A game of dangerous loyalties

“Guard! Sweep! Kick! No! Jax, I've always told you to learn to read your opponents and listen. We’re starting this round again. Block!”

I tuned out Marcus’s voice as he barked out instructions at the other fighters, focusing solely on the opponent in front of me. I circled, my opponent mirroring my movements.

I could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest, a sign of the fatigue from our previous round, which I had won. But I knew this time wouldn’t be as easy, Kira—my sparring partner—hated losing just as much as I did.

My muscles burned, but I ignored it, shutting out the smell of sweat and rubber mats that was starting to make me feel light headed. I was tired, but I couldn’t quit now. Kira had begged for another round, and I had agreed. It was too late to back out.

I narrowed my eyes, my body coiled, waiting for the right moment. I knew Kira’s weakness—she always left her side unguarded.

“Uh-uh, not this time, Osborn,” she muttered, lunging at me with a fist aimed for my ribs.

I smirked, already predicting her move. I twisted on my heel, thinking I had dodged her punch, but then she raised her leg and slammed it into my side, making me stumble backward.

“Told ya.”

“My bad. You caught me off guard.” I smiled through the pain, clutching my throbbing side.

“We’ll see.”

She came at me again, throwing a flurry of punches, barely giving me time to counterattack. I raised my hands, blocking as she drove me back, struggling to read her next move. Then I saw it—the rotation of her hips as she spun and swung her leg in a perfect circular motion.

I panicked. With no time to think, I did the first thing that came to mind—I stretched out my hands and grabbed her leg mid-air. The impact sent me reeling, but I held my ground, refusing to let go. I yanked her down hard, and she lost her balance, crashing onto the mat.

“And the winner of this round is Osborn!”

The other fighters in the gym, who I didn’t realize had gathered around, began to clap, and cheer. I fell to my knees, laughing and crying at the same time—partly from the thrill of victory, partly from the pain I felt in my hands. It felt like the impact of her kick had shattered my bones.

One of the fighters extended a hand to help Kira up. She took it, nodding gratefully.

“Are you okay, Eugene?” She asked, her voice soft.

I nodded at first, but then winced, the pain forcing me to shake my head as tears fell freely down my face.

“Give me your hand,” A gruff voice said as he approached. “This is why I always say—NEVER.TRY.TO.CATCH.A.ROUNDHOUSE.KICK!” Marcus barked, making sure everyone in the room could hear.

“Marcus,” I sobbed.

“Is she going to be okay?” Kira asked, now kneeling beside me, rubbing my shoulders gently.

“Yes, she’ll be fine,” he took my hands in his and began examining them. “‘Osborn what were you thinking, You should have blocked or stepped out of the way.”

“I know, but…I didn’t see it in time,”

“It’s okay. You’re lucky you didn’t break a thing. You’re just feeling the aftermath of the kick. The pain will subside in about an hour.”

I nodded, wiping my eyes against my shoulder.

“You can go home and rest now. You’ve trained enough for today.” He stood, helping me to my feet by the wrist.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Kira offered.

“No, Kira, you stay and train. As you saw, a roundhouse kick should be powerful enough to knock out your opponent, but you barely grazed Eugene—just pushed her back.”

“Ugh, fine. But it’s not that my kick wasn’t strong," Kira grumbled, flipping her ponytail. “I was just going easy on her.” She shot me a playful smirk before heading off to spar with someone else.

“You’ll be okay walking home by yourself, right?’

“Yeah, thanks, Marcus.”

“Good. Make sure to be here early tomorrow. I’m letting you go early today because that was pretty impressive—Catching a roundhouse kick and throwing your partner to the ground, Ha!” He shook his head, grinning as he stalked off to oversee his other students.

I watched him go, waving back at Kira before exiting the training room. I headed for the locker room, flexing my throbbing arm, as I walked. I really hoped Marcus was right about the pain subsiding soon because I didn’t have any extra cash to spend on hospital bills.

Thinking back to the moment Marcus had walked over to me—all cold and emotionless, but with a hint of worry in his eyes—I couldn’t help but smile. To outsiders, Marcus seemed cold and intimidating, especially with his towering height of 6’5”. But to us, his students, we knew that beneath his tough, menacing exterior was a kind and caring heart—like a mushy marshmallow hidden behind all that muscle.

Tired and exhausted, I entered the locker room and began changing out of my gi. I slipped into a pair of black sweat pants and a matching crop hoodie.

As I was gathering my things, ready to head out, I heard a noise. I paused, glancing around the locker room. Maybe it was my imagination. I shrugged it off, but there it was again, followed by heavy breathing.

It sounded like someone was training, but the training room was too far away for me to hear anything from here. That meant whoever it was had to be close by.

I scanned the room. The only place that could explain the noise was the door next to the locker beside mine—a door we'd always assumed led to a janitor's closet, though i'd never actually seen the janitor go in there.

Curiosity piqued, I took a step closer. What if what was behind that door wasn't what I thought it was? I smirked, mentally scolding myself for jumping into conclusions. I could handle anything—I mean, I just caught a roundhouse kick, right?

With that thought in mind, I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. I half-expected to see the janitor arranging his tools, or maybe a student needing privacy for special training.

But I definitely didn't expect to see one of Seattle's most popular heartthrob, and the son of a billionaire, lying bare-chested on the ground, panting in the middle of a room almost the size of our training area.

And from the look in his eyes, he hadn't expected me either.