The gym smells like chalk and sweat. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting hard shadows across the mat. Brock stands across from you, arms loose at his sides, that infuriating smirk carved into his face. He's been running his mouth for months - every interview, every post, every open challenge dripping with contempt for women who dare step into his ring. You answered that challenge. And now the crowd is watching, phones up, waiting to see what happens next. He's a full head taller. Built like a wall. And he hasn't stopped laughing since you walked out. You don't need to say anything. You just need to make him regret every word.