Chapter four: A perfect gift

It was 8 PM when I heard my dad’s car horn. He actually came home early, just as he said he would. On a normal day, he wouldn’t return until midnight or later.

I peeked through the window and saw him stepping out of the car. As soon as he entered, I went to meet him to take his bag.

“Collins,” he called.

I tensed up. He only calls me by my name when something serious has happened.

“Yes, sir?” I responded.

“I heard you got into a fight today?” His tone made it clear it wasn’t a question that required an answer. News had already reached him.

Before I could speak, he added, “I hope you won?”

I looked up, surprised. I had expected a lecture, maybe even an argument. I was still getting used to him—I hadn’t grown up with my dad, and there was still a lot to learn about him.

“Yes, I did,” I admitted, “but I only fought because he injured Uncle and wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“As long as you won, I’m fine with it. We don’t lose in this family.” He laughed, and I let out a relieved chuckle, joining in.

“Go take a bath. You reek of sweat—we’re going out.”

“Where to?” I asked.

“If I tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

“No, sirrr,” I grinned.

I went upstairs to shower. By the time I came down, Uncle had already cleaned up too and was walking normally. I guess his injury wasn’t as bad as I thought—I had overreacted.

“How’s your leg?” Dad asked.

“It’s fine. I think my mind made it seem worse than it actually was. I guess I was just scared of getting injured again,” Uncle admitted.

“That’s okay. We’ll pick up some medication on our way back,” Dad replied.

“I’m going too?” Uncle asked.

“Yes,” Dad said simply.

After what felt like forever getting ready, I finally came downstairs.

“You take longer than a lady,” Dad teased.

“I take after you,” I shot back.

“How? I don’t take long to get ready.”

“But you always look good, so I want to look good too.”

I laughed, and the driver, who had been quietly listening, added, “Like father, like son.”

We all laughed as we got into the car.

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We pulled up to Blitz Arena, where a highly anticipated boxing match was about to take place. It wasn’t a title fight, but both fighters were well-known.

As soon as I realized where we were, I turned to my dad and hugged him. This was the best way to celebrate my admission.

He patted my head and motioned for us to move forward.

As we approached the entrance, I noticed the massive line of people waiting to get their tickets scanned.

“Dad, this line is too long. Are we cutting it?” I asked as we walked past the queue.

Beside the main entrance, there was another lane—this one with a red carpet and a ‘VIP’ sign above the door. Unlike the regular line, it was completely empty.

Without hesitation, Dad led us there. He pulled out our VIP tickets, but before he could even show them, the security guards waved us through.

They didn’t even check if our tickets were legit. They were part of my dad’s security company.

My dad is an ex-army officer who now owns one of the top security agencies in the country. His company provides security for celebrities, events, weddings—you name it.

Once inside, an usher led us to our seats—the best in the entire arena.

I don’t think any gift could have topped this.

As we settled in, another family took their reserved seats next to us.

That’s when I saw her.

She walked past me, and for a moment, I was completely distracted. She was beautiful. But when she sat down, I lost sight of her. No matter how hard I tried to peek, the people sitting next to her blocked my view, and the bright arena lights weren’t helping.

I gave up trying to steal another glance when the fight started.

The atmosphere was electric.

Punches were exchanged, blood was drawn. I held my breath as I watched, my head moving in sync with every dodge and swing of my favorite fighter. When he dodged, I dodged. When he got hit, I clenched my teeth. My legs bounced restlessly as I followed his footwork.

Then came the critical moment.

He threw a powerful punch—but put too much force behind it. He slipped.

His opponent saw the opening and took full advantage.

A counterpunch. A hook. A flurry of relentless blows.

Five seconds. My favorite fighter collapsed. A knockout.

The referee checked on him and began the count.

1… 2… 3…

The crowd joined in.

At the eight-count, he tried to stand, but his legs were too weak.

9… 10.

The bell rang. His opponent had won.

“You can’t always win,” Dad said as we stood to leave.

I turned to check on our neighbors, hoping to catch another glimpse of the girl—but they were gone.

I had been so focused on the fight that I hadn’t even noticed when they left.

“That match was so intense, I forgot to breathe,” I said as we walked out.

“That’s pro fighting for you,” Uncle added.

“Man… I still have a long way to go before I even think about going pro. If I got into the ring now, I wouldn’t last three rounds.”

Uncle burst into laughter.

“Three rounds?” he scoffed. “Boy, you wouldn’t even last a minute.”

“Well, I’d just use the hit-and-run method,” I said boldly.

Dad chuckled. “Right now, the gap between you and them is like a bungalow compared to a skyscraper. You need a lot more hard work and experience.”

We got into the car and drove off.

On the way home, we made a quick stop at a pharmacy to grab medication for Uncle’s leg—and then we called it a night.