A/N: I got bored. So I just wrote this fanfic. Oneshot, so no more chapters coming up after this first one. And sorry if Glass Joe seemed WAY out of character. These mistakes happen if you're bored out of your mind and decide to write fanfics at two in the morning.

Little Mac sighed. He did it. He was the Champion of the Minor Circuit! Doc Louis was right after all. King Hippo's weakness really turned out to be that enormous belly of his. He was glad that he listened to Doc Louis. It's not that he'd never listened to Doc before. No. But sometimes, when he was fighting against a really tough opponent, he became afraid. Sure, Mac had never gotten to the point where he'd be too afraid to try anything. He'd never passed that line where he'd feel utterly helpless. But during that fight with King Hippo, he'd gotten so close to it.

Mac cringed. He'd been sitting in the locker room for ten minutes now, trying to regain his breath after the fight. It'd taken a lot out of him, but he never thought it would be that bad. He was still panting, and there was a pain in his chest and torso that seemed to be getting worse. Damn King Hippo and that Hippo Squeeze of his...

Deciding that he probably needed to check the damage after all, Mac pulled off his shirt, wincing once he saw the damage hidden by the black clothing. His torso was literally covered with dark bruises, especially in the sides where the Hippo Squeeze made contact. His chest was also bruised, but it wasn't half as bad. Considering that Mac couldn't dodge almost all of the Hippo Squeeze, it was to be expected.

Suddenly, Mac heard footsteps approaching the room. Someone was coming! Desperately, he'd tried putting on his shirt again. But before he could get it on, the footsteps ceased and someone said, "Little Mac?"

Despite knowing that the person had probably seen it, Mac put on the shirt nonetheless and turned around to face... Glass Joe. "Oh. Hey, Joe."

The Frenchman smiled. "Great fight with King Hippo. It seems you took quite bad hits, mon ami."

"Yeah," Mac nodded. "Nothing broken, though. It'll probably go off in a few hours." And probably a bit more than that. But it didn't really matter.

"Oui," Joe said, sitting on the bench opposite of Mac's. "What was that?"

Mac knew full well what he was referring to, but he still acted dumb. Maybe, just maybe, Joe was referring to something else. No use revealing his card when that wasn't the case. "What was what?"

"That scar on your back," Joe stated, his face dead serious. "It looks quite painful."

Mac sighed. Joe did see that scar, after all.

It was supposed to be a secret. No one but Doc Louis knew about it. It wasn't that it was embarrassing or anything. Mac just didn't like for the secret to be known. But there was no way he was going to evade Joe's questioning.

Sighing as he accepted his fate, Mac looked around to ensure that they were alone. Once he was certain of it, he said, "Promise you don't tell anyone?"

Joe nodded. That was good enough for Mac. "Okay. It was a few years ago..."

FLASHBACK

A sixteen-year-old Mac ran all the way home from school. His face was lit up with excitement. His friends looked at him strangely as he raced past them, but he didn't care. He wanted to get home and tell his father straight away.

His home, fortunately, wasn't that far away. He reached it in minutes and opened the door, rushing straight into the living room where his father was watching TV. "Whoa, there, bud," his father laughed. "Slow down or you'll break something."

"Dad!" Mac literally jumped up and down in excitement. "Doc just signed me up for a match this weekend!"

His father's eyes glowed with joy. "You kidding?"

"Like hell I am," Mac retorted with a smirk. His father laughed and went on to hug his son. "I'm so proud of you, Mac."

Mac smiled. "I wouldn't have done it without you, Dad."

His father released his hold on his son and laughed. "Hey, let's stop being sappy and just head on to the back. I've got some Big Belly Burgers."

Mac was literally smiling from ear to ear. "Thanks, Dad!" He was about to sprint his way to the kitchen before he stopped himself. He turned to face his father and asked, "Oh, Dad, how's that mission last night?"

His father smiled faintly. To their neighbors, he was just a busy man who went on occasional trips out of town. But to his son, he was a secret agent. He had been for the last twenty years. His wife, who'd died in a car crash when Mac was just nine years old, had often complained about the many times he had come home with more than some scratches and bruises. But it was his job, after all. And ever since his wife's death, Mac was the one who was there for him; making sure he took things easy when he'd been too injured, ensuring that he took his medicine (he'd forgotten it more times than he was willing to admit). Luckily, this time, it was just a normal assignment. "It went fine," he answered. "Textbook, even."

Mac hummed an agreement and continued to the kitchen. His father was just about to join him when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," he said. Opening the door, however, he regretted the decision immediately.

A masked man, who was so tall that he towered over the secret agent, was standing in front of him, a huge sword in his hands. His eyes widened in horror, and he shouted, "Mac, RUN!"

He tried to close the door, but the masked man opened it effortlessly. He slammed it wide open with such a force that the door almost broke off its hinges. At that exact second, Mac appeared on the room, saying, "Dad, what's g-"

He stopped when he saw the intruder. "Aw, dang."

His father turned to face Mac and said, "Run, Mac! Get outta here!"

Before Mac could move a muscle, however, the masked man lunged towards his father and stabbed the sword right through his chest.

"DAD!"

His father gasped in surprise. He couldn't say anything as the masked man withdrew the sword. Feeling all strength leave him, he dropped to the ground, dead. Having watched the murder unfold in front of his eyes, Mac felt as if his legs were made of jelly. He could only stare as the masked man looked at him. Their eyes locked for a few seconds. And then, all of his senses came back to him.

Mac turned around and made a dash for the nearest window. The masked man guessed his intentions and wasn't that far behind him. Mac managed to jump out of the window, but the killer had swung his sword at him. It slashed his back, but he ignored the pain. It was a good two meters to the ground below, but Mac didn't care. He had to jump or the masked man would kill him.

So he jumped.

END OF FLASHBACK

"...I broke my leg with that stunt. But I'm alive, so I'm not complaining," Mac finished.

Joe let out a shaky breath. "That was some tale, Mac," he said. "What happened after that? Did you finally go to the match?"

Mac laughed. "You kidding? With that broken leg? Hell, no. Anyways, after that, Doc kinda took me in. Then, a year later, here I am!"

Joe smiled. "Great match, by the way. Hadn't known King Hippo could tumble like that."

"Yeah..." Mac trailed off and looked down. There was silence for a few seconds before Joe asked, "That scar... Is that why you're wearing a shirt even though everyone else doesn't? Are you trying to hide it?"

Mac gulped before he nodded. Joe smiled, "I get it, mon ami. Don't worry, I won't breathe a word about it."

Mac sighed in relief. "Good to know."

Joe stood up. It was getting a bit late, and he still had to run a few errands. "I've got to go. It's good talking with you, Mac."

"You too, Joe," Mac agreed, waving to the Frenchman as he walked out the door. Then, the room was silent once again. This time, though, Mac had felt considerably better than when he entered earlier. He grinned to himself. Maybe you can still be friends with the guys you beat in a boxing match... Weird, but I'm okay with that.