Chapter 70: Chapter 70
'That reaction stream got me a couple loyal viewers.'
Coming back from work, he flipped on his streaming software and got to reacting. He thought long and hard about what to do today. He considered riding the wave and continuing to talk about the rap feud. However, while Owen loved music and hip-hop culture, he wasn't super invested in it. He listened to big albums and ignored the smaller ones. If a song was good, he added it to his playlist. He didn't know how to analyze or anything like that.
'I mean…I could.'
Finding a niche…
Finding something only he could do…
That was the crux of WuTubing. Finding that sweet spot. Finding that audience. Finding what made you want to work. Learning through it all.
So while thinking of that, he continued to talk about the rap feud and continued to have viewers trickle in and out. It wasn't a success by any means. But…
MArioLu: bruh trust me
MArioLu: he's not replying
LeonidasTheGreat: goat cooked him too hard
"Yeah, but think about it: Josh always wants the last laugh. Every single feud before this, he won by being last."
LeonidasTheGreat: GOAT isn't losing
"I didn't say that. Honestly, I think whatever response Josh makes, it's going to have a lot of scrutiny. He's lost the media love and the public perception. I think he's going to make one last song and then get disliked to hell and back—"
LeonidasTheGreat: JOSH JUST DROPPPPPEEDD
MArioLu: fr?
LeonidasTheGreat: FRRRRRRR
"For real, for real?" Owen sat there, flabbergasted. His reaction was genuine. "Seriously? Already?"
LeonidasTheGreat: FRFRFRFRFRFR
LeonidasTheGreat: CHECK HIS ACCOUNT
"Have these guys been planning this for weeks? How are they dropping so fast?" Getting onto the channel, he wore a look of surprise. Surprise that turned into a smile, then devolved into full-blown laughter. "These dudes have serious beef."
Click.
"Let's watch."
That evening, he got fifty viewers to tune in on his reaction. It was, once again, a heart pounding experience that he couldn't wait to experience again.
***
"You look happy."
Opening the door fresh after ending his stream, he was met with Mary and her iconic feather nightgown. If Owen didn't know any better, he would think she had been wearing it all week.
"The stream went well. I do feel like taking a shower. My body feels really, really hot."
"That's what she said," Mary joked.
"That's what who said?" Ophelia appeared, puzzled. "Who is she?"
"It's a joke. You ever watch the Office?"
"Why would I watch an office?"
"Never mind." Mary sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Ophelia shrugged and nibbled on the donut from yesterday.
Their lighthearted exchange was interrupted by a loud thud from Isabella's room, followed by a frustrated groan. Owen and Mary exchanged concerned glances.
They knocked on her door. A groan of frustration echoed.
"Come in."
They found Isabella sitting at her desk, distracted on her keyboard with an irritated look on her face. The monitor of her computer was dark, with only a faint crack of light showing through. On her bed was her laptop, which had gone blue.
"Ugh." Mary's nose wrinkled. "This room stinks."
It did. Owen ignored that and focused on the owner of the room.
She looked up, her eyes filled with frustration. "The fucking screen just went black, and now it won't turn on at all! I've tried everything."
Mary leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Looks like someone needs a tech support call."
"This isn't funny, Mary," Isabella snapped. "We can't afford a new laptop or computer right now, and I need it for videos."
Owen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You can use my PC in the meantime."
Isabella sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Thanks, Owen, but I'm not stupid. You need it for streaming. We can't both use it."
Ah, of course she knew. Being observant was her middle name.
"It's not a big deal. We'll make it work," Owen insisted. "I'll get you a new laptop and computer, I promise."
"But how?" Isabella asked, her voice small.
"How did it even happen? Did you drop it?" Mary asked.
"No."
"You dropped it," Mary said as if her response was a confirmation. "Congrats, you're clumsy and stupid."
"Please just fucking leave."
"Just letting you know, I'm going because of the smell."
Mary pushed herself off and was gone.
Meanwhile, Owen sighed in his head. He had rent to pay, and with Mary, groceries had gone up. 'She's right, what can I do?' His fingers gripped her pink chair.
"If you're ever in the business of fighting, then contact the Royal Lions. We're looking for people to sponsor in cage matches. Huge prize pools."
"Our leader is the former son of the Ferraris. He has some connections and leeway with the cops. You probably won't find cage matches anywhere else in the western hemisphere save here."
