Semua Bab Royalty College : Bab 31 - Bab 40

Coach’s whistle cut through the air like a knife.“Gloves up! This isn’t playtime. Screenings are around the corner, and some of you are still punching like amateurs.”The gym smelled of sweat, leather, and disinfectant. The sound of gloves smacking heavy bags echoed all around me. Older fighters moved with sharp precision, their punches crisp. Meanwhile, the freshmen—myself included—were struggling to keep up.I threw a combo into the bag—jab, jab, hook. The impact rattled my wrist. Not clean enough.“Too soft, Neville!” Coach barked. “You think State’s gonna go easy on you? You want to be champion, you bleed for it!”My arms ached. My lungs burned. But I kept punching.Because if I stopped, even for a second, the whispers would catch up. The ones I heard in the hallways after Jeffrey’s performance.Boxing? Cute. But Jeffrey already won his category.Collins won’t even make it past qualifiers.No way he survives Royalty’s lineup, let alone State.Every punch I threw was an answer to

The studio had emptied out by midnight. The clatter of machines was gone, the chatter and laughter replaced by silence. Only one lamp glowed in the corner, casting long shadows across the scattered scraps of fabric. And in the middle of it all sat Aalia and Collins. The ruined fabric was pushed aside, and in its place, new pieces were spread across the table. Nothing matched, nothing looked like the original design—but it was something. Aalia sighed, rubbing her eyes. “This is pointless. Even if I rebuild, it won’t be the same. Vanessa was right—I’ll embarrass myself on stage.” “Stop,” Collins said sharply, not looking up from the scissors in his hand. “Don’t give her that power.” She glanced at him, the way he was so focused, cutting carefully along her sketches like he’d been born in a studio instead of a boxing gym. His tongue stuck out a little at the corner when he concentrated. She almost laughed. “You’re surprisingly careful with fabric for a guy who spends his time punchi

The fashion studio smelled faintly of ironed fabric and starch, but to Aalia it felt like a battlefield. She carried her mannequin carefully into the room, her heart hammering like she was dragging a body to war.Her design was different now. Not the sleek, perfect vision she’d started with, but something rawer, patched together from scraps, stitched with determination instead of ease. She could still see Collins’s fingerprints on it—in the folds he’d held down for her, the seams he’d insisted she redo until they were clean.She hated that she almost liked it better than her original.Heads turned as she wheeled it to her spot. Whispers filled the room instantly.“Wait… didn’t Vanessa ruin her stuff?”“How’d she pull this off overnight?”“Did someone help her?”Aalia ignored them, though her cheeks burned.And then Vanessa arrived, strutting in with her perfect curls and perfect smirk, her friends trailing behind like bodyguards. Her eyes landed on Aalia’s design and froze for a split

The gym wasn’t buzzing like usual—it was vibrating.The fighters weren’t training, weren’t hitting bags or shadowboxing. Instead, they were huddled around the bulletin board like kids at exam results. The air was thick with sweat, tension, and ambition. Everyone wanted to see if their name was there.Collins slipped in with Musa at his side, his ribs still tender from the gauntlet. His pulse quickened with every step closer.“What’s happening?” Collins muttered.Musa grinned like it was Christmas morning. “Coach finally dropped the shortlist. Fifteen names. State material.”Collins’s stomach twisted. He edged forward, pushing past taller bodies until the white paper came into view. Fifteen names, bold and unforgiving.He scanned fast, desperate.Not at the top. Not in the middle.There.Collins Neville.His throat tightened. His name. His chance.The sound around him blurred for a second, like his brain refused to process it fully. He was in.“Bro!” Musa nearly tackled him, pounding h

The gym at six in the morning was a different beast. No chatter, no crowd, just the steady thump of jump ropes hitting the floor and the wheeze of lungs waking up before the sun.Collins’s arms already ached, and training hadn’t even started. He’d been up late after leaving Aalia at the fountain, replaying every second in his head. But now there was no room for that. Coach had promised double sessions, and he wasn’t lying.“On the line!” Coach barked, whistle in his teeth.The fighters snapped into rows. Curtis stood a few feet down from Collins, smirk already in place, like he’d been waiting for this moment.Coach’s whistle blew.Laps. Sprints. Pushups. Rope. No breaks.By the third round, Collins’s shirt clung to him, drenched. His ribs ached with every breath, his arms screamed with every pushup. But he kept moving, teeth gritted, refusing to slow.Curtis jogged past him deliberately on the track, muttering just loud enough. “Better pace yourself, rookie. Don’t want to die before t