Chapter 8 – Baptism by Fire

Ethan stood inside the boxing ring, his heartbeat a drumroll of anticipation and fear. The leather canvas beneath his feet felt alien, yet his stance was firm. His fists tightened inside the borrowed gloves, the rough fabric pressing against his knuckles.

This was real.

He had sparred before, in the chaotic, untrained way of street fights. But this wasn't a street fight. This was a test against a man who had spent decades perfecting his craft.

Coach Logan Carter—the man whose skill Ethan had just copied—stood across from him. The ex-pro's eyes were unreadable, his body loose but coiled with restrained power.

Around the ring, the gym members had gathered. Fighters, trainers, and newcomers whispered among themselves. They were expecting a massacre.

Ethan exhaled. He had the skill. He just had to trust it.

Logan adjusted his gloves and gave Ethan a final, searching look. "Last chance to back out, kid. No shame in walking away."

Ethan swallowed hard. Backing out wasn't an option.

He raised his gloves. "I'm ready."

Logan nodded once.

"Then let's see what you got."

The bell rang.

The first punch came faster than Ethan expected.

A quick jab—sharp, clean, aimed right at his face.

His body moved on instinct.

He jerked his head back, the glove skimming the tip of his nose. His heartbeat surged, but before he could even process the near miss—

Logan followed up.

A cross. Then a hook. Then another jab. A relentless, precise onslaught.

Ethan barely had time to react. He dodged the first two, but the third clipped his guard, knocking him off balance.

Pain flared in his arm.

But something inside him clicked.

Footwork. Breathe. Distance. Counter.

It wasn't just knowledge—it was instinct. The moment Logan threw his next punch, Ethan shifted. A perfect weave. Logan's fist whizzed past his cheek.

Then, before he could stop himself—

Ethan countered.

His fist snapped forward, a fast, controlled jab that struck Logan's shoulder. Not a full-power hit, but a clean one.

The room went silent.

Logan stepped back. He raised an eyebrow, rolling his shoulder.

"Not bad," he muttered.

Ethan had landed a hit on an ex-pro.

But there was no time to celebrate.

Logan adjusted his stance. The fight had truly begun.

For the next minute, they exchanged blows. Ethan moved with precision, his footwork sharper than it had ever been. Every dodge, every counter, every shift of weight—it felt natural.

And yet…

Logan was still better.

Every time Ethan thought he had an opening, Logan closed it instantly. Every time Ethan dodged, Logan adjusted faster than he expected.

Ethan was good—damn good. But Logan was a master.

And then, Logan changed tactics.

He pressed forward.

Ethan tried to move back, but Logan cut off his escape. The pressure increased—he was controlling the ring.

Ethan's stomach twisted. He had no space.

Then—a feint.

Logan dropped his shoulder, making it look like a body shot was coming. Ethan instinctively dropped his guard to block—

And Logan's fist slammed into his face.

White-hot pain exploded through Ethan's skull.

He stumbled back, his vision spinning. His lips tasted copper.

A clean hit.

Logan didn't press the attack. He watched, waiting.

Ethan blinked, shaking the dizziness away. His heart pounded. His jaw ached. He had just taken his first real punch.

And yet…

Something inside him thrilled at the experience.

He could keep up. He wasn't out of his league.

He spat blood onto the mat and raised his gloves.

Logan smirked. "Still standing? Good. Let's keep going."

The final thirty seconds were a war.

Ethan didn't land another clean hit. Logan was simply too good. But he managed to avoid any more devastating blows, relying on his newfound skills to survive.

Then the bell rang.

Ethan's arms felt like lead. His lungs burned. Sweat dripped down his face.

The fight was over.

The room was dead silent.

Everyone had expected a brutal knockout. No one had expected Ethan to last.

Logan pulled off his gloves and studied Ethan for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"You're rough around the edges," Logan said. "But you've got something."

Ethan breathed hard, his chest heaving. "What?"

Logan smirked. "Potential."

He clapped Ethan on the shoulder and turned to the rest of the gym. "Alright, show's over. Get back to work."

As the crowd dispersed, Ethan sank onto the edge of the ring, his head still spinning.

He had fought a pro.

And survived.

But more than that—he had felt the System adapt. He had felt himself learning in real-time.

If one fight had done this to him…

What would happen if he kept going?

He looked down at his fists, a slow grin spreading across his bruised lips.

He had only just begun.

End of Chapter 8