Chris eventually returned to the gym, though it wasn’t the same as before. He walked with crutches, his movements slower, his body visibly weaker than it had once been. The injury had taken something from him, something permanent. Stephen could see it every time Chris tried to move too quickly, or when pain flashed across his face despite his attempts to hide it.
But it wasn’t just Chris’s body that had changed.
Their relationship had fractured.
They still trained together. Stephen still followed instructions. Chris still corrected his stance, his footwork, his timing. On the surface, everything looked normal, almost professional. But the warmth was gone. The sense of family they once shared no longer existed.
They didn’t talk the way they used to.
There were no long conversations after training. No encouragement. No shared dreams spoken aloud. What remained between them felt hollow, like two men bound together by obligation rather than trust.
Outside of training, they barely acknowledged each other.
Stephen never brought up the fight. Chris never apologized. And neither of them spoke about the decision that had destroyed the future they once believed in.
Life went on anyway.
Stephen continued fighting. He continued winning too. With only one loss on his record, promoters no longer pushed him toward high-level opponents. Instead, he was matched against lower-quality fighters, men who were tough enough to make a match interesting but never dangerous enough to threaten the rising stars.
The fights paid just enough to keep him afloat.
Not enough to dream. Just enough to survive.
Then another offer came.
This time, it wasn’t as large as the first. Not fifty thousand. But it was still far more than what he would earn for an honest fight. The condition was simple: make it a tough match, put on a good show, and lose in a convincing way.
Stephen hesitated.
He had told himself that the first time would be the last. That he would never again agree to something that destroyed the integrity of everything he believed in. That he would never repeat the decision that cost him his dream.
But another thought crept into his mind, quiet and poisonous.
He already had one stain on his record.
What difference would a second make?
That was how it started.
Stephen accepted the deal.
And once he did, everything began to slide.
His record slowly became a mixture of wins and losses. He still won more than he lost, his fundamentals were too solid for that, but the fights themselves were no longer about growth or improvement. They were about control. About knowing when to push and when to pull back. About understanding how to lose without looking weak.
Ironically, he started making more money than he ever had before.
Enough to live comfortably. Enough to stop worrying about the future. Enough to convince himself that maybe this was the path Chris had meant all along.
After all, boxing careers didn’t last forever.
If he wasn’t going to become world champion, then wasn’t it smarter to make as much money as possible while he still could?
That justification stayed with him for a long time.
Until one day, during training, everything changed.
The gym television was playing in the background, as it always did. Most of the fighters ignored it, focused on pads, bags, and sparring. But Stephen happened to glance up at the screen at the wrong, or perhaps right, moment.
A familiar name appeared.
"We have Ruba stepping into his title match tonight. If he wins, he will secure one of the four major belts with a perfect record."
Stephen froze.
Ruba.
The same fighter he had faced all those years ago. The same opponent he had nearly beaten. The same man whose rise had been built on Stephen’s fall.
Stephen stopped training without realizing it.
The footage showed Ruba walking confidently toward the ring, surrounded by cheers, cameras, and flashing lights. He looked different now, stronger, sharper, more refined. The raw talent Stephen had sensed during their fight had evolved into something terrifying.
As the match played, Stephen watched closely.
Ruba wasn’t just good.
He was exceptional.
Every movement flowed naturally into the next. His timing was flawless. His instincts were sharp. Even if his promoter had once fixed fights for him, it no longer mattered. Ruba had grown beyond that stage.
Stephen knew it.
Even if they fought now, Stephen wouldn’t stand a chance.
While Ruba had climbed higher and higher, Stephen had stagnated. Learning how to fake fights hadn’t made him stronger. It hadn’t sharpened his skills. If anything, it had dulled them.
They were no longer on the same path.
They were worlds apart.
The fight reached its climax. Ruba landed a series of clean, brutal punches. His opponent collapsed. The referee waved it off.
World champion.
The gym fell silent.
A few people clapped out of reflex, but the sound quickly died when they noticed Stephen standing there, unmoving, eyes locked on the screen.
Everyone knew.
They knew what that fight meant to him. They knew what he had given up.
Stephen turned away.
He didn’t go back to the bag. He didn’t pick up pads. He didn’t say a word. He simply walked out of the training area, his steps slow and heavy.
Chris watched him go.
And for the first time in years, guilt crushed his chest.
I promised that kid everything, Chris thought. I told him he could reach the top. And when the moment came, I was the one who broke him.
Watching Ruba become everything Stephen had once dreamed of was unbearable.
Chris clenched his fists.
I can’t let this continue, he thought. I won’t.
I made this mistake. And I’ll fix it myself.