Chapter 64 (The Mortal Multiverse : Liam Raven Harper)

Chapter 64 - MMA and Morning Breakfast

Liam Pov

The sharp clap of Roqua’s hands echoed across the gym floor, signaling the start of the circuit.

I took my position at the bench press. 

The steel bar gleamed under the morning lights seeping through the glass windows — ten kilos on the rod, thirty on each side. 

Not exactly light for most, but I wasn’t “most.”

Laying on the bench and gripping the bar firmly, I lifted. Smooth and Controlled. 

One… two… three… I didn’t rush, just moved with mechanical precision. The weight barely registered. My breathing stayed calm, posture solid. The others beside me were already straining on the other drills.

Another clap.

Rods down and on to rope climbing. 

I grabbed the thick rope, wrapped my legs, and started upward. Hand over hand, quick but efficient. Halfway up, I let go of my legs and climbed using only my arms — just because I could. I touched the top beam, then descended smoothly.

A few of the other trainees glanced over, surprised. I didn’t react and continued doing it few more times and the next clap came.

Skipping next. I took the rope, started slow, then found a rhythm — fast, smooth, consistent. The rope blurred in motion, the clicks against the floor turning into a steady beat.

Clap.

Squats with the sand sack. I heaved one over my shoulders and started the reps. Every drop, every rise was precise, like a metronome. The bag weighed a lot, but Eve’s amused tone filled my head.

[You’re making this look like a warm-up, Liam.]

“That’s because it is a warm-up,” I muttered under my breath with a half-smile.

Clap.

Pushups. Deep, full extension. No wasted motion.

Clap.

Squad jumps — the kind that burned legs fast. Mine didn’t even tingle.

Clap.

Burpees. Fast, sharp, fluid.

And then came the double clap — the two-minute rest.

Around me, everyone was panting, wiping sweat, hands on their knees. But me? My breathing was steady, pulse controlled. I stood tall, shoulders relaxed.

Roqua noticed. He didn’t say anything, but I caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes. A trainer like him could spot real endurance when he saw it. The rest of the group looked too — curious, maybe even impressed.

Two more rounds came and went the same way. 

By the end, the floor was drenched, bodies drained, but I still felt fresh.

[You could keep doing these easily] Eve teased.

“Maybe later,” I replied softly.

When the circuits ended, everyone began pushing equipment aside, clearing space for sparring practice. 

After cleaning the floor, Mats were laid down, and Roqua called out, pairing each fighter.

“Alright, six pairs. Go light, control your movements and focus on grappling and holds.”

I ended up paired with a guy who slightly towered over me. Broad shoulders, heavy arms, and a smirk that screamed confidence. The kind that comes from too many easy wins.

Roqua stood by our mat. “Take it easy, Mr.Harper. You said it’s been a while.”

“Got it,” I replied evenly, rolling my shoulders.

We stepped forward, bumped gloves, and nodded — the universal sign of respect. Then, it began.

He came in fast, trying to grab control early. A classic clinch attempt. I shifted back, parried his grip, and went for an underhook — he countered immediately, pushing me to the mat.

From the outside, it probably looked like I was on the defensive, but in my mind, I was running the positions I’d memorized earlier from the video Eve had created from me.

He tried to transition into a choke but I rolled my shoulder, broke the angle, and slipped free. 

His strength was impressive — for a regular human. But every time he tried to pin me down, I recovered effortlessly, using technique mixed with overwhelming strength.

Roqua’s voice cut through once. “Don’t let him flatten you, Mr.Harper. Bridge and roll!”

I followed the cue, twisted, and reversed the position, ending up on top.

[Nice move. I found a few counters for his grip style. Want me to show them?] Eve asked.

‘Show me,’ I thought, and a small overlay flashed across my HUD, illustrating a hip escape and arm trap combo.

I saw it, processed it and executed it. Smooth. Clean.

The big guy grunted, clearly frustrated now. 

He went for a leg lock — risky, overcommitted and I saw my opening. I twisted, grabbed his wrist, pivoted, and locked him into a tight armbar.

Pressure applied just enough to make him tap, not hurt him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound echoed against the mat.

I released instantly, breathing steady.

For a second, there was silence — then murmurs from the others who had stopped mid-spar to watch.

Roqua crossed his arms, watching closely, his expression unreadable for a moment — then he nodded slowly, an approving smile tugging at his lips.

“Not bad, Mr.Harper,” he said, voice carrying a tone of genuine respect. “Not bad at all.”

The rest of the trainees glanced my way with a new look — curiosity mixed with something else. Recognition, maybe.

I just offered a polite nod, calm as ever.

Eve’s voice came back, smug and warm. [Told you, you’d make them question reality.]

I chuckled under my breath. ‘Yeah, but let’s keep that between us.’

[Always.]

The class continued for an entire hour and finally Roqua clapped his hands again. “Alright, everyone, good work today! That’s enough for today.”

As the group began to disperse, Roqua approached me. “Stay back a minute, Mr.Harper. I’d like to talk.”

I nodded, wiping my face with a towel though I barely needed it.

Looks like I made an impression.

One by one, the trainees filtered out of the gym, exchanging quick fist bumps with Roqua as they passed. 

The sunlight spilled in through the glass entrance, catching the light sheen of sweat still on the mats.

When the last guy waved goodbye and disappeared down the stairs, the gym fell quiet again—just the faint hum of the AC and the creak of the punching bags swaying slightly in place.

Roqua turned and walked back toward me while I was stretching out my shoulders.

