From Bullets To Billions

This time, as Joe broke away from Aron and walked down the street, there was a noticeable lightness in his step. For once, he felt something close to confidence. He kept glancing at the inside of his jacket every few seconds, fingers brushing against the smooth lining.

Well, I can't complain too much, he thought, a small smile tugging at his lips. It fits really well… and green actually is my favorite color.

However, the warm and joyful moment didn't last long.

Eventually, his feet brought him to the front gates of Clapton High.

The school stood tall, grim, and uninviting. His smile vanished.

Alright, come on, Joe, he told himself. Jay and Max came here alone before, and they were looking to start a fight. You? You're just here to deliver a message. That's two completely different scenarios.

He nodded to himself. Then walked in.Then walked right back out. Then walked in again.

After a short cycle of pacing back and forth in front of the entrance, Joe finally took in a deep breath, clenched his fists, and stepped forward with conviction.

As he entered through the front, he noticed how eerily quiet everything was. Lunch had ended. There were no students lingering around, no voices echoing through the hallways. But Joe knew better. If he wanted to find the real students, the ones who ran things behind the scenes, he knew exactly where to look.

The delinquents. He was one once, after all.

If there was one thing Joe was certain of, it was that the delinquents were never in class. Not all of them. Somewhere on campus, someone was skipping, guaranteed.

He circled around the building, keeping low and sticking close to the edges until he turned a corner and spotted them.

Four students leaning against the school's outer wall, casually smoking. Their uniforms were untucked, and their posture screamed, "We don't care."

Joe paused mid-step.

Damn it, man, he thought. I was never as bad as these guys. I didn't skip class. I didn't smoke. All I did was…

His thoughts trailed off, not because he couldn't remember, but because the memories hit him like a sudden downpour.

Flashes of Max.

Of everything he'd done to him.

And not just Max.

Right… he realized. I was the worst kind of delinquent. The type that thought hurting others made me strong.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Being with Max… it changed all of that. Damn it, I owe him this, don't I?

Squaring his shoulders, Joe stepped toward the group.

It didn't take long for them to notice him. The smoking stopped. Their eyes narrowed. And all at once, they realized exactly what he was.

He wasn't one of them. And he sure as hell wasn't from their school.

"Who the heck are you, coming straight up to us like that?" one of the students snapped, stepping forward. The other three flanked him instantly, forming a line. Shoulder to shoulder, they suddenly looked a lot more intimidating. Bigger, tougher, and definitely more dangerous in numbers.

"Hey," another said, narrowing his eyes. "He's not from our school. Not with that jacket. And the fact that he came right up to us out of everyone? Nah, this guy's got some nerve."

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel like it was nothing.

Another cracked his knuckles, then started pounding his fist into his open palm with a rhythm that screamed 'I'm ready to break something.'

Why? Why is the first thing on these guys' minds always fighting?! Joe shouted internally. Give your poor knuckles a break for once!

"I'm here to meet Rick," Joe said quickly, raising both hands in front of him to try and calm things down. "I have a message I need to deliver to him. That's it."

One of the students scoffed. "And you think anyone who walks into Clapton in the middle of the day asking for Rick just gets to see him?"

"If you've got a message, tell us," another chimed in. "We'll decide if it's important enough for Rick to bother with."

Joe clenched his jaw. His teeth started to grind together. The whole situation was pushing his patience to the limit.

But instead of losing it, he turned around and pointed at the back of his jacket.

"You see this?!" Joe snapped. "This isn't some regular Bloodline gym hoodie. I need to deliver the message personally to Rick. So how about you just call him over already?"

He was hoping, really hoping, the rumors were true. That the Bloodline name meant something. That wearing the logo, especially this jacket, would keep the delinquents at bay. It had worked before. People were afraid to mess with those in the group.

But this time? It had the opposite effect.

"Hey! That's the f*ckers that attacked us last time!"

"Right! That jacket, he's one of them! But he's not the other two…"

"This fool came here alone. Let's get him and pass him off to Rick ourselves!"

The decision was made.

All four delinquents charged forward without hesitation.

"Freaking hell!" Joe shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Why does it always have to come to this?!"

The first punch came flying toward him, fast and wild, but Joe reacted just in time. He ducked low, letting the student's swing fly right over his head.

As one of the students lifted his leg to kick, Joe stepped swiftly to the side and threw out a clean jab, catching the guy square in the face.

The punch landed hard, really hard. The impact, combined with the attacker's own momentum, sent him skidding across the ground and crashing onto his back.

Joe's heart pounded, but his instincts were kicking in. And more than that, memories were flooding back.

He could hear Steven's voice in his head. The lessons. The long, grueling sessions after the mess with Dud.

"You should stick to your jabs," Steven had said, calm but serious. "They're your best asset, hands down. They say the one who controls the jab controls the ring, and you've got a good one."

"Although," Steven added with a smirk, "street fights are a whole different beast."

"Still," he continued, "in boxing, everyone has strengths and weaknesses. Your jab is what you need to focus on."

Joe had questioned him back then.

"How do I do that? And even if I do… will it be enough to beat Dud?"

Steven's reply was simple, but intense.

"Depends how good your jab is. First, you practice with perfect form. No shortcuts. A lot of people rush that part, but if you learn with mistakes, that's exactly what your body will remember when you're panicked in a real fight."

"Use the mirror. Drill the motion until it's clean. After that, then you add speed. Keep going, again and again."

"And here's the part that sets you apart from everyone else," Steven had said. "You're going to add endurance."

"If your form slips, if your jab gets sloppy, even once, go for a mile run. That's your punishment. No excuses. No breaks."

"Your body will get stronger. You'll build discipline. And trust me, after enough of those runs, you'll never want to throw a bad jab again. By the end of it, you'll have speed, control, and the stamina to keep going long after your opponent's given up."

Joe's eyes narrowed. The third student came at him, swinging wildly.

But Joe didn't flinch.

He fired three sharp jabs in quick succession, pop, pop, pop, each one cracking against the guy's face before he could land a single blow. The last jab sent the student stumbling back, clutching his nose in pain.

Then came the final attacker. But Joe didn't wait.

He ducked, swirled around behind him, and repositioned in a single fluid motion, turning back to face the others who were now groaning, stunned, or lying on the floor.

Joe adjusted his sleeves and took a deep breath.

"I didn't want to fight!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the school walls. "So can someone just get Rick already?!"

A voice rang out behind him, calm and amused.

"No need. I'm right here."