----- Seven Months Past -----

“Ten more laps, boys,” my official calls to us as my group wrestles to maintain the pace we set more than an hour ago. While we have been given breaks, they were only in five-minute increments. That’s not enough, even with the stamina we’ve attained.

“I’m ready to fall,” Chen pants.

My sweat-saturated hair is stuck to my forehead. Feeling hot, I push it back. “Ten more.”

“Right,” he says. He looks behind us. “Any chance you want to slow down a tad bit and stay in the back?”

“I’m not giving up the front spot, Chen.”

“If that’s what you like.” He drops his pace. As if an invisible string suddenly pulled him, Chen recedes to the end of the group. I glance backward to see that the closest boy is ten steps away. I face forward once more and coerce myself to run. I will finish these ten laps, and I will be in the front.

When I complete the last lap, I roll to the ground and lie on my back. Unaware that my body has stopped moving, my head spins. Chen falls beside me, and he, too, lies in a horizontal position and stares at the sky. For once, our official does not disrupt our rest.

“Since when were you a fan of the front?” He asks between deep breaths.

“Since I decided I wasn’t a fan of watching people’s bottoms,” I answer. He laughs, and I laugh with him.

“I feel more competitive because of you.”

“It’s healthy encouragement.”

“You won’t go easy on a guy like me?”

I turn my head. “Your arm healed months ago.”

“Seeing you were to blame, of course you’d be the one to remember.”

I snort. “If you want more sympathy, I’ll put you in harm’s way.”

He lifts himself up onto his elbows. “I’d like to keep my other arm intact. But thanks.” He raises his arm to the air, and then folds it against his chest. It moves as it should, but the slight crookedness of the motion causes guilt to brace my heart. I sit up.

“Right. You need that for throwing knives.”

“Is that all you think about?” Chen asks as I stand up. “Fighting?”

I give him a thin smile. “It’s all I’m good at.”

Afterwards, we eat lunch. I hardly gag at the flavor of stale bread and bland soup anymore. I spit out something that doesn’t agree with my taste buds, and then I give the rest of my soup to Chen.

“You don’t want it?” He asks.

“No. I’m ready to practice wushu.”

Chen takes the bowl and drinks the remaining soup in one gulp. After wiping his mouth, he says, “You’re really good at it, Zee.”

I shrug. “I could be better.”

Our official calls us to group one’s official, who is leading the wushu lesson for today. Beside him are all the boys in his group. Even though I haven’t seen him since the day Chen stepped forward to save me, I spot 2A immediately.

“We’re doing one-on-one combat today,” group one’s official says. “I’m going to pair all of you with someone from my own group according to skill level. In the meantime, I want you to fight with people in your own group so I can gauge where you are.” He nods. “Go ahead and find a partner.”

“Chen.”

“Huh?”

“You’re my partner,” I say.

“Why? You’re going to ask me to lose.”

“No. I’m asking you to try your best.”

He scoffs. “With this arm?”

I rest a hand on his shoulder. “Your best.”

After a second, he clenches his jaw, and I know that he understands what I mean.

We collect our rods, and then we spread out around group one’s official in pairs. When he whistles by pressing his fingers between his lips, we begin fighting.

Chen steps forward even before the whistle has stopped screaming and whacks my rod with his own. I push my arms forward, block his attack, and spin while aiming for his legs. He jumps and brings his rod down, but I sink to my knees and block him again.

This goes on for a longer time than I predicted. Chen is stopping my advances more than I thought he would. As we fight, I observe his weaknesses. He is slow to get back on his feet, and his arms aren’t steady. I know it isn’t fair, but I aim for his arm.

When he notices what I am trying to do, he grits his teeth and accuses, “You’re a bully, Zee.”

But I’m not a bully. I’m a smart fighter. There is a difference.

“I need to beat you, Chen,” I say.

“I’m not that good. This shouldn’t be hard.”

That’s exactly the problem. I pass the rod to my other hand and whip his side. He is too slow to block it, and so he stumbles backward and clutches his side.

“Beat me,” he gasps.

He’s trying to help me. His eyes are ablaze with the determination to win, but he is cheering for me to take the victory. Regardless of the fact that I was the reason his arm was injured, I target the very part of his arm that had been split just months before. He sees what I’m doing. He strikes back with enough strength so his arm doesn’t break like last time, but he still feels the pain and tumbles to the ground.

As I loom over Chen and quietly thank him for stopping me before I permanently hurt him, I realize something - if I’m not careful, I can turn into the person I am trying so hard to beat.

Ruthless.

“That’s it,” Chen wheezes. “I’m done.”

I look around. Everyone is still fighting. The only person who no longer has a partner like myself is the boy I have wanted to fight since he raised his rod over my head. 2A.

“Sir,” I call to group one’s official. He sees Chen on the ground, and then he sees me standing steadily on my two feet.

“You’ve finished?”

