The room murmured.
Stella looked Maya up and down.
Then laughed.
She took the microphone.
"Is this the best they could find?"
More laughter.
Stella pointed at Maya.
"She doesn't even look like she belongs here."
Maya didn't blink.
Stella stepped closer.
"I give her ten seconds before she's crying for her mother."
The cameras turned toward Maya.
Everyone waited.
Maya simply stepped off the scale.
She walked past Stella.
No response.
No insult.
Nothing.
The silence was more uncomfortable than any comeback could have been.
A reporter shouted:
"Maya! Aren't you going to respond?"
Maya stopped.
She turned around.
She looked directly at Stella.
Then she said quietly:
"Tomorrow."
And walked away.
The clip went viral.
People began reposting it.
"WHO IS MAYA?"
"SHE DIDN'T EVEN FLINCH."
"STELLA MAY HAVE PICKED THE WRONG OPPONENT."
Stella saw every post.
She became furious.
That evening, she demanded a private meeting with the organizers.
"Why is everyone suddenly interested in her?"
One promoter shrugged.
"Because you made her interesting."
Stella stared at him.
"What?"
"You mocked her."
"So?"
"So now people want to see what happens."
Stella leaned forward.
"She's nobody."
The promoter smiled.
"Then beating her should be easy."
Stella left the room.
But the words stayed with her.
For the first time, something unfamiliar began growing inside her.
Doubt.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Just doubt.
Meanwhile, Maya sat alone in the locker room.
Mick entered.
He found her staring at an old photograph.
"Who is that?"
Maya turned the picture over.
"My brother."
Mick sat beside her.
"You don't have to fight tomorrow."
"I know."
"You can walk away."
Maya nodded.
"I know."
"Then why aren't you?"
Maya looked toward the empty ring.
"Because he always told me something."
"What?"
She smiled faintly.
"He said people only remember the loudest person in the room."
Mick waited.
Maya continued.
"So I want to prove him wrong."
============================================================
CHAPTER 4
Fight night arrived on a sweltering Saturday.
The local arena, a converted warehouse on the edge of the city, was packed to the brim.
Exactly six hundred fans had crammed into the venue, the maximum capacity.
The air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and anticipation.
Almost everyone was there to see Stella.
They wore her merchandise.
They chanted her name.
Some held signs mocking the quiet challenger.
The arena was a cauldron of noise, ready to witness a massacre.
Near the front row, a young girl named Sophie sat beside her father.
She was wearing a homemade black T-shirt with one word written across it.
MAYA.