Time to start fighting proper opponents.

Swayed by the dramatic context in which the words were spoken, I had assumed, K’s sentence meant a spot for me at one of the Yamato’s events. Imagine how deeply my heart, which had palpitated ever since with exuberance, sunk in disappointment when I realized those words amounted only to an ordinary sparring practise with other fighters at the compound.

Not that I didn’t appreciate it, sparring was something I needed badly. I got simply fooled by my own high hopes and K’s cunning ability to announce the news in a pompous yet ambiguous enough way so that when they later fell short of their potential, I had nobody else to blame for the wrong interpretation but myself.

I climbed into the ring, still mildly annoyed that I got so fired up for nothing, but at the same time determined to prove to my proxy that I was a champ material. The vibe between me and K had remained stiff since our fall-out at Sueno’s. I would let it go, but she clung to it with her formal treatment, taciturnity, and rare eye contact. I hoped a good fight would get our relationship back on track.

My first sparring partner was one of Yamada’s fighters, a Japanese of my age, who had signed with YD just a few months before me. I seized him up as he hopped around the ring, punching in the air. He was fast and light, quick on his feet, but he looked some eight kilos lighter than me. I felt K underestimated me as she was the one to pick him out of Yamada’s fighters.

I started out carefully, moving around a lot to avoid the opponent’s initial testing jabs. He stubbornly persisted forward and I remained on the defensive. I read his timing and his reach within the first 30 seconds. It was time to counter. As he launched his left I avoided it by tilting my head sideways, and while his arm extended I countered with my left jab almost at the same time. He missed, my jab connected. It was a controlled but still strong blow. His head jerked backward and forced him on his back leg. If I continued my attack, I could finish him, but pressed by some odd feeling of courtesy toward my sparring partner, I let him recuperate.

As we continued, he ate most of my left jabs, which I always threw as a counter-attack. Once or twice he came at me with several combinations, but I simply put my hands up and blocked all his attempts.

K and Shoji Yamada stood together beneath the ring, talking to each other, with their eyes turned at the ring. Occasionally, I threw a glance at my proxy, looking if the expression on her face revealed whether she was pleased or not with my fighting.

When the bell rang for the end of the first round I walked to my corner with a satisfied smile on my lips, leaned on the ropes with my elbows, and waited for K, expecting to hear words of approval or even praise. But while Yamada hurried over to his fighter, she didn’t move from her place.

My eyes searched for hers and when our stares finally met, her face collapsed into a mocking yawn. She clarified her thoughts on my performance additionally by tapping her hand over her yawning mouth.

I turned my stare at my opponent in the opposite corner. I wasn’t really looking at him, or his proxy, who did his job by giving him actual feedback, I just wanted to make a point by not looking at K. Yes, I did fight carefully, my body still sore from the fight with Sato’s bike gang, but I wouldn’t say my display was that boring. Couldn’t she comprehend that?

I continued the second round in the same rhythm, waiting with a patience of a preying beast for my opportunity to impress her. But that opportunity never came. My opponent was a quick learner too and didn’t fall again for my counterattacks. He was the one on the defensive now. I stepped in and attacked with a few combinations, but he was surprisingly quick to avoid or block them. I could imagine K rolling her eyes behind my back. The second round finished in stand-up. I believed I was dominant, but I didn’t manage to get that punch, the one that would make him sway again.

The minute break between the rounds seemed to last a long time, and just like after the first round I was waiting alone in my corner, while my opponent conversed with Yamada. K didn’t even look in my direction and kept scribbling in her little black notebook instead. At least she didn’t make a face this time.

I was under pressure to show something different in the last round. I got nowhere with my boxing, so at a certain point, I decided to bring the game to the ground. At first signs of fatigue in my opponent, I closed the distance and pushed the Japanese against the ropes. Grappling him with an underhook I tipped him sideways, and we both dropped on the ground, with me on top of him.

I heard Yamada’s voice. Only Yamada’s, nothing from K. I got to work, trying to lock my opponent, but he kept slipping out of my grip. Him being much lighter I knew, though, it was just a matter of time.

Gaining momentum I flipped him over, turning myself on my back while wrapping my forearm around his neck and pressed it into a rear choke. For a few seconds he fought the impossible situation, but then gave up and tapped. I released, we both stood up unharmed. We bowed and shook hands with a smile.

I thought I did well. The fight, the last round at least, went exactly the way I wanted it to go and I was in control during most of the fight. I wondered if K had also seen it that way. The bleak expression on her face didn’t fill me with much optimism.

While Yamada approached his fighter as soon as he climbed down the ring for a thorough debriefing, K didn’t move from her spot. Without leaving the ring, I walk over to her, leaned on the ropes with my forearms, and looked at her from above.

“So…was it good?” I asked with polite modesty.

Without moving her head and holding her notebook open in her hand, she turned her stare toward me.

