"Know your enemy, know his blade." -Miyamoto Musashi.

Seth knew Jayson. Seven years ago, they had started as white belts at Central Fighting Arts. Jayson had always been fit, athletic. He moved with a dancer's grace before most kids had even come close to having full motor control. Seth doubted he had ever crawled as a baby. He was fast, he had good eyes, and instantaneous reflexes.

Seth had been fat. He could still remember how his white belt felt when it cut into the pudge of his stomach. Seth hadn't really overeaten or had a sweet tooth as a kid. His parents had tried to tell him he was just 'husky', but Seth knew. The other kids in school made sure he did.

But not at CFA. At CFA, Ms. Tull and Coach John welcomed him with open arms, along with all the other instructors, not even so much as commenting on his weight.

Jayson had, though.

He acted like Seth's friend, sure, but he was somehow always the one stepping on Seth's neck, somehow always the one kicking him down the ladder of skill they were both trying to climb. He was responsible for the worst bruises after sparring, for the subtle taunts in the locker room.

Seth remembered distinctly Jayson adding another brick when he tested right after Seth, just to outdo him. Because he could. Seth remembered struggling with the two brick break. It had scared him senseless.

Jayson had driven through three bricks like butter. With his off-hand. With a smirk on his face. And of course, they'd been partners for the black belt sparring event. Why wouldn't they have been? Why would Jayson miss an opportunity to get into the ring with Seth bare-knuckled? That would just be silly.

And Jayson had made sixteen-year-old Seth look silly.

Things took a turn for the worse when just a month later Seth was nominated for to go test for his red tab, the second instructor rank, and skip the blue tab of the junior instructor rank entirely. Jayson was given no such offer, and he was furious to the point of ripping his black belt off in the middle of class, throwing it on the ground and yelling how worthless CFA was.

Ms. Tull kicked him out. A month after Seth got his red tab, Jayson resurfaced at Grand Island as a black belt under South City Sandou. He'd wiped the ring with Seth, breaking one of his ribs and knocking him out cold with a back kick to the jaw.

Seth stood with his forehead against the wall of the dark locker room, face hot and wet with tears, blood dripping down to the floor from his gashed open knuckles, his white gi pants smeared with blood. His cell phone was broken on the floor, showing over a dozen calls to Madeline she hadn't picked up.

Seth sank to the floor, choking on his tears. He'd shamed his school. He didn't deserve that red tab. He was worthless, useless, a joke. Still nonathletic, still not good enough. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face against them, shaking with emotion.

"Seth?"

Seth would have jumped at how close behind him the voice came, but he just stayed silent and tried to get hold of his voice as Ms. Tull knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Seth, it's okay."

"It's not. It's fucking- fucking not." Seth sucked air into his lungs with hesitation, each breath bringing further pain to his battered midsection.

Ms. Tull squeezed his shoulder and the two sat in silence for a long while. "Claire said she'll drive you home. I don't want you behind a wheel, okay?"

Seth shrugged. His sobs had stopped, but tears still dripped down his cheeks. "I failed."

"What?"

"I'm an instructor and a black belt, I should do better for our school. The colored belts, they- they expect more of me. I know you do. I should have beaten him."

Ms. Tull let out a long sigh. "Seth, why do you think we made you an instructor and not him?"

"I honestly don't have a clue, ma'am." Seth wiped snot and saltwater onto his arm.

"Because you have honor. You have heart. You're a martial artist. He's just a kid with a lot of athleticism."

"But he's the better martial artist."

"No, he's absolutely not. You think martial arts is just about beating people's face in?"

Seth shrugged.

"Don't misunderstand me, that's a big portion of it. But martial arts is about being a better person. And you're a way better person than he is. That's why you have that red tab on your gi."

"But he's the better fighter. And that's all that matters right now."

"Seth!"

Seth stiffened and turned to look at her. In the dim light, he could just make out Ms. Tull's face.

"Then we're going to change that, Seth. I'm going to ask something of you, and if you give it, I promise you'll beat him next year."

"What's that?"

"Give me every day. You want something, you have to get obsessed about it, you have to be passionate about it. If losing to him has you messed up like this, then we're going to make sure you don't lose. I want you at the dojo every day. I want you to stay an hour after classes every day. You have the potential to beat him, Seth. You just have to put in more work than he ever could hope to. And I promise you, Seth." Ms. Tull looked him dead in the eyes. "You. Will. Beat him."

"Seth Blackwell, Jayson Mowry, step into the ring!"

Seth knew his enemy.