Two Days Later
The sound of Demetrius hitting the heavy bag carried across the gym like gunshots—sharp, explosive impacts that made everyone pause to look. He'd been working the same combination for ten minutes straight, throwing each punch with maximum power regardless of technique or efficiency. His natural athleticism was undeniable, but watching him train was like watching someone try to demolish a building with precision tools.
Liam tried to focus on his own rope work, but the display was impossible to ignore. In his previous timeline, those thunderous combinations had intimidated him into pushing harder than his skill level warranted, leading to sloppy technique and unnecessary injuries. Now, with the perspective that came from eight years of hard-earned experience, he could see the fundamental flaws in Demetrius's approach.
"Impressive sound effects," Carmen murmured as she moved to the speed bag next to where Liam was working. "Too bad boxing matches aren't scored on volume."
Her comment drew a surprised laugh from Liam, who hadn't realized she'd been watching the same display with equal skepticism. "You don't think he's ready to turn professional?"
"I think he's ready to get seriously hurt by anyone with decent fundamentals." Carmen began working the speed bag with the precision rhythm that made it look like an extension of her hands. "Power without control is just violence. Boxing's supposed to be more sophisticated than that."
Before Liam could respond, Demetrius himself appeared beside them, sweat-soaked and breathing hard from his extended heavy bag session. His usual cocky grin was firmly in place, but Liam noticed a tightness around his eyes that suggested the bravado might be covering some uncertainty.
"You two talking about me?" Demetrius asked, positioning himself deliberately between Liam and Carmen in a way that felt territorial.
"Just discussing training philosophy," Carmen replied without breaking her rhythm on the speed bag. "Different approaches, different results."
"Yeah? Well, my approach seems to be working pretty well." Demetrius flexed his shoulders, drawing attention to his impressive physique. "Jimmy Marconi wants to set up my first professional fight. Says I could be making real money by Christmas."
Liam felt his stomach drop. In his original timeline, Demetrius had turned professional after just four months of training, guided by the same small-time promoter who was apparently still interested in rushing talented but unprepared fighters into situations they couldn't handle.
"Four months of training and you're ready for professional boxing?" Carmen's tone carried just enough skepticism to make it clear what she thought of that timeline.
"Some people are natural athletes," Demetrius shot back, his confidence wavering slightly under her direct gaze. "Not everyone needs years of amateur competition to figure out the basics."
"The basics like defense?" Carmen stopped working the speed bag and turned to face him fully. "Ring positioning? Pace management? Fighting someone who actually knows how to punch back?"
The gym had gone quieter around them, other fighters sensing the tension building between two of the more promising prospects. Liam could see Vinny watching from across the room, his expression unreadable but alert.
"I can handle myself," Demetrius said, but his voice had lost some of its earlier certainty.
"Prove it," Carmen replied, and Liam felt his heart rate spike as he realized where this conversation was heading. "Spar with me. Right now. Let's see how those heavy bag combinations work against someone who moves."
ARP's warning voice cut through Liam's thoughts like an alarm: "This situation has significant potential for negative outcomes. Intervention may be advisable."
But before Liam could say anything, Demetrius's ego made the decision for him.
"You want to spar? Fine. But don't expect me to go easy just because you're a girl."
The words hung in the air like a challenge that couldn't be taken back. Carmen's expression didn't change, but Liam could see something dangerous flash in her dark eyes—the kind of cold fury that came from having your abilities questioned based on gender rather than skill.
"I wouldn't want you to," she said quietly.
Within minutes, word had spread through the gym that Carmen Rodriguez and Demetrius Washington were going to spar. Fighters abandoned their own training to gather around the ring, forming the kind of audience that turned practice sessions into events. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation and the particular tension that came when pride was on the line.
Vinny appeared at ringside as both fighters warmed up, his expression suggesting he wasn't entirely pleased with this development.
"This isn't a show," he announced to the gathered crowd. "Three rounds, light contact, focus on technique over power. Anyone who thinks this is entertainment can find another gym."
But even as he set the ground rules, Liam could tell this wasn't going to be a typical sparring session. Demetrius was already shadowboxing with more intensity than usual, his combinations sharp and aggressive. Carmen was quieter in her preparation, working through technical drills with the focused calm that marked experienced fighters before important bouts.
"This is going to be ugly," Liam muttered.
"For whom?" asked a voice beside him. He turned to see Isabella Chen, the sports journalism student who occasionally hung around the gym working on stories about amateur boxing. She had her camera ready and was taking notes with the intensity of someone who sensed she was about to witness something significant.
"Demetrius," Liam replied without hesitation. "He's not ready for someone like Carmen."
"You sound pretty certain for someone who's been training here for less than a month."
Isabella's observation was sharp enough to make Liam realize he needed to be more careful about displaying knowledge that exceeded his apparent experience. "I just watch a lot of boxing. You can tell when someone's more athlete than fighter."
Both fighters entered the ring, touching gloves with the formal courtesy that preceded combat. Demetrius looked confident, his natural size and strength advantages apparent even with both fighters wearing protective headgear and sixteen-ounce gloves. Carmen appeared smaller by comparison, but her movement had the fluid precision that marked technical excellence.
The bell rang, and Demetrius immediately pressed forward, looking to use his reach and power to overwhelm Carmen before she could establish her rhythm. His first combination was exactly what Liam had expected—a powerful jab-cross that would have been devastating if it had landed.
It didn't even come close.
Carmen slipped the jab with minimal movement, stepped outside the cross, and countered with a short left hook to Demetrius's body that doubled him over slightly. Before he could recover, she was already moving, circling to his left and forcing him to reset his position.
"She's making him miss by inches," Isabella observed, her camera clicking as she documented the action. "That's surgical precision."
