Later on, Stephen returned to the hospital where Chris was being treated. The moment he stepped inside, it was clear that he wasn’t the only one who had suffered injuries recently. The nurses noticed his hands almost immediately. His knuckles were swollen, split open in several places, the skin torn and raw. Dried blood clung to his fingers, and there was a stiffness to the way he moved them that suggested more than just surface wounds.
One of the nurses gently took his hands, turning them slightly under the light.
"You’ve done quite a number on these," she said. "There’s a good chance you’ve fractured something."
Stephen barely reacted to her words. Pain was something he had grown used to over the years. Broken bones, cracked knuckles, torn skin, these were all familiar companions to him. His hands had broken many times before, and over time they had grown stronger, tougher. Still, fighting bare-handed wasn’t the same as being in the ring. There were no gloves, no wraps, no rules. What he had done wasn’t something his body was built to endure repeatedly, and now the damage was clear.
The nurses cleaned his wounds carefully, wrapping his hands and giving him basic treatment. They warned him not to strain them, to rest, to come back if the pain worsened. Stephen nodded along, barely listening. His mind wasn’t on his injuries.
It was already the day after he had caused chaos at Game Changer Promotions.
His hands hurt more now than they had the night before. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a dull, persistent ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. The swelling had become more pronounced, and the stiffness made even small movements uncomfortable. But that wasn’t why he had come back to the hospital.
Part of him had expected something else to happen by now.
Kreg was the type of man who didn’t let things go. Stephen knew that better than anyone. After everything that had happened, after what he had done, it wouldn’t have surprised him if men were waiting for him outside, or if someone had already made a move against the gym. That fear lingered in the back of his mind as he walked through the hospital corridors.
Yet there was nothing.
No one followed him. No suspicious figures hovered nearby. No phone calls, no threats, no retaliation. The gym was still standing. No one had been hurt.
Once he realized that, at least for now, it seemed safe, Stephen finally headed toward Chris’s room.
When he entered, the sight in front of him made his chest tighten instantly.
Chris was no longer lying in bed.
Instead, he was sitting in a wheelchair.
His legs were heavily bandaged and casted, completely immobilized. Tubes and medical equipment surrounded him, and the chair itself looked too large, too foreign for someone Stephen had always known as strong and immovable. Seeing him like that shattered something inside Stephen.
His knees buckled.
Stephen dropped to the floor in front of him, the sound of his knees hitting the tiles echoing softly through the room.
"I’m... I’m sorry," Stephen said, his voice breaking. Tears spilled freely down his face. "I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help you."
The words poured out of him, heavy and uncontrollable. He didn’t know which moment he was apologizing for, ignoring him, hesitating back then, or everything that had followed. Maybe all of it.
Chris stared at him for a moment before scoffing.
"What the heck are you crying about, you idiot?" Chris said sharply. "Judging by your hands, I think you’ve figured out exactly what happened. You shouldn’t have done that... you really shouldn’t have done that."
Even as he scolded him, there was no real anger in his voice. It sounded tired, worn down.
Stephen continued to sob, wiping his face with the back of his wrist, smearing tears across his skin. He kept repeating the same words, again and again, even though he didn’t fully understand what he was apologizing for anymore.
"I’m sorry... I’m sorry..."
Chris sighed.
"If you really want to say sorry," Chris said, his tone softening, "then you should say sorry for ignoring me all this time."
Stephen froze.
"And I should be the one apologizing," Chris continued, forcing a small smile. "Back then... I should have stopped you from taking that deal. I should have done something, anything, to make sure Kreg couldn’t get involved. I should have protected you and let you become world champion, just like I always said you would."
His voice wavered slightly.
"I’m sorry for breaking your dream."
Stephen clenched his fists despite the pain.
"The state I’m in now," Chris said, glancing down at his legs, "unable to walk... this is the price I have to pay for my foolishness."
The words hung heavily in the air.
Over the next few days, a lot happened, things Stephen had no control over.
Chris could no longer train anyone at the gym. He was completely unable to walk and required constant assistance just to move around. Stephen did everything he could to help, visiting often, offering support wherever possible. But Chris was a proud man. He refused to rely too much on Stephen, especially when he had a wife who could help him at home.
Even so, reality couldn’t be ignored.
The injuries Chris had suffered came with massive medical bills. He had never been a rich man to begin with. The gym had paid the bills, kept the lights on, and that was about it. Now, with his wife cutting back her work hours to care for him, their financial situation became even more strained.
There was only one option left.
Chris had to sell the gym.
The process happened faster than Stephen expected. The gym was in a good location, and Chris had bought the place cheaply many years ago. That made it an attractive purchase. When the deal was finalized, there was enough money to cover the medical expenses, and more than enough for Chris to retire.
No one at the gym protested the decision. In fact, many of them had encouraged Chris to sell long before this happened. Still, when it became official, it felt like the end of something important.
For Stephen, it meant one thing above all else.
He was on his own.
With the gym gone, Stephen had nowhere to train. He tried to find another place, moving from gym to gym across the city. Every door was closed to him. No one would accept him. No explanations were given, no excuses offered. Just silent refusals.
He tried to continue on his own.
Training wherever he could. Setting up his own fights. Reaching out to promoters. Looking for journeyman work, anything.
Nothing came.
Not a single offer.
It was as if he had been erased from the boxing world entirely.
Stephen couldn’t shake the feeling that there was only one person responsible for this.
Kreg.
Yet one thing didn’t make sense. Kreg hadn’t sent anyone after him. No threats, no attacks, no warnings. That was unlike him. Maybe fear had stopped him. Or maybe this, cutting Stephen off completely, was his way of exacting revenge.
Stephen didn’t know.
All he knew was that he was stuck.
If he couldn’t box anymore, then the only thing left to him was training. But without money, even that was impossible.
It was pure coincidence that saved him, if it could even be called that.
While walking through the streets one day, lost in thought, Stephen ran into the same gangsters who had attacked the gym before. Instead of hostility, they greeted him casually, even waving as if they were old acquaintances.
Stephen saw opportunity where he had none before.
If he needed money to start training again, to build something new, then this might be his only path forward.
That chance meeting became the beginning of Stephen’s new life.
A life that, before long, would come crashing down once more, right before Max appeared at his doorstep.