Chapter 8: The Champion

The bell rang, and the roar of the crowd dropped to a hum in Troy's ears.

The man across the ring wore tape around his ribs and a look of pure hatred.

"Remember me, tough guy?" he shouted. "You put me through a wall."

"You came at a girl," Troy said.

"I'm going to break you in half."

He charged.

Troy slid sideways, and the fist went past his ear.

The crowd screamed.

The man swung again, harder, and Troy ducked under it and felt the wind of it cross his hair.

He was not scared.

That surprised him most.

For ten years he had walked around feeling weak, and a tired kind of fear had followed him everywhere.

It was gone.

His body had been waiting for this, and it moved on its own.

He took a hit on the forearm and the pain was clean and short.

He answered with a straight jab to the ribs, and held it back at the last inch.

The man still folded and staggered.

A big man in a black mask at ringside leaned forward.

The fighter came again, red-faced, and threw a wild right.

Troy caught his wrist, turned him and set him down on the canvas with one hand.

The man lay on his back, wheezing.

Troy stood over him and did not hit him again.

"Stay down," he said.

The referee counted.

At ten, the announcer's voice cracked across the floor.

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