break anything you need for typing."
To everyone's absolute shock, Elara stood up. She didn't rush, nor did she
hesitate. She simply rose with a fluid grace that seemed at odds with gravity.
She walked barefoot to the edge of the blue mat, bowed respectfully—a
gesture that drew a few eye-rolls—and stepped onto the foam surface. "I
accept your invitation," she said, her voice calm and even. The smirks around
the room broadened. Several fighters pulled out their phones, eager to record
the imminent humiliation. Jax laughed, a harsh, barking sound, and bumped
his gloves together. "Alright then. Don't say I didn't warn you."
They circled each other. Jax bounced on the balls of his feet, loose,
arrogant, throwing feints to see if she would flinch. Elara didn't take a
traditional fighting stance. She simply stood with her feet shoulder-width
apart, her knees slightly bent, her arms resting relaxed at her sides. She
looked entirely defenseless. "Put your hands up, lady, I don't want to get
sued," Jax taunted, stepping into her personal space. When she didn't react,
his smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine annoyance. He decided to
end the joke quickly.
Jax lunged forward, throwing a heavy, looping right hook aimed not at
her head—he wasn't a total monster—but at her shoulder, intending to knock
her flat onto her back and end the charade. He moved fast, a blur of muscle
and kinetic energy. But Elara was no longer there.
What happened next was so fast, so seamlessly executed, that half the
gym didn't comprehend it until it was over. As Jax's punch extended, Elara
didn't block or retreat. Instead, she stepped directly inside his guard, pivoting