High school had been both the best and worst ti in Max's life, depending on how one looked at it.
Starting with the worst: he was never the kind of guy who could sit down and study. Books? Notes? Long paragraphs of boring information? None of it ever stuck.
But ask him about his favorite comics or TV shows, and he could recite every single detail without missing a beat.
If only that laser focus had applied to schoolwork, he probably would've been top of his class without breaking a sweat.
So no—just because he had barely graduated high school over ten years ago didn't an he was about to start crushing tests and coasting through with ease this ti around.
Now for the good mories?
Those were all about his fists.
Back in the day, Max had made a na for himself fast. Not long after starting school, he beat the toughest guy in his class. Then the strongest in his year. And after that? The top dog in the whole school.
There wasn't a single student who didn't know the na Maxamus.
Eventually, he even started challenging fighters from other schools in the area—and by the end of it all, he was the undisputed top dog across the city.
There were rumors that Max had once taken on fifty people—at the sa ti—and walked away the victor.
It sounded insane.
But the story spread like wildfire through the city, becoming a legend.
They weren't rumors, Max thought with a smirk. But it's probably a good thing no one rembers what happened afterward… I spent weeks in the hospital.
When he thought about the best days of his life, most of them didn't actually happen in school. They were the monts outside of it, the people he t, the crew he built, the glory days that followed.
There wasn't much he missed about actual high school.
Which made it even more frustrating that he had to start all over again.
Those rough days… they're the reason I got pulled into the gang life in the first place. And where did that lead? Dead before I even hit fifty.
Back in his small apartnt, Max rummaged through the limited wardrobe, looking for sothing to wear. The suit he'd worn to the event was way too formal, he needed sothing way more low-key.
As he changed, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror.
His eyes scanned the marks still fading on his skin… and the overall frailness of this new body.
You definitely looked like the study-all-day type, Max thought, frowning. One thing's for sure, you didn't do sports. So if you were a good student, and now I start failing every class… what's going to happen then?
All the thinking was starting to drive Max crazy, he was nearly pulling his hair out.
Back in his old life, whenever his head got too cluttered, he had one solution: work out.
Strong body, strong mind. That's how he made decisions. But this body?
This body was weak.
Unable to sit still any longer, and tired of feeling boxed in by the cramped apartnt, Max threw on so looser clothes, mostly sportswear, thankfully still in the closet, and headed out.
The night sky was out, the streets dimly lit. It was around 9:00 PM. Not too late by his standards.
Then again… he had to rember.
He had school tomorrow.
As he walked through the quiet neighborhood, his mind churned through the situation again.
What am I supposed to do? he thought. Right now, I've got a weak body… but a whole lot of money. And I need to find out who in the White Tigers betrayed .
Could I just… use the money to hire another gang? Bring in muscle to help get answers?
He could already picture it.
This version of him walking into so rough territory, trying to throw his weight around—
And imdiately getting mugged, beaten, or worse—before he even made it to the door.
Maybe Aron could arrange a eting with soone, but that would raise all kinds of red flags.
Money's a powerful tool in the underworld, Max thought. But without strength of my own, I'll just end up being used. Money can't fix everything.
That thought led him to a decision.
Pulling out his phone, he opened the map app and typed one word: GYM.
Only one around here, he noted. Looks like it's a boxing gym, not a full fitness center. But places like that usually have enough equipnt for what I need.
I've got to get this body back into fighting shape. If there's one good thing about all this… I've got my youth back. Ti to make it count.
The gym was just a ten-minute walk from his apartnt, and according to the app, it was still open.
Most gyms in the city either ran 24 hours or stayed open late, especially in bigger areas, so it wasn't surprising.
As Max made his way through the streets, he noticed how quiet it was.
This wasn't exactly a lively or upscale part of the city. Fewer people, dimr lights, and an overall sense of "keep to yourself."
Eventually, he turned onto a side street where the gym was supposed to be—
Just in ti to see a man pulling down a tal shutter.
The gym was closing.
Max stopped just as the tal shutter clanged down, his eyes drifting up to the faded sign above the building.
"Strong Boxing Gym."
He took a step forward.
"Hey—I really don't wanna be that guy," Max said, trying to sound casual, "but are you closing already? The map said you're open till midnight. Isn't that still a couple hours away?"
The man in front of him looked solid—broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of build that ca from years of hard work. He was wearing a blue tracksuit, though it looked worn down, like it had seen better days... and might be the only one he owned.
His beard was scruffy, covering most of his face, and ssy enough that if Max had passed him on the street, he might've assud he was holess.
"Unfortunately, kid," the man said with a sigh, "as of today… I'm closing this place down."
"Closing it?" Max raised his eyebrows. "But this is the only gym within two miles of here! What am I supposed to do now?"
The man gave a tired chuckle and gestured down the street.
"Look around. You see anyone walking these sidewalks? Any custors lining up to train?" He shook his head.
"I've got bills to pay. Equipnt upkeep, rent, groceries… all of it. I can't keep this place open out of the kindness of my heart. If it's not making money, it has to go."
He sighed again, this ti with a hint of frustration.
"Everyone told I was crazy for opening a gym here. Turns out, they were right."
For now, Max knew he couldn't afford to draw too much attention to himself—not from Aron, and definitely not from the Stern family.
That ant no sudden moves. No flashy changes.
Sure, he could easily buy workout equipnt, rent the building, or even purchase the entire property if he wanted. But doing any of that would raise questions. And the last thing he needed right now was Dennis Stern watching him too closely.
So what do I do? Max thought, glancing around.
The man looked like he was ready to call it a night and head ho, shoulders slumped in defeat. As Max scanned the front of the building, he noticed a small QR code posted near the door—probably the paynt link for drop-in lessons.
He pulled out his phone. A soft beep sounded as he scanned it.
"If I were to pay you," Max asked, "how much would it take per month to keep this place open?"
The man stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to face Max.
So high school kid, he thought, eyeing Max. Probably wants to get stronger so he can fight off so school bullies or impress a girl. But I can't entertain this.
He sighed, not wanting to give the kid false hope—he rembered what that felt like when he first opened the place.
"It's not cheap," he said, voice gruff. "Rent, insurance, maintenance, all sorts of stuff. I dunno… maybe if you paid ten grand a month, I could keep it running."
It was a number he tossed out casually—deliberately too high. He didn't expect the kid to say yes. In fact, he was hoping he wouldn't.
He'd opened the gym with hope—hope that it could help kids like him, back when he was younger. Give them a place to focus. A place to grow.
But hope didn't pay the bills.
As he turned to walk away, his phone buzzed.
[Ding!]
He pulled it out, casually checking the screen—
And then froze.
A sharp pang hit his chest as he stared at the notification.
[You have received $10,000 USD.]
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