Blaze was in the middle of footwork drills when he first noticed them watching him.
Three guys leaning against the far wall of the gym, gloves slung over their shoulders, looking like they owned the place. All muscle, sharp smiles, expensive trainers, the works.
One of them—Dez—stepped forward. Tall, lean, face carved like someone angry at God, with a tattoo curling up one side of his neck.
"You're the charity case Mason's been wasting time on," Dez said, loud enough for the whole gym to hear.
The guys behind him laughed. Rico was with them too—the same kid who had knocked Blaze down two weeks ago. Now he was standing on Dez's side, all teeth, no loyalty.
Blaze didn't answer. He just kept moving—step, slide, pivot—like Mason taught him. Chin down. Feet light.
But inside?
Burning.
Dez stepped closer, invading Blaze's space. "I'm talking to you, rookie. You deaf or just stupid?"
Mason, leaning against the ropes of the ring, didn't move. Didn't say a word. This was a test. Not of fighting. Of will.
Blaze finally stopped moving, straightened, and looked Dez dead in the eye.
"I'm both," Blaze said. "But I'm still here."
A beat of silence. Then Rico barked a laugh. "Oh, he's funny now."
But Dez didn't laugh. He just smirked. The kind of smirk people wear before they break something valuable.
"Tomorrow," Dez said. "We spar. You and me."
It wasn't a question.
Blaze nodded once. "Fine."
"Bring a mouthguard," Dez said as he walked away. "Would hate to ruin that pretty face for free."
Later That Night
Mason didn't say much as Blaze helped clean up the gym after closing. But as Blaze grabbed the mop bucket, the old man finally spoke:
"Dez used to fight amateur," Mason said quietly. "Fast. Hits like a truck. Likes breaking things smaller than him. Especially people."
"Good," Blaze muttered, jaw tight. "I'm tired of being smaller."
Mason gave him a long, unreadable look. Then, for the first time since they met, he nodded with respect.
"You want this?" Mason asked. "Really want this?"
Blaze thought of the eviction notice still on his kitchen table. Thought of every job rejection. Every night lying awake wondering if he was ever going to be more than invisible.
"Yeah," Blaze said softly. "I want this."
"Good," Mason said. "Then tomorrow? You don't go in there to prove you can take a punch."
"What then?"
Mason's eyes sharpened. "You go in there to prove you can give one."