Chapter 6

The atmosphere inside the gym had hit rock bottom.

Notice of disconnection notices from the utility company were taped right onto the front glass doors.

The landlord was calling three times a day, his threats turning into final legal ultimatums.

The fighters were spiraling, especially the contenders prepping for State.

They kept asking me about their tournament brackets, and all I could do was tell them to hold on.

Chad had finally run out of runway.

He desperately needed a "win" to keep up appearances, and more importantly, signed contracts to show the real money-men he was pitching.

He had Chloe, as the official owner, call an all-hands mandatory meeting for every trainer and varsity fighter.

The meeting took place right in the middle of the main mats.

Chad and Chloe sat behind a folding table, stacked high with fresh non-negotiable contracts.

My old executive leather chair had been dragged out of the office, and Chad was lounging in it like a feudal lord.

The coaches and fighters stood before them, looking like inmates waiting for a verdict.

Chad cleared his throat, plastering on his signature condescending corporate grin.

"Everyone, I know there have been a few growing pains lately," he began smoothly. "Rest assured, this is just temporary friction during a corporate restructuring."

"Chloe and I are building this into an elite, commercialized combat brand."

"We are finalizing an eight-figure institutional investment round. The upside is limitless."

He painted a glittering fairy tale, but the floor remained dead silent. Nobody bought the snake oil.

His smile twitched. He tapped the table sharply, hardening his tone:

"Big rewards require elite standards. These new contracts are the first step toward professional excellence."

"They will separate the true killers with ambition from the lazy deadweight."

"Today, everyone makes a choice. Sign, or clear out your lockers."

His eyes locked onto me, heavy with arrogant challenge.

Chloe backed him up like a parrot: "Don't let disgruntled troublemakers poison your minds."

"Mr. Davis is doing this for the club's future, and for yours. Sign these, and you'll be founding partners in a multi-million-dollar franchise."

Watching her pathetic performance, I felt nothing but cold pity.

Mack couldn't hold it in any longer. He stepped forward, barking:

"Save the fairy tales, Davis! We haven't seen a dime of your millions, but we've all seen the shutoff notices on the door and the eviction warning from the landlord!"

"Are you going to pay the kids' State Championship entry fees or not?!"

Chad's expression instantly turned venomous. He wasn't used to blue-collar workers defying him in public.

"The tournament fees will be handled according to schedule," he hedged coldly. "Right now, we are discussing the contracts. Know your place, Coach Mack!"

"My place is on these mats, making sure my fighters win!" Mack bellowed back. "If they can't even step into the tournament cage, what future are you talking about?!"

"Yeah! Pay the entry fees!"

"Where's the rent money?!"

The fighters and trainers erupted, their shouts echoing off the rafters.

"Mutiny! This is complete insubordination!" Chad slammed his palm onto the table, jumping to his feet and pointing right at Mack's nose. "You're fired! Get the hell out of my facility right now!"