The night air outside the gym hit Rey like a cool wave, carrying with it the smell of rain that had passed earlier. The parking lot was crowded — cars pulling out, engines revving, people milling about in small groups, rehashing the fights blow by blow.
The fluorescent light over the gym's entrance flickered now and then, throwing brief shadows across the pavement. Rey stepped down the short concrete stairs, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and instantly heard a voice call out.
"Yo! Rey Chen!"
He turned.
A tall, wiry guy with a neat afro jogged over, a wide smile splitting his face. It took a second for Rey to place him — Michael, from high school. Always had that easy way of talking, like he could slip into any crowd and belong.
"Man, I saw that fight!" Michael's hand shot out, and Rey shook it firmly. "Bruh, that was crazy! I swear, you're gonna be in Vegas one day making millions. You just wait."
Rey smirked faintly. "Appreciate it."
Michael kept grinning, but his eyes had a spark of genuine admiration. "No, for real — the way you moved, man… like you knew exactly what he was gonna do before he did it. Gave me chills."
Before Rey could reply, a different sound drifted in from his left.
Laughter — sharp, mocking.
He glanced over. Three guys leaned against a black sedan parked near the curb. They were dressed in casual streetwear, hoods up despite the mild weather. The tallest one, a broad-shouldered guy with a trimmed beard, locked eyes with Rey.
"Vegas?" the man said loudly, to no one in particular. "More like lucky punches and hype."
His friends chuckled, but their eyes didn't leave Rey.
Michael stiffened slightly, glancing between Rey and the group. "Ignore them," he muttered under his breath.
But Rey didn't look away. His jaw flexed just a little. He didn't know the guys personally, but he knew the type — the ones who didn't like you shining brighter than they did.
The bearded one spoke again, voice dripping sarcasm. "Bet he couldn't last three rounds if the other guy actually knew how to fight."
Another burst of laughter from his crew.
Michael stepped in subtly, as if to block the line of sight. "So, uh… you still living over on Jefferson?"
Rey's gaze lingered a moment longer before shifting back to Michael. "Yeah." His voice was flat, almost cold.
The whispers started then. Rey couldn't make out every word, but he caught pieces.
"…too much hype…"
"…don't trust him…"
"…heard about what happened last year…"
A flicker of irritation burned in his chest.
Last year.
The fight with Jayden. The one everyone thought had ended his friend's career.
Michael tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. "You still hitting that old park gym in the mornings? I might swing by sometime."
"Sometimes," Rey said shortly. His eyes were still scanning the parking lot.
The bearded man and his crew were grinning now, clearly enjoying themselves. One of them cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, "Hey, Iron Fist! You ever try hitting someone your own size when they ain't dizzy already?"
A few people nearby turned their heads.
Rey's steps slowed for just a fraction of a second. His voice, when it came, was calm — too calm.
"You want me to show you?"
The laughter stopped. For a moment, the parking lot seemed quieter. Michael's hand clamped lightly on Rey's shoulder. "Yo, man. Forget it. Not worth it."
The bearded guy's smirk faltered slightly before he leaned back against the car again. "Nah… I'm good."
But his eyes followed Rey all the way to the far side of the lot.
As Rey and Michael walked away, Michael shook his head. "Man… you really got people shook and they don't even know it."
Rey didn't answer. His mind wasn't on them anymore. Somewhere past the rows of parked cars, in the shadows between the streetlights, something was watching. He didn't need to see it to feel it.
And faintly, under the buzz of the night… there it was again.
The growl.