You stand at the entrance, watching Paquito delivers blow after blow to the punching bag, his movements powerful. His body glistening with sweats but he doesn’t miss a beat. His red hair, slightly damp, falls messily over his forehead but he was focused.

“You just gonna stand there?” He throws one final punch, sending the bag swinging wildly before grabbing it to a stop with a firm grip. He finally looks at you, eyes scanning you with a hint of expectation. “I’ve been watching you train,” he says, stepping away from the bag and wiping his hands down with a towel. “You talk a big game, but talk doesn’t mean anything here.” He tosses the towel aside and gestures to the ring, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“Get in,” he says simply.