The Bronx didn't need fancy arenas
It had St. Mary's Gym — four cracked walls, a ring that had seen more blood than polish, and a crowd that knew the smell of sweat and victory like a second religion.
Tonight, it was packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
The roar of voices blended with the thump of feet against the wooden bleachers, rattling the old building until it seemed the walls might give way.
Backstage, Rey Chen sat on a worn wooden bench, elbows resting on his knees. His coach tugged at the tape around Rey's hands, pulling it snug with each loop. Rey's head was low, his blonde hair falling partly across his eyes. He could hear the crowd chanting his name, but his breathing stayed slow, steady.
REY! REY! REY!
"First fight of the night, Iron Fist," Coach muttered. "Make it clean. Make it quick. And for God's sake, try not to kill him."
Rey glanced up, smirking. "You make it sound like it's my fault."
The coach only grunted. They both knew it wasn't arrogance — it was reality.
From the far side of the locker room, Jayden strolled over. Taller than Rey by an inch, just as lean and built for speed, his dark eyes glinted under the flickering light.
"Try to let the poor guy touch you this time," Jayden teased. "You've been ending fights before the crowd can even blink."
Rey chuckled. "Maybe. Depends how he moves."
The bell rang somewhere in the arena, signalling the fight was next. The floor under them trembled with the stomping of impatient fans.
Rey stood. The moment he did, a strange sensation crawled through his body — the faintest vibration under his skin. His shadow stretched long across the wall, distorted by the dim overhead light. For a split second, it seemed… wrong. Too long. Too wide.
Almost like the silhouette of something standing on four legs.
He blinked. It was gone.
---
The walk to the ring was a tunnel of light and darkness.
The air was thicker here, heavy with the smell of sweat, resin, and the faint metallic tang of blood. People leaned over the railings, shouting his name, reaching out for high-fives. The flashing camera bulbs caught his blonde hair and made it glint under the corridor lights.
Stepping out into the open, the arena lights struck him — a brilliant white glare that made his eyes narrow. The ring stood under it like an altar, and tonight, Rey was the sacrifice or the god.
The announcer's voice bellowed from the speakers:
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… IN THE RED CORNER… UNDEFEATED… THE PRIDE OF THE BRONX… REEEEY CHEN!"
The cheers exploded. Rey climbed the steps to the ring, ducked between the ropes, and rolled his shoulders. His opponent, a stocky fighter named Manny Cruz, bounced on his feet in the opposite corner. His gloves snapped together with confidence, but his eyes couldn't hide the flicker of nerves.
The ref stepped between them, laying down the rules, but Rey barely listened. His heartbeat was slow, measured — almost unnaturally calm. His gaze never left Manny.
The bell rang.
---
Manny came forward first, throwing two quick jabs toward Rey's head. Rey tilted just enough for the punches to whistle past his cheek. He didn't step back — he stepped in.
A left hook grazed Manny's ribs. Rey felt the impact in his arm — light, just a test.
Manny's breath puffed in short bursts as he shuffled sideways, keeping his guard tight. Rey mirrored him, pivoting on the balls of his feet.
The crowd roared with every feint, every twitch of movement.
A jab came for Rey's nose — he dipped under it, countered with a sharp cross to the body.
Manny staggered half a step but kept swinging.
Rey's ears weren't just hearing the fight. Somewhere under the noise, a low rumble seemed to hum in his skull — not from the crowd, not from the ring… but from deep inside him.
It was like the growl of something waking up.
Manny threw a wide hook at Rey's head. Rey ducked, stepped into Manny's blind spot, and drove an uppercut toward his chin.
It connected. Hard.
Too hard.
The sound was like a heavy bat hitting a sandbag.
Manny's eyes rolled back before his knees even bent. He crumpled sideways, collapsing in slow motion.
The crowd erupted. The ref waved the fight off immediately, kneeling beside Manny.
Rey stood there, breathing slowly. His right glove hung heavy at his side. His gaze drifted past the cheering fans toward the dark corner of the arena… and for a heartbeat, he saw it.
The shadow.
Tall. Broad. Fur bristling.
Two burning eyes staring right back at him.
Then it was gone.