“Mouthpieces in. Ready, fight!”

Coach John stepped back to the side of the sparring ring as Seth circled his opponent. Claire watched with the rest of the class from the mats outside. The timer began to tick.

The sparring gear felt strange, foreign now. The shin pads felt thicker than they used to, the gloves heavier. It felt like he was wearing full armor. His opponent, a nineteen-year-old black belt named Jacob, stepped wide in the direction Seth circled and blazed forward with a skipping side kick. Seth pivoted back and out of the line of the heel and fired a jab, tagging Jacob’s forehead. He felt slow, though he knew the sparring gear slowed him down only in measurements of time that were too minute to matter.

Jacob and him circled each other. Both were in kicking range. Jacob probed with a push kick that Seth directed to the side. They continued to circle. Fear scratched in the back of Seth’s mind, fear of letting go and hurting Jacob. Coach John and Ms. Tull expected more of him than he had demonstrated on his first day back at school.

Jacob got tired of the waiting game and stepped into a full combination. Jab, jab. The first two were easy slips. Cross from the right. Seth rolled with it, feeling it brush past his face. It struck him—he wasn’t slow. Everything was. This all seemed. Slow.

Seth lashed out with a cross straight into Jacob’s gut and the two fell apart, Jacob coughing at the sudden lack of air in his lungs. Coach John leaned on the ropes with his arms crossed. “Back to your old defensive style, Seth? Offense worked rather well for you at Grand Island.”

Seth settled into his stance more comfortably. Connecting felt good, it always did. Outside, he knew that was messed up. Here, it was safe. This was training. Both sides could let their demons out and it would be no harm, no foul.

“Good shot, Seth,” coughed Jacob as they circled again.

“Thanks.”

Jacob skipped forward with a chambered left front kick, but turned his hips over at the last second and floated his shin into the side of Seth’s head, sending him reeling. Seth came out of the blow and rolled on instinct, slipping under an opposite-side hook. Seth cover-blocked a quick backfist from the same hand, then shot his glove across Jacob’s face and executed a hard sweep, slamming him into the mat. Seth followed without a thought and struck him square in the chest before backing away.

Jacob rolled over and pushed himself up. “Fuck, you hit like a fright train, Seth.” He coughed again. Seth’s eyes narrowed. Was that blood? Seth looked at the timer. Three minutes left in the round.

Jacob came in with a feint, and Seth read it, lashing out with a jab before the real attack came. The quick strike stuffed the incoming kick, and Seth lunged forward with a rear straight. His glove crashed into Jacob’s face, sending him reeling. Seth ripped a low left hook into exposed stomach, and then tagged Jacob’s leg with a low kick. A left push kick and Jacob fell back into the ropes. Instinct gripped him and Seth planted, turning the moment in a full revolution and bringing his right heel around and shooting it out into Jacob’s stomach.

A loud grunt escaped Jacob’s lips as Seth’s heel struck him with no place for the force to go. Jacob crumpled, falling towards the ground as Seth continued his rotation, bringing his fist around in a continuing arc of momentum-

Seth stopped himself. That was a liver shot. He stripped his gloves off, tossing them to the side and kneeling beside Jacob. “You alright?”

“There’s a reason,” he coughed, hands around his side, eyes winced shut. “You’re testing for black tab soon. Ugh.” Seth helped him to a seated position and leaned him back against the low ropes. Jacob blinked his eyes and stared at Seth as Coach John walked over. After a moment, he managed a grin. “Clean shot. Fair play.”

Coach John knelt down and dwarfed them both. “Legs back?”

Jacob shrugged. “Think so.”

John gripped his arm and stood up. Jacob came to his feet—shaky, but he could walk. Seth took him from John and helped him out of the ring as two more students go inside and squared up. Jacob shook his head as Seth walked him to the locker room. “I know you’re a senior, but you don’t hit like a high schooler.” Jacob shrugged him off and resumed walking on his own. “You definitely need to try and do at least amateur kickboxing when you’re eighteen. Maybe MMA.”

“I don’t have enough grappling, some dude who knew BJJ would eat me alive the moment he closed the distance.”

“Yeah, if he could. You don’t hit like you’re what, one-seventy?”

