The Discarded Punching Bag

For three years, Lu had imitated twenty-seven opponents for Han and endured more hard rounds than he could count. On the night Han won Rookie of the Year, he had claimed that half the medal belonged to Lu. Now he merely loosened his gloves. “Don't blame the club, Brother Zhou. Professional fighting rewards talent, not endurance.” Someone laughed under his breath. Lu stood, one hand guarding his ribs. “What happened to my recommendation for a professional license?” Luo frowned. “It went to Han's new alternate. You'd only embarrass yourself in the qualifiers.” So every promise to “wait a little longer” had only been meant to keep a useful piece of equipment obedient.