From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 118

Chapter 118: Don’t Cheer For us, Be A Part Of Us

After visiting Dipter in juvie, Max’s view of the situation had sharpened.

So after dealing with school politics... now it’s a street gang, he thought as the car pulled away from the facility. I’ve never even heard of the Rejected Corps before. But then again, I spent most of my time focused on the syndicates and organized groups. We never really bothered with street gangs we didn’t use ourselves.

From Dipter’s tone, his hesitation, his fear, Max could tell this gang was different.

We’re not ready to take on something like that, he admitted silently. Not yet. Not without growing first. And definitely not without knowing what they’re capable of.

Back in the car, Max leaned back in his seat as Aron drove. But instead of heading toward Max’s apartment, they were going somewhere else.

"Did you find out what you needed?" Aron asked, keeping his eyes on the road. "Or was it more difficult than expected?"

He didn’t wait for a reply before adding, "While you were inside, I was mapping out how easy it would be to infiltrate the place. If you want, I have several methods to... extract truth. Very effective ones."

Max sighed, shaking his head.

He’d seen this side of Aron before. Calculating. Cold. He always wondered if it came from how he was raised, or what he’d been trained for.

"Please... it’s fine," Max said. "He talked."

He looked out the window, voice lower now.

"The situation’s more complicated than I thought. But I learned one thing for sure, "

He paused.

"The Stern family... including Dennis Stern... they’re not going to help. They won’t step in. Not for me. Not for Chad. We’re on our own, Aron."

The car eventually pulled to a stop just outside the main Bloodline Gym.

Max opened the door and stepped out. Before Aron could follow, Max turned and gave a short nod.

"Head back. I’ll handle things from here."

When Max stepped into the gym, he was greeted by the sharp, rhythmic thud of gloves pounding into a heavy bag.

Steven was drenched in sweat, shirtless, locked in a relentless rhythm as he hit the bag again and again.

Eventually, he slowed, catching his breath, and spotted Max watching from across the room.

"You could’ve said something instead of creeping in like that," Steven said, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. "Kinda weird, you know. Watching a shirtless man work out in silence. But hey, if it’s your thing, I won’t judge."

Max cracked a smile. "Glad to see you’re still in the mood to joke."

He stepped closer.

"Were there any students here today?"

Steven nodded, pulling off his gloves. "Fewer than usual. But some still showed up."

He tossed the gloves over to Max. "Put these on. Let’s spar while we talk."

Max caught them and eyed the damp insides.

"Do I have to use these ones?"

He was already walking toward the shelf, swapping them for a fresh pair.

Steven scoffed. "Ah, right. Forgot you’re royalty or something."

"No," Max replied, slipping on the new gloves. "I just prefer not to soak my hands in another man’s sweat, no matter how much you might wish it was my thing."

Steven laughed under his breath, then lifted the pads.

This time, he held them in specific angles, measured and precise. Max struck, again and again, but Steven would randomly swing back, forcing Max to dodge, react, stay on edge.

It was more intense than any session they’d had before.

And as it continued, Max began to realize something:

Steven was good. Not just experienced, disciplined. Sharp. Every move deliberate. Every swing controlled.

"Why are you so serious today?" Max asked between hooks. He dodged two quick jabs that came in like lightning. "Feels like you’re actually trying to teach me something."

"When you’re fighting, I’ve noticed something," Steven said, holding the mitts steady as Max fired punches. "You’re good. Honestly, it’s like you’re a natural."

He nodded slightly, eyes following Max’s rhythm.

"You pick things up fast, techniques, movements, you see them once and you start copying them. And it’s not just boxing. You’ve got that instinct in other areas too."

Max kept hitting, keeping his form sharp.

"But," Steven added, "you’ve got no standout skill. No star talent."

The words hit harder than any punch. Max didn’t react, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"It works now, sure. But in the future, when you face someone with real talent, someone gifted, not just trained, you’re going to struggle. Unless you figure out what your thing is. What makes you different."

Max gritted his teeth and slammed a punch into the mitt with everything he had.

Even in his past life, he’d been a solid fighter, but he’d never quite found what made him special. And now, in a new body, even that foundation felt uncertain.

"You know people like you," Max continued. "Trainers. Fighters. The kind who can do what you do, teach, guide, protect. The other gyms are growing fast. More students are coming in every day. And I want what you’ve done here to be the blueprint for all of them."