Koben's P.O.V.
I walk out onto the ring, cheers and whistles from the crowd muffled in my ears. I only hear my heartbeat and short shallow breaths as Maccaya's introduction is made by a referee and he positions himself on the opposite side of the ring.
My friend.
"Also from Philadephia," the chubby tall referee yells, "wearing red trunks, a 210 pound, one-time winner of the Merits, Mr. Maccayaaaa Hudsooon!"
Maccaya's a tall buffed mixed man in his middle 20s. We used to play basketball in his backyard and walk to school together.
No, I talk myself out of it. He's not my friend. He is the only thing standing between me and my goal. He is my enemy.
"Here we go into the first round," one of the commentators speaks as the bell announces the beginning of the match and Maccaya and I rush
