Chapter 1Boxing family's joke? That was me.
Couldn't open water bottles. Got tired walking up TWO flights of stairs.
My brothers both won championship belts. Me? I wouldn't even touch a punching bag.
Dad sighed and hired me a caretaker.
I stretched out on the couch. Life's good.
Ten years in underground rings before they found me. Now I could finally just chill.
My other identity—Ghost, that ten-win streak legend? Yeah, let her stay retired.
Then eight gyms showed up to challenge us. Cameras rolling. Livestream going.
Dad got knocked off the platform. Both brothers lost back-to-back.
Their leader stepped on our gym's sign and shoved a contract at Dad.
"So the Martinez family got nobody who can fight?"
I came downstairs. Picked up the gloves.
Retirement can wait.
Gonna make these eight dickheads cry first.
"All eight of you. Get up here. Don't waste my afternoon."
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Three months after the Martinezes found out I was their real kid. Dad finally quit trying to make me box.
Simple reason—I'm too soft.
First time in the training room, he told me to run three laps. I quit halfway.
My oldest brother Callum opened my water bottle for me. Covered for me with Dad.
"She never trained as a kid. What's the rush? Take it slow."
My second brother Ezra acted all annoyed but still ran the rest of my laps.
"Come on, she's tiny. A strong wind could knock her over."
Dad glared at them both.
"You're a champion and a gold belt winner. This is how you spoil your sister?"
I sat on the mat with my ice water. Totally agreed with my brothers.
Back when I fought six matches a day? Nobody ran laps for me.
Now I'm finally retired. Who wants to suffer on purpose?
Later Dad tried again. Had me learn basic self-defense.
The coach raised his hand. I flinched.
Dad went quiet. Next day he hired me a caretaker.
Clara cuts my fruit into little pieces and feeds me.
I'm very happy with my life now.
The Martinez family's pretty big in American boxing. Dad won three championship belts when he was young. Now he runs the biggest gym in the city.
Callum won the Pro League championship two years ago. Ezra just got back from training overseas.
Me? Everyone knows I'm just here to eat.
Sometimes people say the real daughter Martinez found is useless.
Dad heard it once. Banned that media company from all interviews.
"My daughter was missing for years. She's back to enjoy life, not perform for you people."
Made sense to me.
Day before our anniversary event, a brand wanted me in promo photos with my brothers.
They had it all planned out. Said the long-lost daughter coming home was trending. Just stand there in boxing gear. They'd add thirty percent to the sponsorship.
Dad pushed the contract back.
"She doesn't wanna box. Don't tie her to that."
Ezra added, "We need that thirty percent? She'd get tired standing for ten minutes."
I was on the couch eating grapes. Nodded.
The brand manager looked at me a few times. Didn't push it.
On his way out, he whispered to his assistant that the Martinez family treats their daughter better than their champions.
Ezra heard. Laughed out loud.
"We can train another champion if we lose. But we lost our sister for years. Finally got her back. Of course she's precious."
When I was little? People always put a price on me.
How much per match. How much per punch. Can she keep fighting if she's hurt.
So the more the Martinez family treats me like a useless little thing, the safer I feel.
Anniversary day, I only came downstairs for cake.
Callum had interviews. Ezra had exhibition matches. Dad was busy with old boxers.
I just cut the biggest piece of strawberry cake when the door crashed open.
Someone smashed our wooden sign on the ground.
Eight gyms walked in together. The leader was Garrett Holt.
Dad's old student. They clashed, he bailed. Few years go by, and boom—he's got seven gyms under him.
Garrett stepped on the broken sign. Smiled at Dad.
"Master, five years. Your place hasn't changed."
Dad's smile disappeared.
"It's anniversary day. I don't wanna bring up old stuff."
Garrett raised his hand.
Over ten phones went up. Livestream views climbed fast.
"I'm not here for old stuff. I'm here to challenge you."
"Eight gyms at once. Saves you time. No need to go one by one."
