Seth stood by the door to the gymnasium, phone in hand as he glanced at the clock that dominated the far wall of the room. There were seven minutes left in the break and he was next up in the bracket. Seth turned his head back to his phone.

Sorry bro got no idea who that is.

Seth squeezed his phone in frustration and tapped out a response to Andrew. Well, fuck.

How are tryouts for wrestling?

Fresh talent this year but making varsity was easy.

Good. Represent. Gotta head back out there. Do me a favor and hit up Jess. See if she can find out who has that number.

U got it. Go kick jaysons's ass.

Make varsity.

As if i wont.

Seth's head snapped up at the announcement over the PA.

"Will Seth Blackwell and Greg Wilson please report to ring number three, you are on deck for black belt males sixteen to eighteen."

Seth speed-walked back to the ring and dropped his phone in his bag before he even glanced at his opponent. When he did, he swallowed. Grand Island didn't do weight classes. Usually, it wasn't a problem because of the age and skill divisions, plus it made things rather interesting in Seth's opinion. That being said, Seth wasn't sure this kid was in his age bracket. He had the beginnings of a beard, and even under a loose-fitting red gi, Seth could tell this kid benched about two hundred pounds more than he could ever hope to at a wiry one-seventy.

Seth took a breath and stepped into the ring, sizing up the way Greg carried himself.

He was big, and he acted like he knew it. There was no patch on his uniform and no lettering on his belt, so no way to tell what gym he was from. Seth cursed internally. Knowing his style would have been extremely useful. He noticed Greg wasn't bothering to size him up. Either he already had or he was overconfident. The second one Seth could work with. Seth put on the subtlest of frightened expressions on his face and met Greg's eyes.

Greg smirked. Perfect.

The two stepped to their lines in the ring and zoned out as the ring judge stated the required rules. Greg started bouncing on the balls of his feet. Seth watched while still trying to look shaken. His rebound time was slow. Hopefully, that was indicative of Greg's footwork.

"Are you ready?"

Seth nodded, clenching his jaw tight around his mouthpiece.

"Are you ready?"

Greg grinned, revealing he had one of those mouthpieces with fangs drawn on it. Seth found them tacky as hell and he couldn't stop his expression from changing from the frightened one to his default anger he showed in the ring.

A puzzled expression crossed Greg's face.

"BEGIN!"

Seth moved with casual ease, his left knee chambering high as Greg stepped forward with a lead hand punch. Seth's foot snapped out faster than Greg's hand, the ball of his foot driving into Greg's teeth.

That stupid mouthpiece went flying. Seth set the foot down to the side of a stunned Greg, and almost lazily turned into a right roundhouse kick, driving his shin towards what he was sure were abs basically as strong as bricks. The thing was, though, at CFA, black belt testing required you to break bricks.

Bone dug into muscle and Greg doubled over with the powerful body shot. Seth turned back the way he came with an overhand left.

A hand snatched his wrist.

Oh, fuck.

Seth went for a little trip, sailing through the air and crashing down hard on his upper back. The pain sensors in every portion of his body went off all at once as he rolled away from a powerful stomp and shoved himself to his feet just in time- Nope.

A foot collided with the nerve bundle on the inside of his leg, buckling his knee and causing his hands to involuntarily drop. Seth saw the left hook, let his back leg drop, and slipped under it, circling to the outside on his now unstable stance. Seth fired a quick lead straight into Greg's ribcage, but it seemed to have no effect. Seth skipped backwards out of range and the two circled.

There was a growing bruise on the inside of Seth's leg, but he could tell the two shots he'd gotten in had taken a bit out of Greg's gas tank. He risked a glance a the clock. 1:34. And Greg was definitely ahead by points with that fantastic throw. The body shot was good, but that lead punch hadn't done damage, barely enough to score, and he was sure the judges had seen the lack of intent in both.

Judging by the way Greg stood, arms stretched out further than a striker's guard, but feet arranged like he knew how to kick, he was waiting to get a hold on one of Seth's limbs. Seth raised himself up and down on the balls of his feet. He'd have to be fast. He feinted in. Greg moved just a little. Good.

Seth blazed in with a low kick, tagging the outside of Greg's lead leg and then dancing away. Greg missed grabbing Seth's leg by milliseconds. Seth clenched his jaw. One more set.

Seth repeated the maneuver with the same blazing speed. That time he felt Greg's fingertips brush his leg as he pulled away. Perfect. Seth glanced over at the clock. 0:58.

Seth sprang forward, chambering his leg for that low kick, but as he swung his hips and knee through, he never extended his foot, letting it sail past and plant on the other side of Greg's leg. Greg's hands shot down to catch expected kick, snatching at air. Seth saw in Greg's face he knew he'd messed up.

"Aaaaaaagh!" Screamed Seth, whipping his body in reverse motion and flashing a hooking kick perfectly across Greg's exposed jaw. The was a solid crack and Greg spun to the left, falling to the ground unconscious.

“Seth Blackwell, victory by KO!"

Seth leaned over Greg as he stirred and held out a hand. Greg blinked and looked up at him, dazed.

"Jeez, dude." He rolled his jaw and took Seth's hand. Seth hauled him to his feet. "That was a good feint."

Seth slapped him on the back and the two walked out of the ring together. "That was a good throw. Better luck next time."

"For sure, good job, man. See you on the podium."

Seth looked across the ring as they exited it. Jayson stood there, arms crossed, unimpressed.