The hospital discharged Mikey two weeks later. His body was still weak, but his uncle didn't care.
Marcus dragged him straight to an old boxing gym tucked away on the edge of town. Rusted signs, cracked windows, the faint smell of sweat and leather—it felt more like a battlefield than a gym.
Inside, the sound of fists slamming into heavy bags echoed through the air. Fighters of all sizes trained relentlessly, their grunts and yells blending into a chorus of struggle.
Mikey froze at the entrance, gripping the strap of his bag tightly.
"I… I don't belong here."
Marcus glanced back at him, eyes sharp.
"You didn't belong in a classroom full of hyenas either. You gonna keep running, or are you gonna fight?"
Mikey swallowed hard, forcing himself to step inside.
"First things first." Marcus tossed him a pair of old hand wraps. "Learn to protect your hands. Without them, you're nothing."
Mikey fumbled, wrapping them clumsily. Marcus shook his head, sighing.
"Sloppy. Again."
Hours passed. Marcus made him rewrap his hands over and over until the motions became natural.
"Good. Now hit." Marcus pointed at the heavy bag.
Mikey swung. Thud. The bag barely moved. Pain shot through his knuckles.
Marcus barked, "Again!"
Thud. Thud. Thud. Each strike weaker than the last, his arms burning, sweat dripping down his forehead.
"Pathetic," Marcus muttered. "You think your bullies will stop if you hit like that? Put your damn body into it!"
He stepped behind Mikey, adjusting his stance.
"Feet firm. Shoulders loose. Punch through, not at."
Mikey clenched his teeth, breathing hard. He threw another punch. This time—BAM!—the bag swung back. His fist throbbed with pain, but the sound was solid. Real.
For the first time, he felt strength in his own body.
Marcus smirked. "That's it. You're not weak, kid. You're just untrained."
By the end of the session, Mikey collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, his arms trembling.
Marcus tossed him a water bottle.
"You want revenge? You want respect? Then this is just the beginning. Tomorrow we go harder."
Mikey's chest rose and fell as he lay on the mat, staring at the ceiling.
His body ached everywhere—but deep inside, a spark was turning into a flame.
For once… I didn't run. I fought.