Nathan stood backstage, hidden behind the thick black curtain of the arena. His hands were tightly wrapped, his gloves were on, and his heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear the crowd.
A few feet away stood his opponent—Caleb Rivers—the undefeated champion with a swagger that came naturally. Caleb looked calm and focused, standing beside his coach. His right hand wore the famous glove everyone knew him for. The glove that had knocked down man after man in the ring.
Suddenly, the booming voice of the MC echoed through the stadium. He stood proudly at the center of the ring, holding his microphone high.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome the reigning lightweight champion, two-time winner, the crowd's favorite—Caleb Rivers!"
The arena roared to life.
People leapt from their seats. The noise was thunderous. Cheers, whistles, chants—"Caleb! Caleb! Caleb!"
Nathan stood still.
He watched as Caleb walked to the ring with his arms raised, soaking up the cheers like fuel. He smiled at the cameras, blew a kiss to the crowd.
Nathan took a shaky breath.
He's a star, Nathan thought. And I'm just… me.
The MC turned again, this time with a more reserved tone.
"Now entering the ring… a fighter who has stepped into this arena twenty-one times… still searching for his first victory… please welcome… Nathan Wells."
There was a moment of quiet.
A few polite claps. A cough. Someone booed, softly.
Nathan walked out slowly. His boots felt heavier than usual, the lights above blinding. He looked around the stands, scanning the rows of faces.
Maybe she's here, he thought. Maybe Sara came this time. Or maybe even Mom… or Ellie… or Dad.
But no.
The faces were unfamiliar. Just strangers. No wife. No daughter. No in-laws. Not even a friend.
They didn't come, he told himself. Again.
His throat tightened, but he kept walking. He climbed into the ring quietly, avoiding eye contact with Caleb, who was already warming up in his corner.
Now they stood across from each other. Two men. One ring. One with a record that made people scream, and one with a record that made them laugh.
The referee stepped forward.
"Touch gloves," he said. "Fight clean. Good luck to both of you."
The bell rang.
DING!
The match began.
Nathan barely had time to react before Caleb's fist slammed into his jaw. A clean, sharp jab. Nathan stumbled back.
His vision swam. His head throbbed. But what hit him harder than the punch were the words suddenly echoing in his ears.
His mother-in-law's voice. Cold and cruel.
"Loser! You'll never be a champion. Sara, I don't know what you see in this man!"
Then his sister-in-law, laughing like she always did at him.
"Sara, divorce him already. He's a waste of time. A nobody."
Nathan blinked. Another punch came, this time to the ribs. But it didn't hurt as much as the shame rising inside him.
They were right, he thought bitterly. No one believes in me…
The words still echoed in Nathan's head, cruel and sharp like knives.
"Loser! You'll never be a champion!"
He barely saw the next punch coming.
SMACK!
Caleb Rivers' glove hit his jaw like a hammer. The world spun. His knees buckled. And just like that—Nathan crashed to the floor.
Flat. Hard. Face-first.
For a moment, there was silence in his mind, and then came the noise. A tidal wave of it. The crowd screaming, chanting Caleb's name like he was a god.
"CALEB! CALEB! CALEB!"
The ring lights blurred above Nathan's head. He blinked, trying to focus, but everything hurt. His cheek throbbed, his chest burned, and something inside him—something that had once felt like hope—was flickering.
He tried to move, but his body didn't listen. He just… lay there. Sprawled out on the canvas like a broken puppet.
Then he saw movement from the corner of his eye.
It was his coach—Mr. Lewis.
The man didn't say a word. He just shook his head slowly, disappointment written all over his face. Then he turned and stormed off, disappearing into the tunnel without a glance back.
Nathan's heart sank deeper than before.
He's done with me, Nathan thought. He's finally had enough.
Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up on shaky elbows. His gloves slipped against the sweaty mat. It felt like his whole body weighed a thousand pounds.
The referee didn't bother counting. The match was already over.
Caleb had won. Again.
As Nathan finally got to his feet, the sound changed.
The cheering stopped.
The boos began.
They came like thunder, loud and cruel.
"Booo!"
"Go home, loser!"
"Twenty-two and zero!"
Nathan stood in the center of the ring with his hands on his hips, staring out at the sea of angry, disappointed faces. His legs wobbled. His chest rose and fell, each breath harder than the last.
He looked up toward the seats—high up, near the back—hoping to see if they came later then he didn't see them.
They hadn't come.
Why would they? he thought bitterly. Why waste time watching a man lose again?
He was grateful they had not come they would have left in shame but was sad he still remain the loser even after thinking he would win the match that night.
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He blinked fast, trying to push them back. He wasn't supposed to cry. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
But the pain wasn't just in his body—it was in his soul.
He had given seven years of his life to this sport.
Seven years of training. Sacrifice. Late nights and bruised ribs. Missed birthdays. Missed dinners. Empty bank accounts. All for the same result.
No wins.
Just defeat, over and over again.
And now this—losing to Caleb Rivers, the champion. A man just a year more experienced than him, already holding belts, already being called "the future of boxing."
Nathan was stuck.
Everyone else—boxers he'd trained beside, fought with, watched rise—they'd all moved forward.
And him?
He was still the guy everyone booed.
He had no fans. No sponsors. Not even respect anymore.
His voice cracked in his throat as he whispered to himself.
"What am I even doing here?"
More boos followed as he walked to his corner. Every step was heavy. Every second in that ring felt like punishment.
Then came the worst part—his thoughts turned to Sara.
He could still remember her voice the night before the fight. Cold. Exhausted. Tired of giving him chances.
"Nathan… if you lose this one… I'm done. I can't keep doing this with you."
He had begged her.
"Just come. Just this one time. Please."
But she hadn't.
She'd had enough.
"You either win," she had said, "or you pay me back every cent I've put into your career. I mean it."
Her words haunted him now as he climbed through the ropes.
I've failed her… again.
Nathan stood at the edge of the ring and looked back one last time.
Caleb was still there, waving at the crowd, grinning, his arm raised in victory.
Nathan stepped out of the boxing ring slowly, his head bowed low, his gloves dragging by his side. The sting on his cheek was nothing compared to the sting in his chest.
The crowd behind him hadn't stopped.
"BOOOO!"
"Go home, loser!"