“Good? You well know the ground game was the easy way out, considering your advantage in weight. In boxing after that initial lucky punch, he read you like a small, school girl and you couldn’t do shit. He’s a much lighter guy, a beginner at Yamato Damashi, just like you, same or worse technical level, and it took you whole three rounds to finish him. So no, it wasn’t good.”

I frowned. “W-what…that’s not how it went down at all. I thought--”

“You thought, yes. Don’t think, fight.” Her steady, emotionless tone cut into me more than any angry yelling would.

I bit my tongue hard, feeling the rope as my fingers tightened around it and pushed it down. Nonchalantly, I let go of it, so that it waggled back to its position once released. I left the ring on the side opposite K.

Next up was James.

After my first sparring I had spent days undergoing an exhausting training regime set up by K. The harsh, never-ending drilling of basics with the boxing coach was, as K bluntly put it, what I needed to improve my meek fighting spirit. And so, I found myself quite tired when I stepped into the ring to face James.

Watching his big, muscular, tattooed body getting all fired up in the corner, I comforted myself by replaying in my head his rather poor performance at the Yokohama event. His superb workouts at the daily trainings, however, also came to my mind.

While his ground game was weaker than his boxing skills, being over ten kilos heavier than I made up easily for his lack of skill on the ground.

K must have chosen him as my opponent out of some malicious intent, for I had no clue how to go about this fight. I kept glancing at her for support, all the while Yamada spoke to James in his corner. But just like last time, she stood below the ring at some distance from me, turning the pages of her notebook.

“K…”

My call didn’t reach her.

“K!” I said louder.

“You ready?” she asked without lifting her eyes from her notebook.

“Any tips?”

She finally lifted her eyes at me and snorted. “Yeah… don’t make it boring.”

Pressing my lips tight I swallowed the urge of voicing a fuck you and focused my stare on James.

As Yamada stepped down from the corner, I and James moved towards the center of the ring, touched gloves in mutual respect, and at the sound of the bell put our hands up in an orthodox boxing stance. Just after a few steps, I realized I was so tired I could barely think. My eyes were shifting between my opponent and K, who seemed to be more interested in her notebook than in my fight.

The left and the right jab that came from James at that moment awakened me from my state of distraction. I barely put up my hands in time to avoid other punches that followed. Fuck K! I mentally shook my head and refocused on the fight. James was very good with combinations, quick and accurate. I defended with my arms up, never lowering the guard, and quick footwork, but I couldn’t counter or attack. His reach was much longer than mine, it was risky. He entered with a combination and pushed me against ropes. I could feel his strikes are controlled, adjusted for an opponent of my weight. I was grateful for that.

The end of the round came quicker than I expected. What on earth was I doing the whole round, I had no idea. Dragging my feet I retreated to my corner, without expecting K to be there. I leaned backward on the ropes with my arms spread wide and momentarily closed my eyes as I waited for the bell.

“Go for a takedown in this round.”

I promptly opened my eyes at K’s voice and turned my head in its direction, meeting her eyes staring at me from below. The bell sounded at the same time, announcing the second round, and James already started from his corner, while I was still digesting my proxy’s sudden instruction.

With a frown of confusion, I moved toward the center of the ring. Staying in stand-up, I racked my brain about why she wanted me to go to the ground with such a heavier opponent. James increased the speed and the frequency of his combinations while I was still musing on K’s words. Despite my thoughts being elsewhere I managed to defend with surprising ease. It almost felt as if my tired body worked on its own.

James intensified his attacks and I kept blocking and avoiding, draining slowly his energy. When his punches became wider I stepped in my range and countered with my own combination. The timing was perfect and I saw I took James by surprise. His eyes reflecting confusion, he came at me again, and more or less the same repeated. Then he pushed into a clinch and started punching harder. I closed myself and let him waste his power on useless punches until Yamada yelled to separate. From then on we were both very careful or maybe just tired, which resulted in almost no efficient attacks from either one of us.

During the break I avoided looking at K, afraid she would pretend to be asleep or something equally embarrassing.

But just before the bell rang the last round, she hissed: “Finish him on the ground.” I shot her a bewildered glance before my eyes settled on James. What the hell does she want from me? Why on the ground? Does she want me to lose? Not once since the last sparring I had any ground practice. Always only boxing. Maybe it’s just for her fun….

My mind was consumed by anger and frustration with K instead of focusing on the fight. James, fully re-energized, pressed with jabs again, following me around the ring. A derisive chuckle escaped my mouth. The boxing coach had come at me with much worse than this. With the minimum movement necessary I avoided his attacks.

The round was dragging. I was too lazy to do anything. K was probably yawning. James was getting tired. We were halfway into the third and last round. Not much time left. She wants me to go to the ground. So be it! Without much thinking or even waiting for the right moment, I just threw myself in and grasped James’s leg

The plan was to flip him, but it didn’t go as smoothly as I thought it would. Spreading both of his legs, he kept the balance for quite a while. Eventually, I tipped him sideways and we fell, but it cost me quite some energy. We changed positions, both of us trying to lock each other unsuccessfully. Despite his weight, I slipped out of his grips like an eel, my body performing sleek movements, which reminded me of the weird movements the body and mind coach had me train.

