A bruise was spreading from beneath Mamoru’s chin along one side of his wide jaw. His neck was nearly as thick as his head, and his white canvas gi did little to hide the mass he had built through years of training. His forearms barely narrowed at the wrists, ending in hands that looked better suited to breaking stones than holding pens. He remained bowed, waiting for my answer. His words had been polite, even kind, but they carried a force behind them. He projected power even while asking permission. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could crush me without much difficulty. For some reason, that made me more excited than nervous. I looked toward the far end of the hall. The instructor was already watching us. For a moment, I expected him to order me back against the wall. Instead, he gave a tired wave. “One round. Controlled.” Mamoru turned and bowed toward him. Dishant remained seated near the wall, but his arms were no longer folded. He was watching too. I tried to say yes, but nothing came out. Instead, I nodded and raised my hands. Mamoru straightened and lifted his guard. The noise around us faded. Qasim and Amir stopped talking and joined Rab and Ibo who were watching intently. Mamoru did not feel like the last three people I had faced. They had been loud, playful, and eager to show off. They had treated their exchanges like games. Mamoru was more respectful than any of them. He was also much scarier. Standing across from him felt less like the beginning of a match and more like one wrong decision might get me killed. He didn't bounce on his feet, or shift his weight. His hands remained in a still position as he stood there. The only movement I could see was him breathing. But his breathing was not normal. Mamoru inhaled deeply through his nose, filling his chest and stomach. Then he released the air from somewhere low in his throat, slow and rough. It sounded almost like a snake warning something not to come any closer. But there was one thing I could not ignore. His right elbow was held too far away from his body. The ribs beneath it were completely exposed. It was the same opening Dishant and Qasim had given me. The same place where the liver should be. My attention locked onto the opening until the rest of his body seemed to fade around it. It felt like his body was screaming: Hit me. The opening was too tempting. I stepped forward and threw a jab and cross, stopping both just short of his face. I wanted him to raise his guard so I could turn my hips and drive my left hand beneath his ribs. Mamoru didn't move his arms to block the shot. He only drew another sharp breath. His elbow remained high. I planted my foot, turned my body, and drove my left fist into the exposed space. Pain shot through my knuckles and wrist. I jerked my hand back. For an instant, I was certain he had hidden a steel plate beneath his gi. What the fuck was that? The pain was so sharp that I thought I had broken something. I glanced down at my hand, already afraid of what I might see. Something slammed into my face. My head snapped sideways. I stumbled backward and threw both arms over my head, expecting more punches. None came. Mamoru remained where he was, breathing in that strange, deliberate rhythm. A faint smile appeared on his face. “Please do not hold back, Mister Xu.” I looked more closely at him. There was no steel gauntlet covering his hand. No armor beneath his gi. That had been his fist. Those had been his ribs. What the fuck was he made of? Mamoru stepped forward. Only a few inches, but it felt as though the entire room had become smaller. My left hand throbbed. Now I understood why June had struck him with her palms and the bottoms of her feet. I tried to copy her. As he moved closer, I drove the ball of my foot toward his stomach and followed with a palm strike toward his head. Mamoru absorbed the kick against his body. His forearm rose to catch my hand before it reached his face. He countered immediately. His left hook curved toward the right side of my ribs. I dropped my elbow and caught the punch against my arm. It felt like being struck with a hammer. The impact shoved me sideways. Pain spread from my elbow to my shoulder, and my entire arm went heavy. I backed away before he could hit me again. Both of my arms hurt now. My left hand pulsed every time my heart beat. Mamoru was not fast. At least, he did not look fast. He simply waited for me to attack and struck while I was still trying to deliver force. Worse, hitting him hurt me almost as much as being hit by him. I thrust my left heel toward his stomach. As his elbow dropped, I stepped through and drove my right palm toward his temple. His other forearm rose to stop my hand. I had moved his guard, but I still had not hurt him. His fist struck my shoulder and knocked me backward again. I tried attacking high, then low. Low, then high. I used my palms, heels, and the softer parts of my forearms. Anything that did not feel as though it might shatter when it touched him. It barely mattered. Every time I committed to an attack, Mamoru struck me before I could escape. Then he started walking forward. He was patient and methodical, he didn't chase, he stalked. I moved backward and tried to circle around him, searching for the outside of his lead foot, then the inside. Mamoru kept appearing in front of me, taking away space one step at a time. I felt like a mouse being cornered by a cat. If this continued, he was going to consume me. I had to do something. I darted toward the outside of his lead foot and crashed my left forearm into his guard, trying to knock it aside. His arm moved only slightly. Slightly was enough. I drove my right palm into the side of his head with everything I had. His skin felt like concrete beneath my hand. But his head snapped sideways. One of his feet moved. It was only half a step, but it was the first time I had made him move at all. I struck him again. This time, he was waiting for it. His arm knocked my hand away, and his fist came straight back toward my face. I managed to raise my elbow in time. The punch smashed into it. Pain flashed through the entire joint. I could still move it, but just barely. Mamoru stepped closer. I threw a round kick out of panic. My shin struck the outside of his thigh. It felt– Human… Solid and conditioned, but human, like I was still striking against flesh, not a steel plate. The kick shifted his weight and disturbed his stance. My body reacted before I could think. I stepped forward and threw another palm toward his head. Mamoru blocked it and turned his hips. His shin came toward me. I could not get out of the way in time. I raised both arms and let the kick crash into them. His shin felt like steel. I did not try to stand my ground. If I had, I thought both of my forearms might break. The kick sent me stumbling across the dirt. Somehow, I caught my balance before I fell. My arms shook in front of me. All right. At least I know it’s safe to kick his leg. Mamoru