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Princess by Day, Ten-Time Champion by Night
Novelix
Completed
I'm the long-lost daughter of America's biggest boxing dynasty—and I can't even twist open a water bottle. My brothers own championship belts. Me? I nap on the couch while my housekeeper cuts my strawberries. Dad calls me his princess. The internet calls me a useless brat. What nobody knows: before the Callahans found me, I spent ten years fighting underground. Ten-fight win streak. They called me The Masked Reaper. Then eight rival gyms raided our place on livestream. They knocked down Dad. Broke both my brothers. Stomped on our family name. So I picked up the gloves. "All eight of you. At once. I don't want to keep Dad waiting for the ER.
Chapters (2)
第1章
I'm the long-lost daughter of America's biggest boxing family—and I can't even twist open a water bottle.
Until a rival family came to challenge my father and brothers.
I yawned and stretched out my limbs.
"Ten-fight winning streak champ of the underground fight club, coming through."
---
m the America's biggest boxing family's long-lost daughter.
Three months after they brought me home——
Twist a cap? I call a brother. Two flights of stairs? Forget it. Both my brothers own title belts. Me? I won't even touch a punching bag. Dad sighed and hired me a live-in housekeeper. I stretched out on the couch like a queen.
Before they found me, I fought underground for ten years. Ten. Years. Now I finally get to be a couch potato and win at life.
As for that masked ten-time champ from the overseas circuit? Yeah. Let her stay retired.
Until eight boxing gyms teamed up and raided our place. On livestream.
Dad got knocked off the ring. Both my brothers went down one after the other.
They stomped on our gym's plaque and pushed a shut-down contract at Dad.
"Nobody in the Callahan family can throw a punch?"
I came down the stairs. Jax immediately shoved me back.
"It's fine, go sleep. Dad can still spoil you rotten somewhere else."
But the man across the ring blocked me. He threw a pair of gloves at my feet.
"There's still one left. If you're scared, tell your dad to kneel and quit."
I looked at Dad's bleeding hand. I picked up the gloves.
"First, put all eight of your plaques on the table too."
"Since you love ganging up, let's skip the taking turns."
"All eight of you. At once. I don't want to keep Dad waiting for the ER."
…
Month three back at the Callahan house. Dad finally gave up teaching me to box.
Simple reason. I was too damn soft.
First day in the training room, he told me to run three laps around the gym. I made it half a lap and squatted down on the floor.
Jax—my older brother—twisted open a water bottle for me and covered for me.
"She didn't grow up training, Dad. Chill. Take it slow."
Mason, my other brother, kept complaining but ran the rest of my laps anyway.
"Look at her. A stiff breeze could knock her over."
Dad glared at both of them.
"One league champ, one national title holder, and you two spoil her like this?"
I sat on the padded bench hugging an iced coffee. Full agreement from me.
Back when I fought six matches a day, nobody ran half a lap for me. Now that I'm finally retired, why would I ask for pain?
Dad didn't quit. He tried to teach me basic self-defense.
The coach raised his hand. I flinched back on instinct.
Dad went quiet for a long time. Next day, he hired me a full-time housekeeper.
Her name is Miss Rita. She even cuts strawberries into tiny pieces and feeds them to me.
I'm real satisfied with my life.
The Callahans are big in American boxing. Dad won three championship belts back in his day. Now he owns the biggest gym in the city. Jax took the Pro League title two years ago. Mason just came back from training overseas. There are girls online calling him "husband."
As for me, everyone assumes my only job is eating.
Sometimes people online whine that the Callahans' long-lost daughter is a useless brat. Dad heard it once and yanked that outlet's media pass.
"My daughter's been missing over ten years. She's home to relax, not to perform for you people."
Made total sense to me.
The day before the anniversary event, some sponsor wanted me to shoot promo photos with my brothers. They ran the numbers loud. Long-lost daughter comes home to a boxing dynasty—instant clicks. Put me in the middle in fight gear, they'd bump the sponsorship thirty percent.
Dad pushed the contract right back at them.
"She doesn't want to box. Don't stuff her into a fighter's costume."
Mason chimed in.
"You think we need that thirty percent? She whines about standing still for ten minutes."
I was lying on the couch eating grapes. I nodded hard.
The brand manager kept glancing at me. He didn't push again. On his way out, he whispered to his assistant that the Callahans spoiled their daughter more than their champions.
Mason heard it. Laughed out loud.
"A champion loses, he trains again. Our sister was missing over ten years. We finally got her back. Damn right she's precious."
When I was little, I watched people slap a price on my head all the time.
How much per match. How much per punch. Can she still fight after taking that hit.
