The first punch came exactly as Liam remembered—a lazy jab thrown with just enough speed to test his reactions but not enough power to cause damage. In his original timeline, that same punch had frozen him with indecision, leading to a clean hit that had established the pattern for three rounds of systematic punishment.
This time, Liam slipped it cleanly.
The movement felt natural, almost automatic, his head moving just enough to let Miguel's glove whistle past his ear. The defensive technique Carmen had drilled into him over weeks of pad work had translated perfectly to live combat, muscle memory overriding the panic that threatened to overwhelm his conscious mind.
Miguel's eyebrows rose slightly—the universal fighter's expression for mild surprise. Beginners weren't supposed to slip punches that cleanly, especially not on their first attempt at sparring.
"Good," the bigger fighter said, resetting his position. "Let's see if you can do it twice."
The second jab came faster, followed immediately by a lazy right cross. Liam slipped the jab again and stepped back to avoid the cross, his footwork carrying him out of range before Miguel could follow up with additional punches.
Around the ring, Liam could hear murmurs of approval from the gathered fighters. Defensive movement was the first skill most beginners struggled with, and clean defensive work always impressed observers who understood how difficult it was to avoid punches while maintaining composure.
"Movement's good," Vinny called from ringside. "Now let's see some offense."
Miguel settled into a more defensive posture, hands high, waiting to see what Liam would throw. The bigger fighter's stance was textbook perfect—balanced, mobile, presenting minimal target area while maintaining the ability to counter-punch effectively.
Liam threw a tentative jab, aiming for Miguel's gloves rather than trying to sneak past his guard. The punch landed exactly where he'd intended it to, a safe probe that established distance without committing to serious offense.
"Harder," Miguel said, his voice carrying the patient tone of an experienced sparring partner. "I'm not made of glass."
But Liam couldn't throw harder. Not because he lacked the physical capability, but because increasing the power meant increasing the commitment, and commitment meant risk. Every instinct developed over eight years of taking punishment screamed at him to stay safe, to avoid the exchanges that led to getting hurt.
ARP's voice cut through his hesitation with clinical precision: "You are experiencing performance anxiety consistent with post-traumatic stress response. Recommend focusing on pre-planned combinations rather than reactive boxing."
The advice made sense. Instead of trying to improvise against Miguel's defense, Liam threw the basic combination Carmen had taught him—jab, cross, hook. The sequence came out cleanly, each punch thrown with proper technique if not maximum power.
Miguel absorbed the combination on his gloves and immediately countered with a short right hand that caught Liam on the side of his headgear. The impact wasn't hard—barely more than a firm tap—but the sound of leather meeting plastic sent shock waves through Liam's nervous system.
He'd been hit. Someone had thrown a punch with the intention of hitting him, and they'd succeeded.
For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm his technical training. His vision narrowed, his breathing became shallow, and every muscle in his body tensed for flight rather than fight. This was the moment where everything had gone wrong in his previous timeline—the instant when sparring had stopped being a learning exercise and started being a survival situation.
But instead of freezing or panicking, Liam forced himself to move. He circled to his left, hands up, breathing deliberately through his nose rather than gasping through his mouth. The punch hadn't hurt—his headgear had absorbed most of the impact—and Miguel's follow-up was deliberately slow, giving him time to recover his composure.
"Good recovery," Carmen called from ringside. "Stay moving."
The second round followed a similar pattern. Miguel would probe with lazy combinations, Liam would respond defensively, and occasionally they'd exchange light punches that served more to establish rhythm than to cause damage. By the midpoint of the round, Liam found himself relaxing into the flow of sparring, his body remembering that boxing could be a technical exercise rather than just organized violence.
His offense remained cautious, but his defense was genuinely impressive for a beginner. He was slipping punches consistently, moving his feet effectively, and maintaining enough composure to counter-punch when opportunities presented themselves.
"Time," Vinny called, ending the second round.
As Liam sat on his stool, breathing hard but not exhausted, he caught sight of Isabella furiously taking notes while other fighters nodded approvingly at his performance. Carmen appeared at his shoulder with water and a towel.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Better than I expected," Liam admitted. "Miguel's not trying to take my head off."
"That's the point. First sparring session is about learning to function under pressure, not proving how tough you are." She checked his eyes, looking for signs of impact or disorientation. "Your defense is really solid. Most beginners just cover up and hope for the best."
The praise felt good, but Liam knew his defensive success had less to do with natural ability and more to do with understanding exactly what Miguel was trying to accomplish. Experienced sparring partners followed predictable patterns when working with beginners—they tested your basic reactions, exposed obvious weaknesses, but always maintained enough control to prevent serious damage.
"One more round," Vinny announced. "Miguel, step it up a little. Kid needs to see what happens when the pace increases."
The final round was different. Miguel's punches came faster, his combinations were more complex, and his movement became more aggressive. Nothing dangerous—still well within the boundaries of controlled sparring—but enough to test whether Liam could maintain his composure when the pressure increased.
For the first minute, Liam handled the increased pace well. His movement remained sharp, his defense stayed disciplined, and he even managed to land a few clean counter-punches that drew approving sounds from the audience.
Then Miguel threw a combination that replicated almost exactly the sequence that had knocked Liam out in his professional debut eight years ago.
