The cold night air wrapped around Jason as he stepped out of the underground fight arena. The buzz of the crowd still echoed in his ears—chants of his name, the stomping of feet, the howls of victory that weren't just his own but shared by everyone who had placed their bets and screamed their lungs out when he finally turned the tables.
Beside him, Sam was practically glowing with excitement, unable to contain his joy. "Jason!" he exclaimed, slapping him hard on the back. "That was insane. Bro, do you even realize what you just did? Your first fight, and you pulled it off like a pro."
Jason smirked, the corner of his lip tugging upward though his body ached from every blow he had taken. His jaw was sore, one of his teeth gone, his knuckles bruised, and his ribs still smarting from where his opponent—Diego, the man with the bone-crushing fists—had rammed him into the ropes. Yet despite all that, he stood tall, steady, and victorious.
Sam wasn't letting it go. "The way you came back, bro—man, I swear I thought you were finished. I was already thinking how I'd drag your body out of there, but then you flipped it, just like that. Wisdom and strength, man. Wisdom and strength."
Jason shook his head with a small laugh. "It wasn't that dramatic."
"Not that dramatic?" Sam echoed, wide-eyed. "You lost a tooth! Do you know how the crowd went crazy? You kept standing, kept thinking. You turned pain into fire. That's the stuff of legends, man."
Jason allowed himself a smile. He didn't feel like a legend. He felt like a tired man with a heavy responsibility. But for Sam's sake, he let him have his moment.
Victor had already pulled him aside before they left, pressing the envelope of three hundred dollars into Jason's hand. The money had felt light compared to the weight of the fight, but Victor's words lingered: "The more you stake, the bigger the payout. Remember that, rookie."
Jason wasn't naive. He knew Victor wasn't saying it for his benefit—it was business. The ring wasn't about honor, it was about money, blood, and entertainment. But to Jason, it was also about Sophie.
As they walked down the dimly lit street toward Jason's place, Sam kept going, recounting blow by blow how the fight had gone, exaggerating some parts just to hype it up even more. Jason didn't interrupt him; he just listened with a faint smile, his mind already drifting elsewhere.
When they finally reached Jason's house, Sam stopped by the doorway, still grinning. "Man, I'm proud of you. Seriously. You're not just my friend—you're like my brother. You pulled something crazy tonight. Don't ever forget it."
Jason nodded, his expression softening. "Thanks, Sam. Really."
Sam gave him one last pat on the shoulder before turning away. "Rest up. You'll need it. Victor's right. He'll call you in two days, and I've got a feeling the fights will only get tougher."
Jason watched him leave before stepping inside his house. The moment the door shut, silence embraced him like an old friend. He dropped onto the couch in the living room, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. His body screamed with aches, but his mind was sharper than ever.
He leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sophie's face appeared in his thoughts—her smile, her fragile body lying in the hospital bed, the slow but steady recovery he had witnessed. She was still there, still fighting in her own way, and that alone fueled him more than any crowd's cheer.
He opened the envelope and spread the money across the table. Three hundred dollars. It wasn't much, not compared to the risks he had taken. But it was something, and it was his.
Jason sighed, rubbing his bruised jaw. He wasn't doing this for himself. Every dollar, every bruise, every night spent in the ring—it was all for her.
He remembered how the system had shown him Sophie's stats earlier. Low, fragile, barely holding on. He didn't know how long it would take, but he knew one thing: he had only four years. Four years to bring her health stats to hundreds, to ensure she lived a life beyond hospital walls.
That thought anchored him.
He got up, grabbed a notebook from the shelf, and began writing down numbers—his earnings, expenses, and what he could save. He included the money Mariana had given him, subtracting the hospital bills he had already cleared, then added tonight's payout. It wasn't much, but he smiled faintly. It was a start.
His exhaustion was overwhelming, but he forced himself to keep planning. He listed out potential training regimens, ways to strengthen his body, and how he might improve his reflexes. The system had shown him his weaknesses in cold, unforgiving numbers. His combat speed, his punch power, his agility—they were all laughably low. But numbers could be changed.
Jason clenched his fist. He would change them.
His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing on the table. For a second, his heart leapt, thinking it might be the hospital. But it was just a message from Sam.
"Bro, I wasn't kidding. You were a beast tonight. Proud of you. Get some rest."
Jason smiled, shaking his head. Sam was relentless. He typed back a simple response: "Thanks. Rest well too."
The house fell quiet again. Jason glanced at the clock. It was late, and his body was screaming for sleep, but his mind kept wandering back to Sophie. He missed her. Even though she was recovering, he hated being away from her, hated not being there to watch her every moment.
Tomorrow, he promised himself, he'd go see her again. He would tell her he was working hard, saving money, and doing everything he could to make sure she got better.
That thought finally brought him peace. He leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes, and let exhaustion drag him under.
For the first time in a long time, despite the bruises, despite the missing tooth, despite the blood still crusted on his knuckles—Jason felt like he was moving forward.
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