"Why not join me? If you're as good as Bernard says, then I could use a man like you."
Fight.
Fight, fight, fight. That was what the world was telling him to do. Why? Why did he have to fight again? Why did God keep giving him his toughest battles?
As a cage fighter, the prize money could solve their problem quickly. And winning was…natural to him. It wouldn't be a problem.
That night, as Owen lay in bed, the idea kept gnawing at him. He wanted to provide for Isabella, to make sure she had what she needed to keep pursuing her dreams. But returning to cage fighting meant becoming his old self; risking his safety and potentially getting injured again.
He made a promise to Ophelia. Breaking a promise to someone else didn't matter too much to him, but Ophelia? She was different. A promise with her was an oath.
The next morning, as he biked to work, his thoughts were consumed by the dilemma. He wanted to help Isabella, but the solution was risky. He had promised himself he would never go back to that life, but now he found himself considering it again.
Pedaling down the street, he noticed a gym on the corner, its neon sign flickering in the early morning light. Memories of his days in the ring flooded back. The thrill of the fight, the roar of the crowd, the satisfaction of victory—it all felt so distant now.
Owen stopped his bike and stared at the gym. He knew he wasn't in prime condition anymore, but maybe, just maybe, he could get back into shape. He could train, enter a few matches, and earn the money they needed. It was a gamble, but it might be their only option.
'No, it's not,' he told himself, pedaling again. 'Let me see if I can ask for overtime first.'
***
"No," Boss Mike said.
"But—"
"No buts. Because of you, we're back on track for everything. If we need you, we'll call."
So that was that. No extra money for Owen. No overtime.
After work, he walked past the gym again. This time, he stopped and looked at the neon sign, its flickering lights reflecting in his eyes. He had made up his mind, and there was no turning back now.
He stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of sweat and the sound of clanking weights. The receptionist, a friendly shaggy-haired blonde with a braced smile, handed him a brochure.
"Hello there, sir! We're offering a two-month free membership for new members. Would you like to sign up?"
"Really?" He checked it over. "That's perfect. Sign me up."
After filling out some paperwork, he received his membership card.
"Is it okay to start today?" Owen asked.
"By all means, sir."
As he walked through the gym, he noticed a tall, imposing man wearing an orange jacket with a lion emblem on the back. Owen recognized it immediately—it was the mark of the Royal Lions. The man's presence was overbearing. He was a real strong man, going down to grab the steel bar then lifting himself up. The barbell and the plates were massive.
Owen heard applause from the men surrounding him.
"That's gotta be a record! Five hundred pounds!? Crazy!"
"It's not."
"You don't have to say it out loud…"
In his own area far away from them, Owen began his warm-up routine, stretching and preparing his muscles for the intense workout ahead. He occasionally glanced at the strong man and his cronies. It was just a peaceful observation.
'Dead lifting five hundred pounds is pretty amazing.'
After warming up, Owen moved to the bench press. He loaded the bar with heavy weights and lay down. He wanted to break the rust from his chest, arm, and shoulder muscles. Owen gripped the bar tightly. As he pushed the weights up, his muscles strained.
"God, it's been a while."
How much did he put on for his first attempt in years? Three hundred and fifty pounds.
A stranger nearby watched him with keen interest. He was a jolly, muscular Asian guy with a wide smile. As Owen completed his first set, the stranger approached.
"Nice stuff," the stranger said, nodding appreciatively.
Owen put the bar back and sat up, catching his breath. "Thanks. I used to train a lot. Just getting back into it."
The stranger extended his hand. "Name's Damian. I'm a regular here."
"Owen," he replied, shaking Damian's hand.
Damian grinned. "Nice to meet you, Owen. If you ever need a spotter, just let me know. I can tell you know what you're doing but rust is harder to get rid of than you think."
"I had a teacher too, I won't say I'm all knowing. Do you mind bringing up to speed?"
"Really eager, huh? Any reason?"
"Health, wealth, all that. Also, I work at a construction company. Better if I'm fit for it."
"Damn, construction? And you're still here? That stuff aches. I did it once when I was younger; quit on the first day. Couldn't stand the hours and the amount of walking." Damian eyed him up, smiling. "And I can see it helps. You're probably biased to yourself but you're pretty jacked."
"Haha, I wouldn't say that. You dwarf me."
"But I live in the gym. You must be doing some harsh work outs there, huh?"
"Don't underestimate construction workers."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone