Chapter 15 · free to read
One certificate in a glass box. Fourteen months, eight fights, a rebuilt body, a sold belt and a cardiology bay, all pointed at one framed piece of paper on a plinth.
Number eight. Fourteen months ago there was an empty hook where my name had been and a drawer with my card in it. That night four hundred people in their best shirts read SILA CAMP off a wall in a hotel.
Top ten. On a wall, in public, with the camp's name under it. I had promised myself I would feel something enormous and instead I mostly wanted the old man to be there to see it.
No bracket. No three rounds. A vote in a hotel function room, and fourteen months of climbing a wall that had just been taken down.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.