COUNTERPUNCH: HER BOXING PRODIGY

Sophomore year.

This bright, promising morning was Elowen Sterling's 128th day in college.

Unfortunately, it would be her last.

Not her last day alive, though with the way Harrington’s stairwells were designed, that was always a possibility. But in this case, it was much worse than fatality.

"Dean Miller!"

She pounded on his door like she was auditioning for a drumline. Her fists angrily beating away at the mahogany.

"S-Sterling? Unf, is that you?"

She paused, plastering her pierced ears to the door.

“Trust me, Dean, the matter at hand is far more urgent than your... extracurriculars.”

The rhythmic thud of what she presumed to be his balls slapping against wood, stopped. The lock on his door twitched open and a petite brunette ran out with rumpled clothes and fringy, tangled hair.

A freshman, an unfortunate one. She could tell.

She stepped inside and faced Miller.

He was a tubby man in his sixties, trimmed beard, rough skin, along with commendable fashion sense and facial features that made up for his struggling hairline.

Dean Miller leaned back in his leather chair, fanning himself with a file as if nothing scandalous had just occurred. His grin was prim and overly proper.

“Miss Sterling,” he said smoothly, “You’re looking extra chocolaty today.”

Elowen’s jaw ticked. “Spare me the commentary and explain this.”

She slapped the folded paper onto his desk so hard his mug nearly tipped over.

Miller arched a brow, adjusting his tie. He peeked at the slip.

SCHOLARSHIP TERMINATED.

“Oh, that,” he said, almost cheerfully.

“Yes. That.” She was this close to losing it. “One day I am fully covered, the next I am supposed to cough up tuition I can’t afford? How the hell does that even happen?”

He sighed dramatically, folding his pudgy fingers together.

“Funding, sweetheart. These things are delicate. Your scholarship was... how do I put it... a charitable gesture. Courtesy to the Sterling name. But... the organization, they couldn't fund you anymore.”

Her nostrils widened.

“My father bled for that damn foundation. They handed me that scholarship after he died as compensation. And you’re telling me they suddenly pulled out? Just like that?”

Miller shook his head, leaning forward.

“Pulled out is the wrong term, darling. Think of it as reallocation.”

Elowen’s nails pressed into her palm.

“Then tell me who heads the foundation. I'd like to speak to them directly.”

Miller gave a pitying shake of his head. “Even if you did, Sterling, it wouldn’t change a thing. The Apex Athletics Foundation isn’t just pulling your funding. Every sponsored kinesiology major here in Harrington is having their sponsorship cut off. The Apex Foundation is currently suffering a financial collapse. Even if they wanted to fund you again, they couldn’t.”

“They've gone broke? A whole Apex Foundation? Broke?”

Miller simply shrugged.

Elowen could feel the bile rising up her throat. She was already working two jobs, scraping together every cent to keep Kieron in HydeDean. His books, the materials he needed for his education, she was barely managing that.

How could she possibly pay her own tuition on top of it?

Dropping out at this stage would kill her CV before it even existed.

“There must be another foundation. My father... he worked with plenty of them. Maybe someone—”

“Not that I know of. This economy is killing off every generous pocket. Foundations are drying up, and honestly, nobody is writing checks for students anymore, Sterling.”

“Goddamn it!”

She cursed under her breath, slamming her fists against the wall.

Miller watched her quietly, the corner of his lips twitching upward. Then, almost gently, he said,

“I... might be able to offer assistance.”

Her eyes snapped to him.

“What do you mean?”

He leaned back in his chair.

“What if,” Miller drawled, “I cover your tuition?”

Her brow arched.

“And why would you do that?”

Everyone knew Miller was far from generous.

“Because,” he whistled, “I need a little favor from you.”

There it was.

“The school board would be more than happy to cover your tuition in full. In exchange for a small thing.”

Her eyes widened slightly, hopeful light returning to her orbs.

“Woah... w-what small thing?”

He motioned to the chair across from his desk.

Elowen’s nose wrinkled the moment she saw it. The seat was wet, glossed with a very suspicious white smear. Ew.

“Sit,” Miller said.

“On that?” she muttered.

He handed her a box of wet wipes.

“It’s actually coffee cream.”

She inhaled and dunked the wet wipe on the smear, wiping it off quickly before she sat.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward.

“You’re not just book smart, Sterling. You’ve got something more.”

“Uh...”

“Potential. You could become one of the finest boxing coaches the world has ever seen, just like your father.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Thanks for the compliment, but let’s cut the fluff, Dean Miller. What do you want?”

His grin widened. “We have someone who needs coaching. Someone the school must have representing us for the upcoming boxing tournaments.”

She blinked. “And you’re not picking from the actual pro-athletes we already have?”

Miller’s laugh was almost fond. “We’ve got promising ones, sure. But this isn’t about their promise or their potential. It is about the prestige of this University. It is about putting Harrington’s name in the ring, with our champion to lift our banners high!”

She could’ve yawned.

“So who is this... chosen one? A college junior? A college senior?”

Miller shook his head.

“The champion is in his sophomore year, in fact, in your department.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Peter Levi isn’t that good, my late nana could throw punches faster than that kid ever will. Duncan Spram? A joke.  Jason Davoy? Not so much of a tank... but with the right guidian—”

“None of them.”

“Oh...” She tapped her cheek.

“You see,” Miller's eyes lit up with literal passion. Was it for the sport or the athlete? She couldn't tell. “This particular athlete is already a prodigy. Right from his high school days.”

“You don’t say...”

Coaching someone already experienced would be less tasking.

Perfect.

“So, Sterling...” He rose from his seat, hand stretched out, smiling a little too hard. “What do you say? Would you do that for this board? The school? Your tuition?”

She rose and took his hand.

“As long as my tuition is covered, I’ll be a worthy guide for your athlete.”

“Good, good.”

Miller let go of her hand and slid a flat folder across the desk.

“Here. My favourite thing. Paperwork.”

She was a bit taken aback. So the board had pre-planned her salvation, huh.

Elowen scribbled her signatures on the columns, scanning through the clauses and duration. After a few minutes, she dropped the pen with a victorious sigh.

At that exact moment, Miller’s desk phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring.

“...Yes, Chisiya?”

“...Oh... yeah, sure.”

“...Good. Send him in.”

He hung up and turned to her with that oily smile.

“Perfect timing, Miss Sterling. Your athlete has arrived.”