Demetrius tried again, throwing the same combination with more urgency. Again Carmen avoided the punches with economical movement, and again she countered to his body—short, sharp punches that accumulated damage without providing the dramatic impact that might stop the sparring session early.
By the end of the first round, a pattern had emerged. Demetrius would press forward with power combinations, Carmen would make him miss, and then she'd counter with precise shots that landed cleanly while he was out of position. His superior size and strength were meaningless because he couldn't hit her consistently enough to use them.
"She's not just beating him," Liam realized aloud. "She's teaching him a lesson."
"About what?"
"About the difference between being an athlete and being a boxer."
The second round was more of the same, except now Demetrius was getting frustrated. His combinations became wilder, his footwork more desperate. Carmen continued to move with calm precision, picking her shots and landing them with increasing frequency as his defense deteriorated under pressure.
Halfway through the round, Demetrius threw a wild overhand right that missed by so much he nearly lost his balance. Carmen stepped inside his recovery and landed a perfect three-punch combination to his body that made him grunt audibly. For a moment, Liam thought the bigger fighter might go down.
Instead, Demetrius did something that changed the entire complexion of the sparring session.
He got angry.
Instead of trying to box, he began throwing punches with obvious intent to hurt rather than just score points. His shots became heavier, more targeted, carrying the kind of malicious intent that violated every unwritten rule of gym sparring.
Carmen adapted immediately, increasing her movement and defensive focus, but the dynamic had shifted from technical exercise to something more dangerous. Demetrius was using his size advantage to impose his will, and while Carmen was still winning the exchanges, she was having to work much harder to avoid taking serious damage.
"Someone needs to stop this," Isabella said, lowering her camera with obvious concern.
But Vinny was already moving. The old trainer climbed through the ropes and positioned himself between the fighters, his presence enough to pause the action without having to physically intervene.
"That's enough," he said, his voice carrying absolute authority. "Good work, both of you."
Demetrius was breathing hard, his face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. Carmen looked like she could have gone several more rounds, her breathing steady and her composure intact.
"Thank you for the lesson," she said to Demetrius as they touched gloves again, her tone polite but carrying an edge that suggested the lesson had been intentional.
As the fighters climbed out of the ring, the crowd began to disperse, returning to their own training with the subdued energy that followed dramatic events. But Liam noticed that several of the older fighters were looking at Carmen with new respect, while others were avoiding eye contact with Demetrius entirely.
"That was enlightening," Isabella said, checking her camera to make sure she'd captured the key moments. "Mind if I ask you a few questions about what we just witnessed?"
"I'm nobody important," Liam replied, suddenly aware that having his observations quoted in a boxing article might not be the best way to maintain a low profile.
"You called that fight perfectly before it started. That suggests either very good instincts or significant experience. Which is it?"
Before Liam could figure out how to answer without revealing too much, Carmen appeared beside them, toweling off sweat and looking remarkably composed for someone who'd just survived three rounds with an opponent who'd been trying to hurt her.
"Good sparring session," Liam said, though they both knew it had been much more than that.
"Educational," Carmen agreed. "For everyone involved."
"You could have seriously hurt him in the second round," Isabella observed. "That combination to the body had him ready to fold. Why didn't you follow up?"
Carmen considered the question carefully. "Because this is a gym, not a professional fight. The goal is learning, not destruction. Though some lessons require more emphasis than others."
As Isabella moved away to interview other fighters about what they'd witnessed, Carmen turned her attention to Liam.
"What did you think?" she asked.
"I think Demetrius just learned why amateur experience matters," Liam replied. "And I think you could have ended that anytime you wanted to."
"Could have. Didn't need to. He'll remember this lesson longer if his ego stays mostly intact." She paused, studying his face. "You weren't surprised by how it went."
It wasn't a question, and Liam realized he'd been too obvious in his assessment of the fight's likely outcome. "Like I said, you can usually tell when someone's more athlete than boxer."
"Usually, yes. But you called it with a lot of confidence for someone who's only been training for a month." Carmen's dark eyes searched his face. "Sometimes you seem older than you look, Liam Page."
The observation hit closer to home than she could possibly know, and Liam felt heat flush his cheeks. "Just observant, I guess."
"Maybe." Carmen didn't sound entirely convinced, but she let it slide. "Speaking of observation—same time tomorrow for pad work? I think your technique is progressing faster than your conditioning, which means we need to work on combinations that don't leave you breathing like a fish."
"I'll be here."
As Carmen walked away to finish her own training, ARP's voice cut through Liam's thoughts with clinical precision: "Your knowledge displays are becoming increasingly difficult to explain through casual observation. Recommendation: limit technical analysis in public settings to avoid suspicion."
"Noted," Liam muttered, gathering his gear and preparing to leave.
But as he walked toward the exit, he caught sight of Demetrius sitting alone on a bench near the lockers, staring at his hands with the shell-shocked expression of someone whose fundamental assumptions about themselves had just been shattered.
In his original timeline, this sparring session had never happened. Demetrius had turned professional without ever facing serious opposition in the gym, carrying his inflated confidence into paid competition where it had been brutally corrected by fighters who didn't care about his development or ego.
Maybe this version was better. Maybe learning these lessons in the gym, where the stakes were lower and the consequences less permanent, would save him from the kind of professional humiliation that had eventually driven him away from boxing entirely.
Or maybe some people just had to learn everything the hard way, regardless of how many opportunities they were given to choose a different path.
As Liam stepped out into the Philadelphia afternoon, he found himself hoping that Demetrius would prove to be the former rather than the latter. Everyone deserved a chance to learn from their mistakes before those mistakes became permanent.
Even if some lessons had to be taught with sixteen-ounce gloves and witnessed by half the gym.