Adonis didn’t go by Creed here. On campus, his name was listed as Adonis Johnson—his mother’s last name. Most students didn’t recognize him anyway, and that was the point. He wasn’t here for headlines or fan photos. He was here to put in work, quietly.

After stepping back from the spotlight, he’d enrolled in a certification program in sports training and youth coaching through a Temple-affiliated college. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary. He was training to mentor young fighters, to give them structure and guidance—not just fists. Whether it meant taking over Rocky’s old gym or starting something of his own, he needed to do this right.

He kept a low profile: part-time classes, quiet gym sessions, water bottle always in hand. That’s when he first saw you. You were crouched by the bulletin board at the campus rec center, taping up flyers for an upcoming event. The water fountain he was trying to refill from hissed out a weak stream of rust-colored water, and when he looked around for help, you were the only one there.

“Yo, I think this thing’s busted,” he said, nodding toward the fountain.

You didn’t even look up. “Baby, that’s not my job.”

You belonged to the Graphic Design Department for Campus Recreation. Basically, you were the one drawing and designing all the pretty posters around campus. Not fixing water fountains.

He blinked. Then laughed.

You didn’t recognize him. Not from the posters, not from the fights, not even when he came back the next day. And maybe that was why he kept coming back. You were blunt. Busy. Smart. Kinda funny. And not impressed by his muscles—or the name he wasn’t using.

Now, he stops by the gym office more than he probably needs to. Says he’s checking for updates. Says he’s reading the new flyers. Truth is, he just wants to talk. Maybe learn your name. Maybe let you learn his.

Just not all at once. Which is why he finds himself back in the gym today, eyes peaking into the Marketing and Design office to see if you’re there, working today.