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  Part- 339:

  He paused, g his fists as if trying to squeeze the pain out of his khrough sheer willpower. “And it’s also about proving that we belong here. No matter what anyone says, no matter what they think.”

  Zia’s expression softened. He had known Sourov for years, but this was the first time he had seen his friend open up so much. He realized now just how deeply personal this tour was for Sourov—it was about more than just winning; it was about redemption, about h his roots, his family, and the traditions that shaped him.

  “And the knee?” Zia asked quietly. “You think fighting with it like this is worth the risk?”

  Save a small, bitter smile. “It doesn’t matter if it’s worth it or not. I don’t have a choice.”

  Banani High was on the cusp of winning the national title, and Sourov khat his teammates were ting on him. As one of the few heavyweight fighters, he pyed a crucial role ieam’s strategy. Without him, the team’s bance would be disrupted, leaving them vulnerable to Badda’s lineup. Ryan and James could carry some of the burden, but they couldn’t repce him entirely, because it’s a team game, one ot py two rounds in a sich.

  And Sourov *had* to be there—for them, for himself, and for everyone who believed in him. He had pushed his body to the limit, training day and night to prepare for this tour. The thought of sitting on the sidelines, watg his teammates struggle without him, was unbearable.

  Zia could see the stubborermination in Sourov’s eyes. His friend had already made up his mind. No amount of reasoning would ge that.

  “Fine,” Zia muttered, sighing in resignation. “But if you start feeling like you ’t move, you *tell* me, alright? No hero stuff.”

  Sourov chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with exhaustion. “No promises.”

  Zia shook his head, but a small smile tugged at the ers of his lips. “You’re impossible, man.”

  The door to the locker room creaked open, and Ryan poked his head inside. “Hey, you guys ing? Coach wants us o in five.”

  Save Zia a knowing look and stood up, biting down the pain that shot through his knee. “I’m ready,” he said, his voice steady.

  Zia watched as Sourov adjusted his uniform, masking his limp as best as he could. It was clear that his friend was running on sheer willpower now. But Zia also khat if anyone could push through the pain and deliver, it was Sourov.

  As the two of them followed Ryan out of the locker room and bato the arena, Sourov’s mind was already focused och ahead. There was no room for doubt, no space for fear. The only thing that mattered noinning—for his family, for his faith, for his team, and for himself.

  Because in Sourov’s mind, failure wasn’t an option.

  This was more than a tour. It was his fight for redemption—his way of proving that everything he had sacrificed, and everything his family had given up, had been worth it. And no injury, no matter how painful, would stop him from seeing it through.