advanced again. I moved along the edge of his range, darting in and out. Each time, I remained a little longer, placed myself a little closer, and gave him a better opportunity to attack. He ignored the first few invitations. He only stood there, breathing in that strange way. Then, without warning, he stepped forward. His thigh was right there. I turned my hip over and kicked the same place with even more force. Mamoru took a sharp breath. My shin struck his leg. Steel. Pain exploded through my right leg. I nearly fell before Mamoru even touched me. The first kick had landed cleanly. The second felt as though I had kicked a statue. His thigh had not felt like that the first time. He had done something between the first kick and the second. The breath. He had made that same sound before I punched his ribs. I tried to put weight on my right leg. It collapsed beneath me. That’s no good. My arms barely worked. My left hand was swelling, and now I could not stand properly on my right leg. Mamoru watched me switch stances. I placed my injured leg in front and shifted nearly all my weight onto the left. He continued forward. I pushed the ball of my injured foot toward his stomach, trying to keep him away. Mamoru reached to catch it. I snatched my foot back and planted it lightly beside him, falling into a clinch before the injured leg had to support my weight. It was not a good clinch, it was more of a desperate hug. But being close seemed better than standing where he could punch me. Mamoru’s forearms threaded between mine and locked around my waist like a vise. He twisted my upper body in one direction and swept the only leg still carrying my weight in the other. The floor vanished beneath my feet. My back struck the dirt hard enough to empty my lungs. Before I could breathe again, Mamoru climbed over my legs and settled on top of me, his knees planted in the dirt on either side of my waist. His fist rose. “Do you yield?” I covered my face. His knuckles crashed into my forearms. Pain traveled through bones that felt cracked. “Do you yield?” he asked again. I knew what the word meant. I had watched the other students surrender to June. The answer should have been yes. I thought covering my face and no longer trying to hit him should have been enough. But somewhere beneath that thought, something else recoiled from the idea of saying the words. It was screaming “fuck no!” Another punch hammered into my guard. I tried to pull Mamoru closer so he could not generate as much force. He shoved my head down and punched around my arms. I trapped his right wrist, hooked his foot with mine, and threw my hips upward while twisting toward the trapped side. It felt like I had done this a thousand times before, just somewhere else I couldn't remember. But my injured arm could not hold his wrist. Mamoru tore his hand free, spread his knees wider, and dropped his weight back over my hips. I turned onto my side and shoved at his knee, trying to force it away. If I could push his leg down far enough, I could pull one of my own legs free, wrap it around his, and stop him from sitting directly on top of me. Somewhere in my mind, I seemed to know what to do. But my damaged elbow buckled beneath me. Another fist came down. I twisted beneath him, reaching for a leg, an arm, anything I could hook onto. His weight smothered every movement. My hand reached upward. Two of my fingers slipped past his lips. It immediately felt like I had broken an unspoken rule. It did not feel like this was simple sparring anymore. I did not care. I hooked the inside of his cheek and pulled. Mamoru made a sharp, furious sound and jerked away. His calm disappeared. He struck me once harder than before. The room flashed white. He raised his fist again. “Enough!” The instructor’s voice cut through the hall. Several students were already moving. Hands grabbed Mamoru’s shoulders and arms, pulling him away from me as the instructor crossed the floor toward us. Voices filled the room. Someone shouted at Mamoru. Someone else shouted at me. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. An older student leaned over me. His mouth was moving, but the words reached me slowly, as though he were speaking from the opposite end of a tunnel. “Why didn’t you yield?” I blinked at him. “What?” “Yield. Surrender.” “I stopped hitting him. I was covering my face.” “You were still fighting.” “I was trying to stop him from punching me.” “You trapped his wrist, tried to overturn him, attempted to escape beneath his leg, and fish-hooked him.” When he put it that way, it sounded pretty bad. “I thought someone would stop him.” “Why would we stop him while you were still defending yourself?” No one had explained that. At least, that was what I told myself. But Mamoru had asked me twice. I could have answered him. Something inside me had refused. Mamoru stood several feet away with two students between us. The moment they released him, he straightened his gi and restored his breathing. The anger disappeared from his face almost as quickly as it had arrived. Qasim helped me sit up. The room tilted for several seconds before settling back into place. He crouched in front of me. “Covering up doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “What?” “If you want the match to end, raise an open hand and say, ‘I yield.’ Clearly.” He demonstrated, lifting one hand beside his head. “That’s it?” “That’s it.” “What if I can’t talk?” “Then make it obvious.” “I thought this was obvious.” Qasim looked at my face, then toward Mamoru. “You tried to reverse him.” “I was trying to stop him from punching me.” “You tried to escape his mount.” “For the same reason.” “You fish-hooked him.” “I was running out of ideas.” Qasim stared at me for a moment. Then he looked over his shoulder at Amir. Amir shrugged. Qasim turned back. “None of that looks like surrender.” Apparently, desperately trying not to be beaten unconscious looked a great deal like refusing to surrender. Mamoru approached once I could sit without falling over. He stopped several feet away and bowed even deeper than before. “I believed you were deliberately refusing to yield,” he said. “Had I known you did not understand the custom, I would have stopped.” I touched the swelling beneath my eye. “The fault is mine,” he continued. “I did put my fingers inside your mouth.” Mamoru stared at me. For a moment, it seemed like he hadn't registered what I said. Then he laughed. It was a deep, booming sound that seemed too large for the room. “Yes,” he said. “That was extremely unpleasant.” “Sorry.” “Do not apologize.” His smile widened. “It was resourceful.” I left the building with a limp, two arms that felt heavy and useless, and a left hand already swelling around the knuckles. I had lost pretty badly. But the first kick had worked. The first kick had struck ordinary flesh. The second had nearly broken my leg. Mamoru had taken that sharp breath between them. I could not stop thinking about that.

Chapter 20- The Second Kick