Chapter 4

Chad's new policies hit the gym like a sledgehammer.

When the new contracts landed on the veteran coaches' desks, the locker room erupted.

Base pay was gutted, while the bonus metrics were borderline psychotic.

For instance, coaches were required to maintain a ninety-five percent student renewal rate, or forfeit their entire monthly commission.

"Is this guy out of his damn mind? He's trying to starve us out!"

Mack slammed the paper onto the bench, his face purple with rage.

"It's worse than that—he wants us to walk so he doesn't have to pay severance!" Sam added bitterly. "Look at clause eight: if metrics aren't met, management can terminate without notice or compensation!"

A cluster of younger trainers gathered around, boiling with righteous fury.

"Coach Cole, we can't take this sitting down! Let's all walk out together and let him run this empty barn himself!"

"Yeah! We'll follow you! We can open our own place across town!"

I raised both hands, pressing the air down to silence them.

"Quitting plays right into his hands," I said calmly.

"If we walk, he brings in his yes-men and takes complete, uncontested control."

"And more importantly, what about Leo and the rest of the fight team?"

"The State Championships are weeks away. Changing coaches right before a tournament is tactical suicide."

The room went dead quiet.

They were ready to burn their bridges out of loyalty, but they couldn't abandon the fighters they'd molded with their own hands.

"So what the hell do we do?" Mack asked, deflated.

"Wait," I answered simply.

"Hold your ground. Run your classes as usual. Do not sign that paper. He's sweating far more than we are."

Over the next few days, an eerie calm settled over the facility.

We taught our classes, but not a single veteran signed the new deal.

Chad pushed and threatened, but we brushed him off with "we're reviewing it with our legal counsel."

Meanwhile, his "elite masterclass" for our varsity squad hit a brick wall.

Leo was stubborn as a mule. He only trusted my training.

When the foreign trainer told him to practice "aura meditation" and visualize dodging punches against thin air, Leo snapped.

"I train to smash through my opponent, not play pretend!"

Chad dragged Leo into the office, screaming at him and threatening to strip him of his tournament slot.

Leo slammed the door in his face and stormed down to the toddler room to find me. The six-foot-three giant had tears of rage in his eyes.

"Coach, I'm done. This isn't our home anymore."

I pulled him into the equipment corner and handed him an electrolyte drink. "Sit down."

"They're mocking everything we stand for!" Leo punched the padded wall. "They don't care about winning fights! They just care about looking pretty for TikTok and Instagram!"

"I know," I said, clapping his back.

"I know it hurts. But how long have you bled for this State title?"

"You really want to throw all that away?"

Leo lowered his head, his knuckles popping as he clenched his fists.

"Hold the line," I told him, locking eyes with him.

"Trust me. This nightmare ends soon."

"Right now, protect your body. Don't get injured."

"Whatever nonsense they tell you to do during the day, nod, smile, and go through the motions. Don't waste energy arguing."

"The real work happens at night. Once they leave, I'll train you one-on-one."

Leo snapped his head up, a fierce spark blazing back into his eyes. "Coach!"

"Go. Act normal."