Ezra threw his jacket at his assistant. About to get on the platform.
I stared at the eight people behind Garrett. Slowly put down my cake.
Two faces looked familiar.
Overseas circuit? Yeah. Made some guys cry there.
Chapter 2
Ezra went first.
Less than three minutes in, he had Garrett's guy trapped by the ropes.
Everyone in the gym chilled for a second. Then the guy flipped the script.
Left his left side hanging. Total bait. Wanted Ezra to go hard.
I frowned. Opened my mouth.
"Don't chase it. He's tricking you into leaning forward."
A few students turned to look at me.
One of them laughed.
"Miss Martinez, you can't even hit a bag. Maybe sit this one out?"
I ignored him. Kept watching.
Next second, the fighter ducked low. Shoulder rammed into Ezra's chest.
Ezra's weight was forward. Too late to pull back.
Bang.
His back slammed into the platform.
The gym went dead silent.
I stood up. Callum was already blocking me.
"Don't look. Go to the lounge. His ribs might be hurt again."
Ezra pushed himself up from the platform. Forehead covered in sweat. Still waved at me.
"Hey, don't frown. I'm fine."
The ref counted to eight. He stood back up.
But I knew. This round was over.
That move wasn't a normal takedown. The guy aimed for the old injury.
Sure enough, Garrett laughed.
"Ezra, your third rib on the left broke two years ago, right?"
Dad's face darkened immediately.
Ezra finally got it.
Guy had his injury records in advance.
Garrett didn't bother acting innocent.
"Studying opponents is normal in pro fights. Martinez family's not gonna be sore losers, right?"
He kinda had a point.
Injury data shouldn't leak. But once you're up there? Someone uses your weakness? Fair game.
What really bugged me though—every fake move that guy threw felt like he'd been watching Ezra's training clips for six months straight.
Even the dodge patterns Ezra changed twice. Guy had them all down.
Dad figured it out too. Told his assistant to check the gym's internal training video access.
The assistant came back fast. Face looked bad.
"Mr. Martinez, someone was pulling prep videos nonstop last month. Account's wiped now."
Everyone finally caught on. This whole thing? Totally planned out.
Next three minutes, every hit went to the left side.
Ezra held out till the end. Still lost.
The livestream exploded.
Garrett's people set up a scoreboard next to our gym sign.
Round one. Martinez family down one.
Callum didn't say a word. Jumped straight onto the platform.
His style's way steadier than Ezra's. At first, the opponent couldn't get anywhere.
First round ended. Callum was up by four.
Garrett didn't look bothered at all. Just raised his hand and brought in guy number two.
This one wasn't some traditional power puncher. But his footwork was stupid fast. Just kept circling Callum's right.
I watched a couple seconds. Then it hit me.
Callum changed his stance last year. Right leg fires half a beat slower than the left.
Normally, basically no one notices.
But if someone keeps pushing that half-beat gap, his best blocking move just stops working.
I spoke up again.
"Callum, don't chase him on the right. He's dragging you."
This time, no one laughed.
Because right after I spoke last time, Ezra got hit in that exact spot.
Callum heard me and pulled back immediately.
But the opponent seemed ready for him to switch. Suddenly closed in and went for the body.
Callum blocked the first punch. The second one grazed his chin.
The coach yelled for him to adjust distance.
Garrett's people stayed quiet. Like they'd already knew how Callum would change tactics.
I stared at the tablets in their hands. My heart sank.
This wasn't some spur-of-the-moment thing.
They'd been planning this for months.
Third round, Callum's gas tank was running low. The opponent suddenly went wild with back-to-back strikes.
One hook punch landed right on the temple.
Callum's knee buckled. He dropped to the edge of the platform.
Mom cried out his name.
My cup cracked in my hand.
Garrett stood up slowly.
"Round two's over too."
He turned to Dad. Smiled.
"Master, both sons are down."
"Now it's your turn, right?"
