Rof patiently waited until Silas had left. He needed to speak to Manny privately, a conversation that was meant to be between just the two of them, devoid of Silas's analytical gaze. Silas had a knack for observing and storing everything in his memory. This was a conversation that Rof wanted to be pure - just two men and the truth that hung in the balance.
Silas left around midday, his footsteps echoing up the stairs, followed by the sound of the door closing behind him. Rof was seated on the boxing ring apron while Manny was busy coiling a rope at the far end of the gym. The gym was imbued with a unique silence indicative of a place that had witnessed tremendous effort and was now taking a breather.
"Rael visited yesterday," Rof broke the silence.
Manny continued coiling the rope, his hands were steady, and his back was rigid.
"I know," he replied.
"He informed me about the church and your debt," Rof continued, his gaze fixed on Manny. "He told me you were already there at St. Augustine's that morning because he had requested your presence."
Manny finished coiling the rope, placed it on the canvas, and turned around to face Rof. His gaze was intense, the kind he reserved for things that demanded his full attention. His broad face, dark eyes, and the scars on his brow that bore tales Rof was yet to hear.
"Yes," Manny replied, his response concise and devoid of any embellishment.
Rof looked at him, "That's all?"
"What else do you want me to say?"
"Something that makes sense," Rof responded. His tone wasn't cold or angry, just straight to the point, mirroring the directness of his father. Directness was a form of respect, and Manny had earned that respect, despite the ground shifting beneath them.
Manny walked over to a stool at the ringside and sat down. He rested his elbows on his knees, glanced at the floor for a moment, and then looked up at Rof.
"Six years ago, a man approached me," he began. "I was on the verge of losing the gym. Not dramatically, but slowly, as good things often do when the money runs dry, and attention shifts elsewhere. I had trained two professional fighters who had moved on, taking their camps and their money with them. I was left with a building I couldn't afford and equipment that was aging." He paused for a moment. "Rael bought the debt. He didn't foreclose; he merely held it. In return, he asked me to do something."
"To spy on people," Rof interjected.
"To watch over people," Manny corrected him, emphasizing the distinction. "There's a difference. He provided me with a file. It didn't reveal everything but just enough to understand what I was dealing with. A young man in the city with a unique neurological profile. Extraordinary physical abilities that lacked direction. No training, no structure. He was potentially dangerous to himself if left unchecked." His gaze met Rof's. "He asked me to be available, to be in a position where you could find me if you were looking."
"The church," Rof said.
"I've been attending that church for twelve years. That part was real even before Rael got involved," Manny's jaw tightened slightly. "He was aware of that. He knew it was my church. He chose it because it was already a part of my life. Because the most useful positions are those that don't need to be created from scratch." He paused for a moment. "That's his modus operandi."
Rof sat there, absorbing everything.
"Everything you taught me," Rof began. "The guard, the footwork, the things you said about faith, hard work, and trusting the process." He looked at Manny steadily. "Did he script that as well?"
Manny looked at him for a moment.
"No man scripted what I know," Manny replied, his voice barely above a whisper, but the softness of his tone conveyed more than if he had shouted. "I've spent thirty years in this gym. I've trained two fighters from scratch. I had my own career before my knee gave out. The things I know about boxing and men - nobody handed me those. I earned them." His gaze was unwavering. "What I taught you is mine. Rael positioned me. He didn't influence my thoughts." He paused for a moment. "The things I told you - about faith, about hard work - I said those because they are true. Because I observed you and saw a man who needed to hear them. Not because anyone asked me to."
The gym was silent.
Rof looked at him.
Rof began to understand Manny Reyes. The church, the gym, the wooden stick, his belief about discipline clearing the path for instinct to operate at full speed. The way Manny had stayed at the far end of the gym during the Bellows conversation, giving space without leaving. The way Manny had told Rof to bring the cross to every session.
Manny was not a man manufactured for this moment.
Manny was a man discovered because he already possessed what was needed.
Rael had not created Manny. Rael had simply known where to find him.
"Does he still own the debt?" Rof asked.
Manny looked at him. Something changed in his dark eyes. "Yes."
"After Okon," Rof said, "I'm buying it."
Manny started to say something.
"Don't tell me what you can or can't accept," Rof cut him off. "I'm not asking. I'm telling you what's going to happen." He held Manny's gaze. "This gym is yours. It always has been. I'm just ensuring that the paperwork reflects the reality."
Manny was silent for a moment.
Then he looked at the floor, the way a man does when he is hit with something he wasn't prepared to handle and is silently determining whether he can bear it.
He could.
"Four days," Manny said, standing up and picking up the wooden stick. "Your right hand is still telegraphing at range. Let's correct that."
Rof stepped down from the apron and into the ring.
He raised his guard.
Manny tapped it once to check its steadiness.
It was firm.