My eyes flicker to 2A. I only look at him for half a second, but the official sees it.

“You want to practice still, don’t you?”

‘Practice’, he says, as if my future duel with 2A will be nothing but practice.

“I do.”

“There isn’t anyone available.”

Unashamedly, I stare at 2A as I say, “There is one. Sir.”

“Do you mean yourself?”

I raise my rod and point it at 2A. “I mean him. Sir.”

He snickers. “He’s the best in my group.”

“And I’m the best in mine.”

My official, surprisingly, applauds my behavior. “Let them go. Zee has gotten a lot better since last time.”

“Are you saying 2A hasn’t?” Official of group one asks. “He only continues to improve. At the beginning, his skill already exceeded Zee’s. At this point, the outcome would still be the same.”

I can tell that my official doesn’t appreciate being abased. “Let them fight, and we’ll see.”

With a smirk, group one’s official agrees. “Go ahead, then. 2A, would you come here?”

2A leisurely walks to the front of the group. He swings his rod down to the earth, and then he bows deeply to his official. “Yes, sir?”

His obedience disgusts me, but I am entranced.

“I’d like you to practice with him over there,” the official says. 2A looks at me with the same blank expression he used with his official. I don’t know if he remembers me, and that irritates me. “Come here,” the official commands, so I walk forward until I stand at the front of the group, as well. Near the back, I see Chen slowly stand up.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” I say to the official, who simply chuckles. I switch the rod from my left hand to my right. “I’ll be sure to make this worth your while.”

I attack. 2A hops back lightly and calmly. He spins and then aims for my legs, so I jump over his rod and my rod down. He rolls away and stabs my side with the edge of the rod, using the right amount of force to make sure to tell me that he’s only playing with me. Angry that he isn’t taking me seriously, I forcefully push forward, but my move is cut off when I see 2A twirling the rod over his head as if it were a child’s baton. He releases it, jumps, and kicks it toward me. I barely have time to slide away in order to avoid being hit again.

His weapon is at my feet. I kick it away, and then I swivel the rod from my right to my left hand and back again and steadily crouch toward him. He sidesteps me and runs for my back, so I fling the rod behind me. It hits him, but not where I want it. It lands right between his hands, which gives him the opportunity to steal my rod.

“What’s your name?” He asks. His voice is thin and airy.

“Zee.”

“I’ll play fair, Zee,” he says, and throws the rod over my head. “No rods.”

I fold my fingers into my palms and lift my fists in front of my face. “All right.”

We charge. All thoughts of chivalry and games flee my mind. There is no such thing as practice, and there is no such thing as room for mistakes. I have to use everything that I have learned, and everything that I know to be true.

I can beat him.

He has compassion, and he showed it on the field. I won’t show mine in fear that it will become my weakness.

I kick. He blocks. He reaches for my arm to pull me in for a barrage of fists. I let him take me and then, using my momentum, I flip over his shoulder and kick him at the base of his neck. He drops down and swipes a kick to my feet, so I jump over his legs. By the time he’s back on his feet, I have turned around. We exchange a series of hit and block with our fists, and then he tries a spinning kick, which hits me in the shoulder before I duck beneath it.

Panting, we step back and stare at another. I can see that the group one and group four trainees have ceased practicing and are now watching our duel. Everyone is quiet. Patient. Waiting. None of them dare to guess who will win.

I’m more hurt than I pretend to be. My shoulder burns and threatens to fall off. I can’t fight well with this arm, and I don’t have time to ponder how badly it’s been damaged once 2A resumes the fight and kicks my torso.

I can feel my confidence fading once I’m thrown to the floor and my heart slams against my ribcage. I cough, and he is over me. Once again, he is in the more dominant and powerful position. He stands above me at a place where I was told I couldn’t reach.

But his feet stand on the same ground as mine. He may be standing now, but he won’t be standing forever.

I avoid his stomp to my chest and grab his foot to bring him down with me. He falls and attempts to jump back up, but I rise to my knees and punch his stomach. I lock his feet to the ground by linking my legs around his, and then I punch and punch until I’m sure he won’t retaliate.

My hands are shaking. I have never fought with such extremity.

“Zee.” I hear running. Chen shakes my shoulders, and then he hooks his hands under my armpits and lifts me to my feet. “Zee. Are you okay? Zee.” He waves his hand in front of my face. “Zee. Pay attention to me.”

My hooded eyes gaze up at him. “Did I win?”

“He’s conscious,” he replies instead. “Don’t worry about him.”

That isn’t what I asked, I want to say, but I nod. My official runs to me. Behind me, group one’s official orders one of his trainees to help 2A.

“Congratulations,” he tells me with a grin I never thought would genuinely be shown to me. “You beat the best wushu trainee in Shin.”

Chen shakes his head and rests my arm over his shoulders. “That wasn’t wushu, Zee,” he whispers so that only I can hear. “That was inhuman.”