Chapter 3
Dad took off his jacket. Mom grabbed his hand.
"Your back just healed. Don't do this."
Dad patted her gently.
"They stepped on our sign. If I don't go up, tomorrow the Martinez family's really gonna be a joke."
Then he looked at me.
"Ivy, go upstairs. Don't come down no matter what you hear tonight."
I didn't move.
Dad thought I was scared. His voice softened.
"It's fine. We still got money."
"If we really lose the gym, I'll find another place. Still gonna take care of you."
My throat felt tight.
When they first found me, I wasn't really used to the Martinez family.
They were too loud. Too controlling.
Callum saw me eating too little. Woke up at 3 AM to cook for me.
Ezra called me dramatic but always bought me the softest training shoes.
Dad was the most. Even thought the stairs were too high. Almost installed an elevator in our three-story house.
They all thought I was weak.
But till now, no one ever thought about trading me for anything.
Dad got on the platform. Garrett took off his jacket.
This round, he'd fight himself.
The two used to be master and student. They knew each other's habits too well.
First two rounds, neither could get an advantage.
Third round started. Garrett suddenly closed in. One punch aimed at Dad's right lower back.
Mom's face went white.
I shot up from my chair.
"He knows Dad's old injury."
Dad had this injury back when Garrett was still at the Martinez gym.
So this round had no dirty tricks. He just knew exactly where his master would hurt. Where he couldn't afford to back down.
Garrett hit the same spot three times.
Dad gritted his teeth and didn't retreat. Fourth time, he even left an opening on purpose. Landed a punch on Garrett's jaw.
The gym finally cheered.
But Garrett just wiped the corner of his mouth.
"Master, you still love fighting hard."
"Too bad. Age doesn't forgive."
Next second, he suddenly changed his stance.
My face went dark.
That was a crushing style from underground circuits. Designed to destroy people.
Doesn't break the rules. But every hit aims to take away your ability to fight back.
Dad obviously wasn't familiar with this rhythm. Dodged the first hit but not the second.
Garrett's knee slammed hard into his side.
Dad's whole body flew out of the ropes. His back hit the steps.
When Mom rushed over, he couldn't stand up anymore.
Callum held his head. Ezra pressed his ribs. Both wanted to move forward but got blocked by medics.
The eight gyms finally put a contract on the table.
Garrett crouched in front of Dad.
"Master, you lost all three rounds. Sign it. Rules are rules."
Gym closure agreement. Plus the Martinez family withdraws from the Pro League for five years.
Dad looked at it. Veins bulged on the back of his hand.
"You didn't come to challenge today. You came to cut off the Martinez family's future."
Garrett just smiled.
"You're just realizing now?"
He raised his hand. Signaled the cameras to zoom in.
The livestream had already broken eight million viewers.
"I'm not a complete asshole though."
"Get down on your knees. Admit defeat. Say the Martinez family can't cut it. Then I'll forget the five-year thing."
The whole gym went dead silent.
Ezra tried to rush forward. Callum held him back.
Mom's eyes were red. But she didn't tell Dad to bow.
She just picked up the contract. Asked one question.
"If we sign the closure and don't kneel, that works, right?"
Garrett looked up at her.
"Of course. Just stay away from pro matches."
Mom nodded. Handed Dad the pen.
"Then sign. Your back's more important than the sign."
Dad stared at her. Didn't take it for a long time.
Everyone in the Martinez family? Boxing was their whole world.
But when it came down to it, they never picked pride.
Garrett didn't rush them. Just reached out and flipped over the broken sign.
His shoe landed right on the "Martinez" part.
"Master, take your time."
"The livestream's still on anyway. Everyone's watching."
That's when I walked out from the back.
Dad saw me. Pushed himself up.
"Who told you to come down? Go back!"
I didn't go back. Just looked at his hand still bleeding.
The blood dripped through his fingers onto the floor.
Retirement? Nah, that could wait.
First? Gonna make these dickheads cry. Again.
