Your Fist Against Your Pride

Luo stared at the monitor as though the data might produce another result. “A lucky blow proves nothing. Han was tired from a commercial shoot.” “Coach!” Han snapped. He could endure defeat, but not having his pride used to support someone else's lie. Lu took the recommendation letter from Luo's hand. “We can test luck again at the qualifier.” Those who had mocked him avoided his gaze. The new sparring partner quietly picked up Lu's fallen journal and returned it with both hands. Han blocked the locker-room door. “What did you use?” “From four until six twenty, I threw 467 punches.” “That isn't what I asked!” “It is the answer. You call arriving ten minutes early discipline. I came two hours before you and recorded every strike.