The knife weighs down my hand. It is heavy, menacing, and sharp. It comforts me.

As I wait for the toll of the bell, I analyze him. He's probably 90 some odd pounds heavier than me, and has muscles places I didn't even know existed.

But I'm not worried. This is easy. He doesn't scare me. 

I've seen far, far worse. 

He charges at me instantly, aiming for my ribcage with his knife. I quickly ram my left knee into his right arm, sending his hand flying away from me as I step back. I have a small cut in my chin now, but it hurts like nothing. 

I see the agent bite his lip, wanting to call the match already, but my mother places her hand on his shoulder and gives me a comforting smile.

I can do this. 

When he lunges for me again, I side step and turn so I'm facing his side and throw my arms around his neck. As I put him in a choke hold, he reaches to stab me with his knife. I kick his hand away with my closest foot and rest my knife against his throat. 

Needless to say, he stopped fighting after that.