?<strong>Chapter 987:</strong>


    “Why would I believe you?” Rnd shot back.


    “Are you scared?” Lucas teased.


    “Go! Go now!”


    The boxing gym wasn’t open at night, but since Lucas knew the owner, they were allowed in as an exception.


    The ce was empty, save for the harsh lights above the boxing ring that zed hot and ring in the otherwise dim space. Rnd changed into his gym clothes, eyeing his injured arm as he slid on his boxing gloves.


    The cast was gone, but he still wasn’t sure if he could push himself to the limit. Lucas, already warming up nearby, noticed his hesitation. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch that arm.”


    “Enough talking,” Rnd grunted, stretching his body and getting into a fighting stance. He hadn’t wanted to fight, but Lucas had insisted.


    Wade had trained him for years. He could handle three people at once without breaking a sweat.


    Lucas, now in his gloves, squared off with him. They stared each other down, eyes locked in silent challenge.


    Fighting wasn’t just about raw power—it was about reading your opponent, anticipating their next move.


    There was an old saying: “You never truly know someone until you’ve fought them.”


    And in the ring, every move revealed something about the person, from their strikes to their defenses.


    Lucas was mostly on the defensive, but when he attacked, it was like a predator going in for the kill.


    Rnd had stamina to spare. He relied on wearing his opponents down, his moves calcted and relentless. His personality mirrored that—brave, strategic, straightforward.


    They fought until three-thirty in the morning.


    Exhausted, Rndy sprawled on the boxing ring, his breath ragged. He hadn’t felt this alive since Wade passed away.


    “I lost,” Lucas copsed beside him, panting heavily, sweat soaking his clothes. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them aside before lying down next to Rnd.


    “You’re pretty good, too.” Rnd stared at the flickering lights on the ceiling.


    “Who taught you that?”


    “My dad.”


    Rnd’s expression darkened, his mood sinking like a stone. “Rafael?”


    “You know him?”


    “I don’t know him. But there’s something about him that feels familiar.”


    Lucas looked at him. “Do you miss your dad?”


    Rnd’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Don’t start pretending we’re pals. Talk to me like that again, and I’ll make you regret it.”


    After spending some time with him, Lucas had figured Rnd out—he didn’t respond well to being pushed around.


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