Our positions were changing rapidly until James who was gasping like an old train closed himself into a turtle. Kneeling on his knees and elbows and covering his head with his hands he was impossible to move. I struck him with some useless punches to the sides of his head, but without some nasty stroke, like a soccer punch or a knee in the ribs, there was no way to break through his turtle guard.

The bell sounded and I was glad it was over. I had zero stamina left and even if I had more time, I wouldn’t do any better.

We both stood up and shook hands, our sweat making a puddle beneath our bodies.

“Man, you’re tough,” James uttered in-between heavy breaths.

I smiled. “Couldn’t do shit…look… you got me sweating like a pig.”

We departed with a nod of respect and walked to the opposite sides, towards our proxies. With childish jealousy, my eyes lingered on James and Yamada. While Yamada’s face was always stoic, he was at least there for his fighter.

With a sigh, I turned my stare at my proxy. K stood with her chin slightly tucked downwards so that a shadow fell over her face, making her look darker and gloomier. Her lips were pursed in a thin line and her eyes were looking at me upwards without blinking.

I descended the ring, wanting to leave as soon as possible and hopefully avoid unpleasant comments from K.

“Well…” I said, and shrugged, unable to stand the silence, with which she met me. “I tried…he’s a big guy for the ground game.”

She furrowed her brow condescendingly. “You tried? What was that? A fun play between kids?”

I remained silent countering her only with my blank stare. I decided I wasn’t going to respond to any of her offensive shit.

“If you plan to go in the ring with this attitude, you will be demolished.”

“It’s just sparring…” I muttered.

She closed some distance. “Just sparring….huh? Do you really think you’ll be able to fight better in the ring in front of all the spectators when you can’t bring yourself to do shit here when there’s no pressure?”

Her voice was calm, but the green in her eyes was bright and sparkly as if hit by sunlight. “There are no friends in the ring.”

I rolled my eyes and spread my arms sideways. “What do you want me to do?”

A silent moment followed, stretching out like a piece of used chewing gum.

“Ground training for the rest of the week. You hear me?”

“Sure, whatever you say…” I replied, with a good dose of passive-aggression in my voice and stare.

In the days that followed I trained with the stubbornness of a bull in a bullfighting arena. Whatever was thrown at me I took it head-on, like a bleeding beast piercing through the matador’s red cloth. Again and again. I wasn’t thinking of James or any other, future sparring partner. My opponent, my matador, became K.

The trainings were planned by her, and judging by their intensity I suspected she wanted to break me. But as hard as the wrestling sessions were, even if I had to crawl back to my sleeping quarters, I never asked to stop or even for a break.

I couldn’t pin down the exact cause of this exhausting mental battle with K. Maybe she was still pissed at me for locking her in that warehouse, maybe it was because I gave her an attitude at Sueno’s, or maybe she simply wanted to show she was in charge. Whatever was going on, it was clear that none of us was going to give up.

A full morning and afternoon training session on Saturday was just another duel between us. Standing in a puddle of my sweat at the end of it, I waited for K to let me know the schedule for the next day.

I expected her to forgo the usual Sunday break and hit me with more training. I imagined myself saying okay to her as vigorously as possible, hiding the fact that the physical part of me felt completely the opposite. I was prepared to go even further -- I’d ask her for the Sunday training, if she wouldn’t say it by herself.

K spoke at length with the wrestling coach, leaving me waiting in mild agony. I wiped my sweat several times before she finally decided to come to me. Her intention was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Kentaro and a few of his fighters that burst into the hall.

“K! Oh, and Nik.” Kentaro sneered. “Training hard even on Saturday, I see.”

I expected K to ignore him but she paused and watched him approaching with a funny look in her eyes.

“Kentaro kun, say, how about a friendly sparring for my fighter?”

My lower jaw dropped, my eyes bulged.

Kentaro shifted his stare in disbelief from K to me and back at K. He grinned and clasped his hand together, making a loud sound that echoed within the hall. “I thought you’d never ask, K. Or has Nik finally persuaded you? Cause’ you know, I offered it already.”

K muttered a mh-mmm and made a small nod, daring him with a smug smile.

“Ok, let’s see…” Kentaro, his hands still clasped in front, turned to Yachi, whose lips twisted into a mischievous smirk and his dark eyes acquired a sudden focus.

“Nah…that would be too easy…I think maybe…” He walked past three of his fighters, a Caucasian, and two Asians.” Why not start with Yoon san? Yes, I think Yoon Hyun-jung would be the right choice. He’s similar weight class and at the start of his career at Yamato, just like your fighter, K…What do you say?”

A game between K and Kentaro was unwinding in front of my eyes and I was pushed into it as some price toy. In a dark premonition, my hand grasped my lower jaw, shifting it from side to side. K, her eyes gleaming bright, turned to Kentaro. “No, I want him.” Her arm extended towards the Caucasian. “I want Wyshnewski.”