El Magnifico stood in the dirt lot outside the roadhouse and felt his knees lock up before the laughter even started. He was a big man in a red, white, and blue mask, sweating under the afternoon sun, here to sign autographs for whoever still remembered his name. Twelve years he had trained before anyone in San Mazorca took him seriously. Then the legend pinned him in forty seconds and the crowd laughed, and now El Magnifico was crawling back toward the championship belt with bruises he still counted at night: twelve on his ribs, three on his left shoulder. The line of fans was eight people long. He told himself eight was enough to start again. Then the masked rival climbed onto the porch of the roadhouse. He wore a leather jacket covered in gang patches and held up a phone so the small crowd could see the screen. He read the rumors out loud, one by one. He read that El Magnifico cried in the locker room. He read that El Magnifico's knees were so bad he wrapped them in duct tape. He read that the legend had asked, after the forty-second match, who that fat clown in the flag costume was. People laughed. A boy at the front of the autograph line lowered the marker in his hand and stepped back. El Magnifico felt the line break apart behind him without turning around. The rival kicked an empty beer can down the warped boards of the porch and waited. El Magnifico walked to the porch. He did not speak. He climbed the three steps, took the phone out of the rival's hand, and dropped it onto the wood. Then he put his boot through the screen. The crowd went quiet. He looked at the rival's mask and said, loud enough for the phones already filming, "Name the ring. Name the night. I will break you in public." The rival laughed, but he named a date two weeks out and a venue across town. El Magnifico walked back down the steps past the broken line of fans. The boy with the marker was gone. A woman near the back was already posting the video. By sundown, half of San Mazorca would know El Magnifico had a fight before he had a training partner, a corner, or a doctor willing to look at his knees.