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“Ladies and gentlemen.” The ring announcer booms. His voice echoes off the stadium rafters, bouncing through the massive space. “After five rounds of battle, we go to the judges’ scorecards for a decision.”

The pause stretches into eternity. I stare up at the blinding spotlights hanging from the catwalks.

“Judge Harmon scores the contest forty-eight, forty-seven, for Butler.”

The Ironside corner erupts into cheers. Dan punches the air, his face split by a victorious grin.

I keep my expression blank.

“Judge Ellis scores the contest forty-eight, forty-seven, for Rivera.”

Oath MMA screams. Victor slams his heavy hand against the cage wall, rattling the metal structure.

One card each. Just like the first fight so far.

The final judge holds our fate.

“And Judge Novak scores the contest forty-eight, forty-seven...” The announcer drags out the suspense. The silence in the arena turns suffocating. “For the winner, by split decision, and NEW world welterweight champion...”

My heart stops. The blood freezes in my veins.

“MICAH RIVERA!”

The crowd explodes. A deafening, chaotic wall of noise crashes over the octagon.

Oath’s corner rushes the cage gate. The metal door swings open. Victor charges forward. He wraps his massive arms around my waist and lifts me off my feet. He shouts words of victory, but the stadium noise drowns them out. Theo, Cruz, and Jonah pile on, slapping my back, screaming their lungs out.

I win. I defeated the undefeated king. I proved I belong in this room.

Victor drops me back to the canvas.

I don’t look at my coach. I don’t look at the celebrating crowd. I don’t acknowledge the cameras shoved into my face by the production crew.

I look across the cage.

I look at Zane.

He just lost the biggest fight of his career. He suffered the first loss after twenty-three wins and a draw. He lost his world title. He broke the flawless legacy his father built from the ground up.

He should look devastated. He should look ruined.

Zane is smiling.

It’s not the bitter, tight-lipped smile of defeat. It’s not the arrogant smirk he flashes for the press conferences.

It’s real. It’s a look of pride.

The blood smeared across his cheek does not hide the truth shining in his amber eyes. He looks at me with pure reverence. His gaze screams a message louder than the twenty thousand fans surrounding us.

You earned it.

I love you.

Now let’s burn it all down.

The promise we made in the dark demands fulfillment in the light.

I drop my hands. I push past Victor. I shove my way through the officials and the cameramen crowding my corner.