Beep… beep… beep…
The sound of the heart monitor echoed in the sterile white hospital room.
Mikey's eyelids felt heavy, like they were weighed down by stone. Slowly, he forced them open.
White ceiling. Harsh fluorescent lights. The faint smell of antiseptic.
"Where… am I?" His voice cracked, barely a whisper.
"You're in the hospital, kid."
Mikey turned his head weakly toward the voice.
A tall man stood by the window, arms crossed. His broad shoulders filled the space, his sharp eyes studying Mikey carefully. His knuckles were scarred, his jawline square and rough.
"Uncle…?" Mikey croaked.
The man stepped closer, pulling up a chair.
"Yeah. It's me. Marcus."
Uncle Marcus. A professional boxer. Known for his iron fists and iron will. But to Mikey, he was the distant relative who only visited once in a while—someone he never expected to see here.
Marcus leaned forward, his voice low but firm.
"You scared the hell out of your mom, kid. You almost didn't make it."
Mikey turned his face away, shame burning his cheeks. "…I didn't want to make it."
Silence hung heavy in the room. Then Marcus exhaled through his nose, not with pity, but with something else—resolve.
"You've been beaten down, I get that. But lying here… giving up? That's not who you are."
Mikey's fists clenched weakly against the sheets. "…What else am I supposed to do? I can't fight them. I'm too weak."
Marcus's lips curled into the faintest smirk. He stood and cracked his knuckles.
"Then I'll make you strong."
Mikey blinked. "…What?"
"You're my nephew. My blood. And I won't let you rot away as their punching bag. If you're serious about changing your life…" Marcus leaned close, his voice like thunder. "You'll train with me."
Mikey's eyes widened.
Training? Boxing? Him?
Marcus straightened, grabbing his duffel bag from the corner. Inside were old, worn gloves—scarred from countless fights. He tossed them onto Mikey's lap.
"Think it over, kid. But if you really want a way out of this hell…" Marcus's gaze burned like fire. "…then get ready to fight back."
The room went quiet again, save for the steady beep… beep… beep… of the heart monitor.
Mikey stared at the gloves in his lap. His reflection stared back at him in the cracked leather.
For the first time in years, a faint spark lit inside his chest.
Maybe… just maybe… I can change.