“You’ve got great potential, Mr. Harper,” he said, his voice calm but laced with genuine admiration. 

“You’ve got the strength, the balance, and more importantly, the age and mindset. Have you ever thought about going pro?”

I looked up at him, smiling faintly. “Appreciate that, Mr. Roqua, but no. I’m already working full-time as an Assistant District Attorney for the Manhattan D.A.’s Office.”

He blinked once, clearly not expecting that. Then a flicker of realization crossed his face.

“Wait—Harper. As in the Harper who prosecuted Hale?” he asked, his voice half-curious, half-impressed.

I gave a small nod. “That’s right.”

For a second, the usually composed Roqua seemed to process it—then his expression softened with understanding.

“Now it makes sense,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’ve got that same drive outside the ring too. I read about that case in the paper. What those guys did to those young people for money… That was low.”

“People like Hale and his associate belong behind bars,” I said quietly.

Roqua nodded firmly. “And you’re the one who put them there. Respect, Mr.Harper. You stood up for the kind of athletes I train every day. The ones who just want a fair shot.”

I smiled, feeling the sincerity behind his words. “Just doing my job.”

He gave a short chuckle. “Not everyone does it that well.”

I reached for my gym bag and pulled out my wallet. “Anyway, I liked the class. I’d like to sign up for three sessions a week.”

But Roqua raised a hand immediately. “No need for that. I can’t take money from you, Mr. Harper. You fought for athletes like me. What you did—how you handled that case—man, that’s justice I can respect. Training’s on me.”

I shook my head, keeping my tone warm but firm. “I appreciate it, but that was me doing my job. This—” I gestured around the gym “—this is your work. And I respect it just as much. If I don’t pay you, it feels like I’m devaluing your craft. So let’s do this properly.”

He looked at me for a moment, then exhaled through his nose with a small grin. “You really don’t back down from anything, do you?”

“Only when I know I’m right,” I said with a light smirk.

That earned a short laugh from him. Finally, he nodded and took the cash. “Alright, deal. But if you’re training here, I expect you to give it your all.”

“You’ll get nothing less and stop it with this ‘Mr.Harper’, just call me Liam” I replied

“Only if you call me ‘Jean’” I nodded and we shook hands and there was a brief silence—mutual respect, no extra words needed.

[You just convinced a man who trains fighters for a living to respect you more,] Eve said softly in my head. [You do realize you’re kind of impossible to dislike, right?]

I smiled faintly, slinging my gym bag over my shoulder. ‘Good. Let’s keep it that way.’

As I stepped out of the gym, the morning sun hit my face. Another day yet another impression made—without even trying.

After a good round of MMA training, I got on my bike and rode back through the cool morning air, the wind sharp against my face. 

The city was just waking up, sunlight reflecting off glass buildings and honking cabs starting their daily chaos. 

By the time I reached my apartment, the place was quiet — no sign of Emma yet.

I headed straight for the shower, washing off the sweat and clearing my head. 

Stepping out, I buttoned up a crisp white shirt, tightened a dark blue tie, and threw on my charcoal suit jacket. 

Just as I was adjusting my cuffs, my phone buzzed.

Text: Penny: “Hey Liam! Just saw your picture in the newspaper! Congrats on the big win!”

I smiled faintly. Penny always had that upbeat, friendly tone that could light up a room.

I typed back: “Thanks, Penny. Appreciate it.”

And that was it. No follow-up, no jokes — just polite and brief.

[That’s all?] Eve asked, her tone curious.

“Yeah,” I replied, straightening my tie. “Penny’s nice, but… I’ve got a date with Robin soon. Wouldn’t feel right chatting too much with someone who clearly wants more than friendship.”

[So, you’re staying loyal before you even meet Robin? Look at you, Mr. Morally Upright.]

I chuckled softly. “It’s called respect, Eve. Robin deserves that.”

[Fair point.]

Next I opened my system phone and texted Natasha. 

I quickly typed out a quick message, sending her a summary of the Homicide case I was working with Harvey. Attached a few digital files that I had already prepared, and added: “Follow this theory. I have a feeling the key lies outside the direct witness statements.”

She replied fast: “Understood.”

[Now we’ll see if the infamous Black Widow lives up to her legend,] Eve teased.

I smirked. “I don’t doubt it.”

When I walked out of my room, the smell of eggs and toast hit me. 

Emma was at the table, in a loose white T-shirt and grey pajama shorts, sipping tea while scrolling through something on her tablet.

“Morning,” I greeted, pulling out a chair.

She looked up with a warm smile. “Morning, Liam. Sleep well?”

“Like a log,” I said, sitting down. “Breakfast smells good.”

“Thanks,” she said, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs toward me. “I made extra.”

I took a bite — fluffy, buttery, perfectly seasoned. “You’re going to spoil me, Emma.”

She chuckled. “Consider it motivation to keep your fridge stocked.”

“Noted,” I said, grinning as I took a sip of the coffee she poured.

“Oh, by the way,” she added casually, “don’t forget Bruce is coming for dinner this Sunday.”

“Yeah, I remember,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “Wouldn’t miss that.”

“Good,” she said, finishing her tea. “You’d better be home on time, or Bruce might have a bad impression of you.”

I laughed at that, finishing the last bite of my eggs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

After clearing my plate, I stood and grabbed my keys. “Alright, I’m off. Try not to overwork  before lunch.”

“No promises,” she shot back playfully.

“Didn’t think so,” I said with a smirk, stepping out the door.

Helmet on, engine roaring — time to get back to work.

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