Chapter 502: Stephen’s Past (Part 2) The night of the fight had finally arrived , the night that was meant to be the biggest moment in Stephen’s boxing career. He had fought in venues before, of course, but nothing even remotely compared to this. The building was colossal. From the moment Stephen walked toward the backstage entrance, the noise of the crowd had already been vibrating through the walls like distant thunder. When he eventually stepped into the open, he saw it properly: thousands of people, more than he had ever imagined attending a match of his. A sea of faces, flashing lights, excited chatter, and roaring anticipation. It should have been the proudest moment of his life. It should have been the night he showed the world what years of hardship, training, and perseverance looked like. But instead of pride, Stephen felt an ache settle in his chest , a heavy, suffocating sadness. He wasn’t here to show them his best. He was here to lie. To fall. To betray everything he had worked for. As he slowly scanned the crowd, he couldn’t help thinking: ’Somewhere in that crowd... somewhere out there... there must be at least a few people who support me, right? People who bet on me, people who followed my career and believed I could climb to the top?’ Those thoughts had never crossed his mind before. Stephen had always been the type to block out everything unrelated to the fight itself , the noise, the cheers, the criticisms, the expectations. None of it mattered once the bell rang. But knowing that he was about to purposely lose... that he was about to let all of them down... it changed the way he saw every pair of eyes in the arena. For the first time in his life, the crowd felt personal. The entrance music blasted through the venue, signaling it was time. Stephen walked forward, flanked by a few people from his gym who had come to accompany him. Their presence should have given him comfort , the familiar steps of teammates beside him, the atmosphere of a fighter’s walk toward the ring , but Stephen felt completely disconnected. His trainer, Chris, wasn’t with him. Chris, who had guided him through his entire career, who had taught him everything, who had believed he could become something more... was now lying in a hospital bed, unable to walk, with doctors performing surgery at this very moment. In a twisted way, Stephen was relieved Chris wasn’t there. He didn’t think he could handle seeing the disappointment in his eyes. He stepped into the cage. The door shut behind him. His opponent, Rubu, stood across the ring, tall, lean, focused , a natural talent. The kind of fighter who could one day become a champion without much trouble. A rising star. Someone the world wanted to push forward. The bell rang. The match began. At first, Stephen moved the way he always did , instinctively, calmly, executing the patterns he had drilled for years. But because he wasn’t emotionally present, his body fell back onto autopilot. Rubu dodged several of his early punches, slipping from side to side with ease. Stephen, now fully in the rhythm of combat, blocked the return strikes and circled back, preparing another exchange. Then a clean punch clipped the side of his head , not devastating, but a wake-up strike. ’Why...?’ Stephen wondered as his jaw tightened. ’Why would someone like you , someone actually talented , go along with this nonsense? Don’t you have pride? Don’t you want to win based on your own merit? Why would you rely on something so disgraceful?’ Another punch came. Stephen dodged it by instinct and responded with two precise hooks to Rubu’s ribs. The hits landed clearly, eliciting a brief grunt from Rubu before the younger fighter retaliated with a sharp strike that Stephen blocked just in time. ’I can see it...’ Stephen realized. ’He’s good. Skilled. Fast. If both of us went all out , really all out , there’s no telling who would win. He’s young, he has years left to grow... but even so, I can see the openings. I can see the adjustments I could make, the angles, the combinations. I can win this fight. I could win this fight.’ For the first time that night, something inside Stephen flickered , not hope, but temptation. A dangerous temptation. What if he ignored everything? What if he ignored the money? Ignored the threats? Ignored the broken leg of the man who had trained him? What if he simply fought with everything he had? What would happen if he won? Would they really kill him? Would they really ruin his life? Would they dare? Could they even get away with something like that in public? Stephen feinted twice and landed a clean punch right on Rubu’s cheek. The crowd erupted in cheers, startled by the sudden shift in momentum. Rubu stumbled back in surprise. And Stephen felt something warm inside his chest. ’This is it... this is what it’s like to finally step into the real stage. If I beat him... if I beat someone like him... they’ll finally see it. They’ll finally know I belong up here.’ He returned to his corner when the bell rang. As he sat down, sweating and breathing hard, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. The cheers were louder than anything he’d ever heard in his life , a storm of voices supporting the spectacle he had created. ’Is this the star power they keep talking about? Is this what it feels like? Maybe... maybe I really can become world champion...’ But then one of his corner men leaned in and spoke, voice trembling with fear. "Stephen... remember what happened to Chris. Remember the gym. Please. We need you to follow through with this. We need you to lose." The bell rang again. Stephen stood. The next round began. He moved forward, torn between instinct and duty. A perfect opening appeared , a real one. A chance to do massive damage and possibly turn the entire match in his favor. He threw the punch, , but an image flashed through his mind. Chris screaming on the gym floor. Chris grabbing his shattered leg. Chris trying to protect him from men who didn’t care whether their target lived or died. Stephen’s fist hesitated. It slowed. It drifted off target. Rubu saw the mistake instantly. He slipped inside, dropped his stance, and unleashed a brutal uppercut to Stephen’s chin. Stephen’s vision snapped. His legs wobbled. He knew , absolutely knew , he could grit his teeth, push through, recover, survive the round, and find another opening later. But he also knew what he had to do. He let himself fall. His body hit the canvas. The referee started the count , then quickly waved his arms, calling off the match entirely. It was over. Stephen had thrown the fight. Just as they had demanded.