Chapter 13 · free to read
Eleven months, seven fights, one hundred and forty-two thousand baht of medication and a coach in another camp's shirt to get onto a piece of paper pinned to a corkboard.
Twelve fights. Twelve wins. Nine of them by the same left kick to the same liver, and not one mark on his face.
Two southpaws. Which means every exchange happens on the outside of my right leg — the one that does not turn. He had built his whole career on a step I physically could not follow.
Round one: eleven of them. Round two: nine. He was not trying to knock me out. He was making a payment plan.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.