“About.”

They reached the locker room and Jacob paused at the door. “Seriously. Get yourself an amateur fight when you turn eighteen.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Jacob went into the locker room and Seth crossed back to the ring. Two large fighters he thought might be blue belts were in a stalemate of a clinch, both working their pummels but getting no traction as they struggled for dominance. “Red gloves, elbows in!”

The kid in the red gloves took Seth’s advice and blocked an incoming underhook without trying, giving him the half-second he needed to get a proper Thai clinch and throw a knee into his opponent’s stomach. The receiver of the knee grunted, then shoved hard, slipping out of the inexperienced hold. The two circled again. Seth sat down on the mats next to Claire. “Red gloves is going to win. He’s less gassed.”

“Don’t know a student at your school’s name?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Not these two.” Seth looked around the class. It was a scattering of green, brown, and yellow belts. Seth recognized all of them.

“That’s because they’re drop-ins.”

“Oh, right.” Seth looked over at her. She grinned.

The timer went off and the two fighters slapped gloves before exiting and taking their gear off.

“Alright,” said Coach John, leaning over the ropes to address the class. “Class is over. Stretch and head home. Black tab selects, you’re staying.”

Seth and Claire looked at each other.

“Yes, you two,” said Coach John. “Our other two selects this year are absent due to work. Don’t stretch, chop wood until everyone is gone.”

The class slowly cleared out as Seth and Claire stripped off their gear and headed over to one of the floor-to-ceiling heavy bags and set up on opposite sides. So, the grand tradition of tab selection had begun.

Claire nodded and Seth struck first, driving his non-augmented leg into the bag with a meaty smack. Claire did the same with her left, striking the same spot. Seth struck. Claire struck. Back and forth as the students cleared at an annoyingly slow pace, some still working their straddle stretches and front splits.

“Switch sides!” Barked Coach John from the center where he was setting a selection of kettlebells.

Seth mentally groaned at the sight of those. They had used them during one of the worst days of tab selection for his red tab, and he had no desire to touch them ever again. He and Claire continued striking the bag, another five minutes passing. He could hear her breath starting to come ragged as the last students cleared. He had done it himself, so he knew the students were intentionally taking their time to clear out so that he and Claire could get a ‘thorough warm-up’. Whether or not the other black belts put them up to it didn’t matter. It was tradition.

Seth found his heart rate higher, but he was unwinded. Claire, on the other hand, was starting to suck wind between kicks. She was in good shape, but they’d been constantly kicking for ten minutes.

“Not hard enough,” said Coach John. “I’m adding another kettlebell unless I’m impressed.”

Seth whipped his hips full force and his augment dug into the bag, folding it to a sixty-degree angle. Claire blinked for a second before giving it her best shot. The thwack echoed throughout the gym, but her hundred-and-forty pound frame did not have the force behind it Seth’s did due to simple physics. And probably a bit more than than that, as he found himself thinking about the sudden hundred pound jump in his strength.

Claire was getting more and more gassed now as they threw their most powerful kicks each time. Seth could feel it, too, though not to that degree.

“We’re going until Seth is actually trying,” said Coach John. Seth’s eyes widened.

Seth double kicked the bag, only setting his foot down for half a second, starting to match each of Claire’s kicks with two of his own. “Sorry,” he muttered as she did her kick.

“Pretty certain selectees only speak when spoken, too,” said Coach John. All the students were out of the building except them and Seth saw out of the corner of his eye all the blinds were drawn. “Fifty sprawls, both of you. Together.”

Claire nodded, her face red with exhaustion from over ten straight minutes of kicking. “Down.”

They both executed grappling sprawls and bounced back up. “Down,” she said.

Seth matched her pace, allowing her the breather she needed, and in a few minutes they were done.

“Over here,” said Coach John.

They jogged to where he stood in front of two lines of kettlebells, starting at thirty-five pounds and making ten or five pound jumps all the way to ninety pounds. “You know the drill,” said Coach John. “Ten swings with each bell. Winner does a wall-sit while the loser goes again.”

Claire and Seth set up across from each other, positioned over the first kettlebell.

“Begin.”

