When the door opened, Dax Halloway walked in. His presence was so powerful that the room seemed to move as he walked in.
Dax, who was tall and lean, walked in with a confidence that couldn't be faked, it was earned.
Even though he had been in fights for years, he had a calm, almost relaxed look on his face.
His dark hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore a loose-fitting black hoodie, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos that decorated his arms like badges of honor.
He moved with a casual swagger, the kind of walk that said he had nothing to prove, even though everyone knew he was a killer in the octagon.
Damon watched as Dax made his way toward them, the fighters parting slightly to make room.
His footsteps were light, almost as if he were gliding rather than walking, a sign of a man who knew exactly how to carry his body.
Every movement was smooth, controlled, like a boxer always in rhythm.
When Dax finally stopped, he flashed a grin at the room, a light in his eye that instantly made the fighters respect him.
His presence wasn't loud, but it was powerful. You could feel his achievements just by looking at him.
"Ayo, what's up, boys?" Dax said, his voice carrying that laid-back, islander drawl that made him so relatable, yet his tone still held the authority of a champion.
"Y'all know me, I'm Dax Halloway, and today, we're gonna talk 'bout boxin'. Ain't no fancy speeches, we're just here to throw hands and learn."
He looked around the room with a sharp but playful look in his eye. "I know y'all been grinding, sweating, gettin' better every day. I respect that. But now we're gonna take it up a notch, yeah?"
A few of the fighters nodded, some exchanging glances as if trying to process that they were about to train with the legend himself.
After all, training with Donald Whittier felt unreal already, but another was crazy.
Dax took off his hoodie, revealing a form that was built for speed and endurance.
His shoulders were broad, his chest solid but not bulky, this was the body of a fighter who knew how to go five rounds without gassing out.
Damon paired up with one of his teammates, taking a deep breath.
He had seen Dax throw those punches so effortlessly, but actually replicating the speed and precision was another thing entirely.
Damon fired off a few attempts. Jab, jab, cross. Jab, jab, cross.
But it wasn't the same. His rhythm was off, and the second jab felt slower, more deliberate.
He grunted in frustration, noticing the same struggle with the other fighters.
Miles, across the gym, let out an exasperated laugh. "Yo, this is harder than it looks, man. I keep messing up that second jab."
Felipe nearly tripped over his own feet while trying to maintain the flow, shaking his head. "Dax makes this look so damn easy."
Even Damon, usually quick to pick up new techniques, found himself missing the rhythm.
His punches lacked the crispness Dax had displayed, and the second jab felt sluggish compared to the first.
He wasn't landing it like Dax did.
Dax circled the fighters, watching them struggle with a half-smile. "Y'all getting there, but you gotta relax. Speed comes when you're loose. If you're all tight, you're just gonna slow yourself down."
Damon glanced over at Dax, who demonstrated the technique again, jab, jab, cross, with blinding speed.
The sheer precision of it left Damon impressed. It was one thing to see it on TV, but up close, Dax's speed seemed almost unreal.
One of the coaches walked by, offering some tips to Damon, but the frustration was mounting. His body was getting quick, but he hadn't yet mastered the smoothness that Dax had.
"Don't worry, kid, it ain't supposed to be easy," Dax called out, noticing Damon's struggle. "You keep at it. Trust me, once it clicks, you'll be tapping dudes all day long."
Damon grinned back, nodding. He couldn't let it get to him, Dax was right. This was a skill that needed time to develop.
For now, all he could do was keep trying, push through the frustration, and hope that eventually, it would all fall into place.