Chapter 63 (The Mortal Multiverse : Liam Raven Harper)

Chapter 63 - MMA

Liam Pov

A faint hum buzzed in the quiet of my apartment, and then came her voice—soft, teasing, and way too cheerful for the early hour.

[Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s 5:30 a.m. You planning to skip the sunrise today?]

I cracked one eye open and groaned. “Eve… you ever heard of weekends?” our morning routine of me playing the part of struggling to get out of bed and Eve creating with her sarcastic follow through to play her part.

[Weekends are for people who don’t have secret systems, prosecutors’ jobs, and a date coming up with a certain beautiful journalist named Robin.]

That got me to open both eyes. “You’re bringing that up?”

[Of course. I’m emotionally invested in your romantic development, Liam.]

I chuckled and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “You sound more excited about that date than I am.”

[Please, I’ve been waiting for you to stop flirting with danger and start flirting with someone human.]

“Ha ha,” I said, swinging my legs off the bed. “You should try dating, see how that goes.”

[I am dating. My partner just doesn’t know it yet.]

That made me pause mid-stretch. “…Should I be worried?”

[Only if you show up to that date wearing another all-black suit. You’ll look like you’re going to interrogate her, not charm her.]

“I like black,” I replied, standing up and stretching my shoulders. “It’s kind of my thing.”

[Then make it a little less funeral and a little more suave. Maybe a dark blue shirt under the jacket. Roll the sleeves a bit. You know—approachable, but still dangerous.]

I smirked as I walked toward the bathroom. “You really have this all planned out, huh?”

[Obviously. I refuse to let my partner show up looking like Gotham’s defense attorney.]

“Alright, alright,” I said over the sound of running water. “I’ll consider your fashion advice. But right now, I’ve got other plans.”

[Right—the MMA thing. You sure you’re not just trying to look extra cool for when you fight?]

“Absolutely not,” I said, grabbing a towel. “This is purely for training as my stats are high, I need to learn to pull my punches… and maybe a little intimidation factor.”

Eve’s laugh echoed warmly in my head. [You’re hopeless, you know that?]

“Hopelessly charming,” I corrected, walking back into the bedroom.

[We’ll see about that on Sunday.]

I finished dressing for training—black compression t-shirt, dark joggers, and my leather jacket tossed over for the ride. 

After securing my gym bag and wallet, I locked the apartment and headed to the elevator.

“Alright, Eve,” I said with a grin. “Find me a gym that’ll make me sweat.”

[Already ahead of you. Best nearby is called Roqua’s 365 Gym. Small place, good reviews, tough fighters according to the reviews.]

“Sounds familiar,” I murmured.

[Maybe from a movie? Or maybe fate’s just giving you a nudge.]

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The elevator doors opened to the underground parking. My bike gleamed under the lights as I slipped on my helmet and swung a leg over.

[Don’t crash. We’ve got a date to survive, remember?]

“Relax,” I said, revving the engine. “I plan on living long enough to have loads of fun.”

[Now that’s the confidence I signed up for.]

With that, I pulled out of the garage and hit the early morning streets, the city still waking up as the first light of dawn spread across the skyline.

A new day. A new fight. And maybe, a little fun along the way.

The early morning chill clung to the air as I parked my bike right in front of the building that Eve’s map guided me to.

The name on the board read “Roqua’s 365 Gym.”

A small, worn-down staircase led upward — no elevator, no glamour, just a raw, gritty setup that already screamed old-school training ground.

I liked it.

I climbed the stairs and reached the second floor, where a frosted glass door stood with a peeling sticker that read the same name. 

The faint sound of gloves brushing sandbags echoed from inside.

Removing my shoes at the door, I stepped in. The place was empty — at least of people. But it was packed with equipment.

Bench presses lined one wall, racks of barbells on another, and several punching bags hung near the mirrored side of the room. The floor mats looked worn but clean, the smell of sweat and leather lingering faintly.

In the far corner, a tall, athletic man with a shaved head was adjusting a heavy sandbag chain. His build was solid — the kind of physique that told you he didn’t just train people; he lived the training.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” he asked, voice deep and calm as he turned to face me.

I recognized him immediately — Jean Roqua, the trainer from the movie Never Back Down. The same man who trained Jake Tyler, who later beat Ryan McCarthy in the Beatdown tournament.

In my mind, I said to Eve, ‘Well, this is interesting. Didn’t expect to run into him here.’

[You’re literally walking into movie sets at this point, Liam.]

I smiled slightly and walked forward. “Good morning. I came to join the gym. Looking to train.”

He wiped his hands on a towel, then extended a hand. “Name’s Jean Roqua. Trainer and owner here.”

“Liam Harper,” I said, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Roqua.”

His grip was firm, his eyes sizing me up. “Have you trained before, Mr. Harper?”

“I used to,” I replied smoothly. “Trained a bit when I was younger. Stopped because of studies. But I’ve kept in shape.”

Roqua nodded slowly. “Yeah, you look fit. But the morning class starts at 6:30. It’s an advanced group, so—”

Before he could finish, I said calmly, “I can keep up, Mr. Roqua.”

He studied me for a second — the look of a man used to confidence, but not arrogance.

[With your stats at fifty percent strength and intelligence, this’ll be child’s play.] Eve said teasingly in my head.

[Too bad they’ll start questioning reality after they see you in action.]

I smirked slightly, keeping my expression cool.

“Alright,” Roqua said finally. “Let’s see what you’ve got. If you can keep up, good. If not, you start with the beginners.”

“Understood,” I replied with a nod.

He pointed to the mats. “You’ve got some time before class starts. Warm up, Mr. Harper.”

“Will do.”

I placed my bag in the open locker and started stretching — controlled, precise movements. 

Meanwhile, in my mind, I said, ‘Eve, pull up something useful. Efficient MMA moves — strikes, counters, transitions. Keep it simple and clean.’

[On it.]

Within five minutes, my HUD flashed a small display in the corner of my vision — a compact training video with fluid, expert demonstrations. 

As it played, I analyzed each move, running mental simulations on how I’d use them.

My muscles loosened, heart rate steady. I shifted from stretches to light shadow boxing — crisp jabs, low kicks, and quick pivots.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Roqua glance my way a few times. I could tell he was observing, assessing.

By 6:30, the gym started filling up — one fighter after another stepping onto the mat. Eleven in total, each looking tough and ready.

Roqua clapped his hands once, his voice commanding. “Alright, everyone! Circuit positions, let’s move!”

I took my place among them, calm but ready. Eve’s voice hummed lightly in my mind.

[Showtime.]

Every muscle in my body felt alive, coiled with potential energy. This wasn’t about showing off — it was about controlling my strength and sharpening my edge.

And if anyone here thought I was just another rookie?

They were about to learn otherwise.

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