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The latest challenger is another kid. Brock sends him off teary-eyed and sniveling. Then Brock returns to his seat amidst the boulders of his cavernous gym. Long ago, he would recline, chuckle and think, job well done. But after five years, there’s no chuckles left in him.
I despise who I have become, Brock muses. They call this upholding the tradition of the League. I call it languishing in this dust and darkness, waiting to crush kids’ dreams. And I could quit.
The faces of his siblings flash through his mind, each of them with expectant eyes.
But I can’t.