The similarity was probably coincidental—jab, jab, right cross was hardly an unusual combination—but the visual pattern triggered something deep in Liam's nervous system. For a split second, he wasn't sparring with Miguel Santos in Santino's Boxing Gym. He was back in that professional ring, facing Tony Guzman, experiencing the moment when everything had started going wrong.
His defensive movement stuttered. His hands dropped slightly. His footwork became flat-footed as muscle memory from his previous timeline overrode his current training.
Miguel's right cross landed clean, catching Liam flush on the jaw despite his headgear.
The punch wasn't hard by professional standards, but it was significantly more forceful than anything Miguel had thrown in the previous two rounds. The impact snapped Liam's head back and sent him stumbling backward until the ropes caught him.
For a moment, the gym went quiet except for the sound of Liam's ragged breathing.
"You okay?" Miguel asked, immediately dropping his hands and moving closer to check on his sparring partner.
Liam nodded, though his ears were ringing and his legs felt unsteady. The punch had been clean and well-timed, the kind of shot that would have dropped him in his previous timeline but now served mainly as a reminder of how much his conditioning had improved.
"Time," Vinny called, ending the round and the sparring session.
As the fighters touched gloves and climbed out of the ring, Liam found himself surrounded by the usual post-sparring analysis from other gym members. Most of the feedback was positive—his defense had been impressive, his composure under pressure was better than expected, and his movement showed real potential.
But Liam barely heard the praise. His attention was focused on the single moment when his training had failed him, when psychological triggers from his previous life had overwhelmed his current skill level. If Miguel had been a genuine opponent rather than a controlled sparring partner, that moment of hesitation could have been catastrophic.
"Good work," Carmen said as he pulled off his gloves, but her expression carried concern along with the praise. "That was really solid for a first sparring session."
"Except for the part where I got caught," Liam replied, gingerly touching his jaw where Miguel's punch had landed.
"Everyone gets caught. The important thing is how you handle it." She studied his face, clearly noting something in his expression that concerned her. "You looked like you saw a ghost right before that punch landed. What happened?"
Liam considered how to explain without revealing too much. "Just a flashback, I guess. Remembered getting hit hard during amateur competition."
The lie came easily, but Carmen's expression suggested she didn't entirely believe it. "You never mentioned competing as an amateur."
"Just a few local tournaments. Nothing serious." Another lie, but necessary to explain his moment of vulnerability without admitting that he'd lived through eight years of professional boxing that had ended with his death in the ring.
"Well, whatever it was, you recovered well," Isabella Chen interrupted, appearing beside them with her notebook and camera. "Mind if I ask a few questions about your first sparring experience?"
The last thing Liam wanted was to have his performance analyzed in print, especially given the psychological complications that had nearly derailed his final round. But refusing an interview might draw more attention than granting one.
"I guess," he said reluctantly.
"How did it feel to get hit for the first time in training?"
"Educational," Liam replied, trying to project the kind of casual confidence that would make for a boring interview. "Miguel was very controlled. It was exactly what I needed to understand what sparring is supposed to accomplish."
"Your defense was really impressive for a beginner. Have you had any formal training outside this gym?"
The question hit dangerously close to areas Liam couldn't afford to explore. "Just what I've learned here. Good coaching makes a big difference."
Isabella continued asking questions for another few minutes, but Liam managed to keep his answers generic enough to avoid revealing anything problematic. By the time she finished taking notes, most of the other fighters had returned to their own training, and the excitement surrounding his first sparring session had faded into gym routine.
As Liam gathered his gear and prepared to leave, Vinny appeared at his shoulder.
"Not bad for a first timer," the old trainer said. "Your fundamentals held up under pressure, which is more than most kids can say."
"Thanks. Miguel was easy to work with."
"Miguel's good at his job. Knows how to give beginners exactly what they can handle." Vinny paused, studying Liam's face. "But I noticed something in that last round. You hesitated right before you got caught. What was that about?"
The question was direct enough that deflection wouldn't work. "Just got distracted for a second. Won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't. Distraction gets you hurt in this sport." Vinny's expression softened slightly. "But overall, good work. We'll do this again next week, maybe with someone a little more challenging."
As Liam walked out of Santino's into the Philadelphia afternoon, he felt the complex mixture of satisfaction and concern that characterized most significant learning experiences. His first sparring session had been largely successful, proving that his technical development was solid enough to handle live competition.
But the moment when his previous life's trauma had interfered with his current performance served as a reminder that psychological scars could be just as limiting as physical limitations. No amount of technical training would matter if he couldn't maintain composure when situations triggered memories of his previous failures.
"Analysis complete," ARP announced as he walked home. "Your performance exceeded baseline expectations for first sparring session. However, psychological vulnerability remains a significant concern requiring additional conditioning."
"Any recommendations?"
"Systematic exposure therapy through gradually increasing competitive pressure. Also recommend visualization exercises to separate current reality from previous timeline memories."
Liam nodded, already planning how to address the mental aspects of his training alongside the physical and technical components. Boxing was proving to be just as much about conquering internal demons as it was about learning to throw punches.
But for the first time since returning to this impossible second chance, he felt like he was making progress on multiple fronts. His body was getting stronger, his technique was becoming more refined, and most importantly, he was beginning to believe that he could build something worthy of the sacrifice his previous life had represented.
One sparring session at a time, one small victory building on another until they added up to something that looked like redemption.
The road was longer than he'd hoped, but at least now he knew he could walk it without falling down.