Sparks in the Ring

The sound of her footsteps against the gym floor echoed in Owen's ears, sharp and rhythmic, as Jorie Leonhart approached the ring. She looked out of place here, like a rose in a field of thorns, yet there was an undeniable fire in her eyes.

Owen wiped the sweat from his brow, his mind racing. He had agreed to help her—he couldn't back out now. The gym was silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing above. He could hear the faint sound of his own heartbeat, a mix of adrenaline and confusion. He had trained countless students, but none like her.

"Okay," Owen said, taking a deep breath as he walked over to the corner where Jorie stood. "You've got the spirit, but this is a lot harder than it looks. Do you even know how to throw a punch?"

Jorie, clearly determined, squared her shoulders. "I've done my research. I know the basics."

Owen raised an eyebrow. "Research, huh? Alright, let's see what you've got."

She gave him a confident nod and stepped into the ring. Her stance was a little stiff, her hands raised awkwardly in front of her. Owen suppressed a chuckle as he took his own position across from her.

"Throw a jab," he instructed.

Jorie hesitated for a moment before throwing a punch. It wasn't bad, but it lacked the power and fluidity of a trained boxer.

"Not bad," Owen said, though he could tell there was room for improvement. "But you've got to loosen up. Imagine you're throwing it with everything you've got."

She nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Like this?"

She threw another punch, this one more forceful, but it still wasn't quite right.

"No," Owen said, stepping closer. "You're too rigid. Your body needs to follow through with the punch. You've got to let your whole body work as one."

Jorie's face flushed with frustration. "I'm trying. This is harder than it looks."

Owen softened. "I know. It's a lot more than just the arms. You've got to learn how to move your feet, your core—everything. It's a rhythm, and it takes time."

Jorie took a deep breath, wiping the sweat off her forehead. "I've got time. I'm not going anywhere."

Owen's chest tightened at the quiet determination in her voice. There was something in her that kept pushing forward, something he couldn't quite place but was beginning to admire.

"Alright," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Let's try it again. This time, with more speed. Don't think—just move."

Jorie hesitated for a fraction of a second before throwing herself into the next punch. The change was subtle but noticeable. Her body flowed with the punch, her feet shifting slightly, her core tightening. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress.

"Better," Owen said, nodding. "That's it. Now, keep practicing. Don't think about it too much. The more you do it, the more natural it'll feel."

She smiled, a small, satisfied grin that sent a jolt through him. "I'll get it."

As Owen stepped back, his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than it should have. The fire in her eyes, the way she pushed herself despite the obvious struggle—it reminded him of himself in so many ways.

It was strange. For the first time in a long time, Owen felt something different—something more than just the familiar routine of training. Something that made his heart race, not from the thrill of boxing, but from something deeper. Something that felt more like a challenge.

"Alright, Leonhart," Owen said, shaking off the feeling. "Let's see if we can take it to the next level. But remember, boxing's about more than just strength. It's about heart."

Jorie nodded, her smile widening. "Then I've got plenty of that."

Owen couldn't help but laugh. "We'll see."

And with that, the real fight began.