Jackson scowled. If there was one family trait successfully passed down from his mother to his sister it was stubbornness. Jackson firmly believed the women of his family were among the most hard-headed ones he’d ever encountered. That’s why he let Nairin have the last word. A word she meant, he could tell. Nairin had shown times and again that whatever she put her mind to, she would go through with it.

Nothing about Nairin compelled people to protect her. She was strong, brazen confidence. It showed in her speech as well as in her posture. She didn’t care about ruffling people’s feathers and he didn’t know who she’d inherited her sharp tongue from.

Despite that, Nairin was too reckless to be let anywhere near the action. Jackson had vowed to keep her away from the things he witnessed on the daily for as long as possible -- as impossible as the prospect sounded. He was thankful that Mark seemed to agree with him on that end.

“Ten bucks says he destroys her in the first minute.”

Jackson’s ears perked up and he turned his head to the bleacher behind him where three recruits were focused on a piece of paper.

“Make it twenty and I say in the first thirty seconds.” Someone chimed in from behind.

The boy in the middle who held the paper, lowered a pen to the page and scribbled down the bet.

Jackson recognized him as Jae, a recruit of one year who was soon to be sent on the field.

“Thirty there won’t be a third round!” The boy to Jae’s right said.

“Fifty and she passes out.” The girl on his left countered.

Jae pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and raised his head as if sensing Jackson’s stare cutting down their ranks. His pen froze mid-air and the recruits followed his line of sight questioningly. Hues of pink instantly colored the apple of the girl’s cheeks.

“What about you, Jackson?” Jae tried tentatively, trying to ease the atmosphere. “Wanna place a bet?”

Jackson’s icy stare was their only response.

***

Bora wanted to gag at Bambam’s grandiloquent speech and Division’s overall tendency for melodrama and theatricals. She almost breathed out in relief when he jumped off the ring after signalling the beginning of round one.

A new kind of energy thrummed through her blood and spread to her fingertips as she rolled her neck. She stretched her hands, checking her hand wrapping one last time.

Mark did the same before covering his face with his fists. Bora bent her knees in anticipation, copying his stance. Mark’s felt unnervingly more natural than hers. They circled one another, both of them ready to pounce like lions.

“Come on!” the crowd urged on, getting impatient and starting to boo.

“Remember,” Mark said to her and Bora froze, her eyes snapping to his, “you wanted this.” And he struck.

She dodged the first jab and the next one but Mark wouldn’t falter. He cornered her, making her step back until she had her back against the ropes enclosing the ring. He curled his fists ready to deliver a hook to her jaw.

Bora ducked and pushed hard, charging into him like a bull with a grunt. She heard him snarl a millisecond before he connected his elbow with her spine. Pain shot down her bones like a thunderstorm. Not hard enough to damage it but enough so that she knew it’d be bruised and sore the next day.

His move forced her to her knees with a yelp. Frantic, she jumped back to her feet, ignoring the ache. Mark fell in a crouch and swept her off her feet. She tripped and the back of her head was the first to hit the ground in a chatter of teeth. He went for a kick to her stomach but she rolled on her back, warding off the sole of his boot.

She tried to get back to her feet but Mark was faster. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up. Thousands of little needles stung her skull. Bora opened in a silent cry as he forced her up and gave her one sharp punch to the nose. And a second.

Bora let out a cry of pain and covered her nose in a pathetic attempt to dodge the punches. She almost sighed in sweet relief when he dropped her hair. But then his battered and bloody hand encircled her neck before her body could sag to the floor like a rag doll. He pressed against the softest pressure point on her neck and her body went rigid.

His mouth went to her ear and he said one word. “Dead.”

End of round one.

Mark had put her down in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. Her notion of time wasn’t at the best of its ability.

The crowd cheered loudly, the accompanying rattle of metal even louder. More; they wanted more.

Mark pushed her off him and she fell on all fours with a grunt trying to catch her breath while Mark faced the crowd. Blood dripped down on the mat from her nose and she applied pressure to try to stop the flow.

Sweat glistened on Mark’s chest as he surveyed the crowd. Bloodlust danced in his eyes. He started clapping his hands slowly then faster in a mad rhythm, enticing the crowd.

The Division imitated him, spreading the sound in the Pit in a ruckus that built anxiety up in Bora’s chest.

“Again! Again! Again!” came the collective shout of the crowd.

“I told you she would not last thirty seconds!”

Bora’s head snapped furiously to the voices. Two boys and a girl that looked no older than twenty were snickering among themselves in front of the bleachers. Jackson stood a few feet before them, right on the corner of the ring, and embarrassment sprung up in her gut as she made eye contact with him.

If she’d heard them, he certainly had as well. For some reason, that new form of humiliation was harder to stand under Jackson’s scrutiny. No, not just some reason. She knew why she felt that way. His late night visit had planted the first seeds of doubt in her. He’d told her she wouldn’t, couldn’t, win against Mark.

She’d slept on his words and dawn had come with the blooming of a deep desire in her chest: to prove him wrong. She could beat Mark.

Fights were never about physical strength. They were about strategy and speed and wits. Sure, she was rusted after focusing on her studies and abandoning her training sessions with her father. But she knew she still had it in her. It was somewhere inside her, a familiar mechanism waiting to be kicked back into motion like an old bicycle.

It was the fear that was creating a blockade on her mind. How different was it from a creative block, really? She needed to get rid of that fear and regain control.

The first step to end a creative block was to put the brush on the canvas. The first step to get past her mental blockade on the ring was to throw that first punch. No fight had ever been won being on the defensive.

Bora sprung back to her feet.

Ready for round two.

***

“I told you she would not last thirty seconds!”

“She still got some good kicks in for a civ’!”

“Come on, round two is about to start, place your bets!”

“What do you say, Jackson? Jackson?”

Jackson wasn’t listening. His eyes locked with Bora’s. They were fueled with drive, and something else too, something that made him feel uneasy. She spat and slowly wiped the blood off her nose. A smirk drew on her lips before she jumped back to her feet and turned her back on them.

“Hey, Jackson!” Jae insisted again.

Slowly, Jackson turned to the recruits the ima