So the more the Callahans treated me like a useless princess, the safer I felt.
The day of the gym anniversary, all I wanted was a slice of cake.
Jax had an interview. Mason had an exhibition match. Dad was busy greeting the old fighters.
I'd just sliced off the biggest strawberry piece when a crash exploded from the front door.
The Callahan wooden plaque hit the floor.
Eight gyms' worth of guys marched in. The man in front was Hunter Cross.
Hunter used to be Dad's student. He quit years ago over "creative differences." Then he swept up seven surrounding gyms in a few years.
Hunter dragged his shoe across the busted plaque and smiled at Dad.
"Coach. Five years, huh? Same old place."
Dad's smile dropped.
"It's our anniversary. I'm not doing this today."
Hunter raised a hand. A dozen phones went up. The livestream count started climbing fast.
"I'm not here to reminisce. I'm here to raid your gym."
"All eight at once. Saves you from doing this one by one."
Mason threw his jacket at his assistant and stepped up.
But I was staring at the eight guys behind Hunter. I slowly put down my cake.
Two of them looked familiar.
Like people I'd made cry in The Pit.
第2章
Mason went first.
He was in great shape. Under three minutes in, he had Hunter's guy pinned against the ropes.
Everyone exhaled.
Then the other guy switched rhythm.
He deliberately dropped his left side. Baiting Mason to swing hard.
I frowned. Blurted it out.
"Don't chase. He's setting up your center."
Some trainees turned to look at me. Someone snorted.
"Princess, you can't even hit a bag. Skip the ringside coaching."
I ignored him. Kept watching.
Next second, the fighter dropped low and drove his shoulder into Mason's chest.
Mason's weight was already forward. Too late to pull back.
Bang. His back slammed the mat.
The whole gym went dead silent.
I stood up. Jax was already there, blocking my view.
"Don't watch. Go to the back."
"His ribs might be busted again."
Jax froze for a second.
Mason pushed himself up. Sweat pouring off his forehead. He waved me off.
"Kiddo, quit frowning. I'm good."
The ref counted to eight. He got back on his feet.
But I knew. This fight was over.
That takedown wasn't standard. The guy went straight for the old injury.
Hunter was laughing in his chair.
"Mason, third rib on your left, two years ago—that the one?"
Dad's face went dark.
Mason got it now.
They'd gotten their hands on his medical records.
Hunter didn't play innocent.
"Studying your opponent's a normal part of the game. Callahans can't handle losing?"
Technically fair.
Injury reports aren't supposed to leak. But once you're in the ring, exploiting a weakness is fair game.
What really burned me was—every fake-out that guy pulled looked like he'd watched six months of Mason's training tapes. Even the dodge pattern Mason had reworked twice. He knew all of it.
Dad saw it too. He sent an assistant to check the gym's internal training footage access.
The assistant came back fast. Face pale.
"Boss, someone downloaded the prep tapes for a full month straight. Account's already deleted."
Now everyone knew.
This raid wasn't spontaneous.
For the next three minutes, every shot came at Mason's left side. He gutted it out to the final bell. Still lost the decision.
The livestream chat exploded.
Hunter's guys planted the scoreboard next to the Callahan plaque.
Round one. Callahans down.
Jax didn't say a word. He hopped straight up onto the ring.
His style is steadier than Mason's. His guy couldn't touch him at first.
End of round one, Jax was up four points.
Hunter didn't sweat it. He just waved in a substitute.
Not a heavy hitter. But the footwork? Insane. The guy circled Jax's right side non-stop.
Ten seconds and I saw it.
Jax changed his stance last year. Right leg fires half a beat slower than the left.
Almost nobody notices.
But if someone stretched that half-beat wide open, Jax's best move—cutting off the ring—falls apart.
I called out again.
"Jax, stop chasing the right. He's dragging you."
Nobody laughed this time.
After what I'd said about Mason, they weren't laughing anymore.
Jax pulled up right away.
But the guy was waiting for him to adjust. He rushed in and hammered the body.
Jax blocked the first shot. The second one grazed his chin.
His corner screamed to reset distance.
Hunter's crew stood still. Like they'd predicted every adjustment Jax would make.
I stared at the tablets in their hands. My stomach dropped.
This wasn't a walk-in raid.
They'd been prepping for months.
Round three. Jax's gas tank ran dry. The guy chained shots together.
A hook cracked into his temple.
Jax's knees buckled. He dropped to the ring edge.
Mom screamed his name.
The cup in my hand crushed. Cracked.
Hunter stood up slow.
"Round two. Done."
He turned to Dad. Polite smile.
"Coach. Both your sons are out."
"Guess you're up now."
