momentum. It took decades to master, requiring a profound understanding of
biomechanics and an absolute absence of fear.
Down on the mat, Jax finally managed to sit up, his face a terrifying
shade of crimson. Humiliation and rage warred in his eyes. He scrambled to
his feet, ignoring the protocol of the gym. "You got lucky," he spat, charging at
her again, this time abandoning the pretense of sparring. He shot in for a
double-leg takedown, intent on crushing her beneath him. Elara sighed softly.
As he shot in, she stepped slightly offline, clamped her hand onto the back of
his neck, and used his downward momentum to drive his face directly into
the mat while simultaneously locking his right arm in a standing Kimura. She
applied just enough pressure to make the joint creak. Jax froze, a cry of pain
dying in his throat.
"Resistance is exhausting," Elara whispered softly, her voice only audible
to him. "Your anger makes you rigid. Rigid things break." She released the
lock and stepped away, leaving Jax kneeling on the mat, clutching his
shoulder, completely emasculated in front of his peers. Elara turned, bowed
respectfully to the center of the mat, and walked back to her corner. She
picked up a worn paperback book, sat down, and began to read as if nothing
had happened.
In the days that followed, Elara became the sole topic of conversation at the
Iron Lotus. The video of Jax's airborne flight had inevitably leaked,
spreading through the local martial arts community like a wildfire. No one
smirked when she walked in anymore. Instead, they parted like the Red Sea,
watching her with a mixture of awe and trepidation. Jax had taken a leave of