THE UNBROKEN ROAD

Daniel woke up the next morning feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. Every inch of his body throbbed, his ribs ached with every breath, and his jaw felt stiff and swollen. He rolled out of bed with a groan, stumbling toward the bathroom.

When he looked in the mirror, he almost laughed.

A bruise had already started forming along his cheekbone, a deep purple reminder of the punches he had taken. His lip was slightly split, and his body felt like one giant bruise.

But beneath all that pain, something stirred—pride.

For the first time in over a year, the pain he felt wasn't from loss, regret, or failure. It was from fighting. From doing something.

And he wasn't going to stop now.

Back in the Ring

By the time Daniel made it back to the gym, Harris was already there, as if he never left. The old man took one look at Daniel's bruised face and grinned.

"Still alive, I see."

Daniel dropped his bag near the bench. "Barely."

Harris tossed him a set of wraps. "Good. That means you learned something."

Daniel started wrapping his hands, this time faster, more precise. He still wasn't great at it, but he was improving.

Harris watched him. "So, what did you learn yesterday?"

Daniel let out a small laugh. "That Jason hits like a truck."

Harris chuckled. "Yeah, but that's not the lesson." He leaned against the ropes, his expression turning serious. "Pain teaches you. The first time you get hit, your body wants to shut down, curl up, quit. But the more you take it, the more you learn to stand through it."

Daniel nodded, his mind flashing back to the moment he had hit the canvas. His instinct had been to stay down, to let the pain win.

But he hadn't.

He had stood up.

And that was what mattered.

"Today," Harris said, "you're going to learn how to stop taking hits."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Harris motioned toward the ring. "Defense. You're not a punching bag, Mercer. If you want to fight back, you need to stop getting hit first."

Daniel climbed into the ring, his muscles still sore. Harris called over another fighter—this one a bit older than Jason, lean and quick.

"This is Miguel," Harris said. "He's going to try to hit you."

Daniel exhaled. "Great."

"Your job," Harris continued, "is to not let him."

Miguel bounced on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders. "Ready?"

Daniel barely had time to nod before Miguel threw a jab.

It wasn't hard, but it was fast. Daniel barely moved in time, the punch grazing past his ear.

"Too slow," Harris said. "Move your feet."

Miguel threw another punch. Daniel stepped back this time, avoiding the hit completely.

"There you go," Harris said. "Again."

Miguel kept coming, throwing jabs, hooks, testing Daniel's reflexes. At first, Daniel felt clumsy, reacting too late or moving in the wrong direction. But after a few minutes, something clicked.

He started seeing the punches before they landed.

His body moved before his mind could overthink it.

Miguel swung, and Daniel ducked.

Miguel threw a jab, and Daniel sidestepped.

For the first time, Daniel wasn't just surviving—he was controlling the fight.

Harris grinned. "Not bad, Mercer. Not bad at all."

Breaking the Cycle

After the session, Daniel sat on the gym bench, drenched in sweat but feeling more alive than he had in years.

Harris sat beside him. "You starting to get it?"

Daniel nodded. "Yeah. It's not just about hitting. It's about not getting hit."

Harris smirked. "Exactly. Life's going to throw punches, Mercer. It's going to knock you down. You can't stop it. But you can learn how to move. How to take the pain and keep going."

Daniel exhaled, staring at his bruised hands.

A year ago, he had let life beat him into the ground. He had stayed down, drowning in regret and loss.

But now?

Now, he was learning how to stand.

And soon, he'd be ready