necks. They play dirty, and their heavyweight, 'The Anvil', is going to crush
whoever I send. I need a champion, Elara. Not a philosopher."
The regional tournament was the lifeblood of local gyms. Winning
brought sponsorships, new students, and bragging rights. The Iron Lotus
had held the team trophy for three years, mostly due to Jax and a few other
heavy hitters. But this year, the Black Fang gym, run by a notorious ex-convict
named Silas, had assembled a roster of absolute brutes. They were known for
late hits, eye pokes, and breaking joints long after the bell had rung.
Two weeks before the tournament, a delegation from Black Fang walked
into the Iron Lotus. Silas, flanked by three massive fighters, strolled onto the
mats without taking his shoes off—a massive sign of disrespect. Silas smirked
at Kaelen. "Heard your golden boy, Jax, had a little accident. Tripped over his
own ego." The Black Fang fighters laughed. "Just wanted to drop off the
registration forms. Figured we'd save you the postage since you won't be
needing the trophy case anymore."
The tension in the gym spiked instantly. Several Iron Lotus fighters
stepped forward, fists clenched, ready for a brawl. Kaelen held up a hand,
holding them back. "We'll see you at the regionals, Silas. Get off my mats." As
Silas turned to leave, his eyes caught Elara, who was sitting quietly reading.
He laughed. "Man, the Lotus has really gone downhill. What's next, knitting
circles?" He nodded to his largest fighter, a towering behemoth named Grigor.
"Hey Grigor, try not to step on the librarian on the way out."
Grigor sneered and deliberately walked toward Elara, intending to kick
her bag out of the way. As his foot swung, Elara didn't even look up from her