They snatched up the kettlebell and started swinging. Their difference in strength first showed at the fifty-pounder, and got worse from there. Claire was still on the seventy-pound kettlebell when Seth finished his swings with the ninety. He moved over to the nearest wall and put his legs at ninety degrees as Claire completed the line and ran back to the first kettlebell to start again.

Seth definitely felt the burn now, and he resisted the urge to put his elbows on his knees or lean forward. He’d played these games twice before for his red tab and blue tab. He knew exactly what would happen if he cheated a rep. But this was what he lived for. The pain of training, the reward it brought when brutal session was stacked upon brutal session. He knew Claire felt the same way. There wasn’t a single ounce of quit between the two of them, though he did feel bad she was paired with him. She wasn’t as competition focused as he was, and as such her conditioning was a good few levels below his.

Claire finished the row a second time and took a minute to put her hands on her knees.

“Resting? Good,” said Coach John. “Go through again.”

The hour progressed, both of them being worn to the bone by Coach John’s conditioning as they went through the line time and time again. At nine, Coach John stopped them.

“Clean up the gym. Selectee-style.”

Seth set his kettlebell down and looked wearily at Claire. She was a lot worse than he was right now, but holding on just as well. The two hurried to put the kettlebells away, then Claire ducked into the storage room to grab floor towels. Seth grabbed the disinfectant sprayer from the corner and ran backwards in a zig-zag, covering the mats in cleaner before he set down the container and caught the towel Claire tossed him.

The two got down into a push-up position and began wiping and crawling, wiping and crawling as each took one side of the gym. Coach John watched from the edge of the mats. They finished in another ten minutes and struggled their way to their feet, arms, legs, and core all fried to hell. Coach John nodded. “Welcome to your life until November. Enjoy.” He walked back into the office, but paused and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, and be good on all colored belt curriculum by next Monday or you’re dropped from selection.” He closed the door behind him.

Seth and Claire both crashed to their asses and leaned back against the wall, chests heaving. Seth rolled his head over to look at Claire. “That definitely started off worse than red tab selection.”

She nodded. “God, I knew you’d been training hard for our tournament, but what the fuck, Seth. You weren’t gassed until the last quarter of that.”

Seth shrugged. “At least belt testing is just a single night of torture. This is our last stop on the instructor ladder, though. Thank god.”

“Okay, that’s not fair.”

Seth noticed his breathing had already returned to normal.

She shook her head. “You’ve come so, so far from when we’ve first met.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I remember getting gassed during a kata.”

“The good days, huh?”

“Yeah.” Seth paused for a while as she caught her breath. “Those two drop-ins from your school?”

“No, someplace further upstate, I think. Didn’t catch the name of their gym.”

“Huh. Wonder why they’re down here.”

“Who knows.”

“You good?”

“No,” she laughed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to move tomorrow.” They both stood up, but Seth already felt the exhaustion fading from his limbs, retreating inwards toward his center. “Showers?”

She nodded, hand against the wall at the blood-rush to her head. “Yup.”

***

Seth stood under the cold water, letting the sweet shock flood over his body and revitalize him. Two months of that remained, and Seth had a feeling it was about to become an arms race between him and the senior instructors as his ability to handle pain and work only seemed to be growing by the day. The rite of passage occasionally turned into that, but everyone had their ceiling the instructors could find. Seth wondered exactly where his had gone to, because he’d blown through his old ceilings all week long. He wondered if he had one anymore.

Seth stepped out of the shower and toweled off, feeling almost as fresh as the start of class. The door opened and one of the drop-ins walked in, moving over to one of the public use lockers. Definitely college-age, and huge, he towered over Seth as he glanced at him. “Forgot my wallet. Nice match earlier.” The drop-in opened his locker and grabbed a brown leather wallet out of it, stuffing it into the back of his jeans. “You fight?” The drop-in’s golden-brown eyes bored into Seth in a way that made him uncomfortable and Seth found his right foot taking a small step into his stance, even as he held the towel around his waist.

“I compete.”

“No, I mean, fight.” The drop-in looked toward the door. “Like street fighting.”

Oh. One of those. Seth crossed to his locker and started getting dressed. “No,” he lied, pushing the thought of David and Anthony’s bloodsport out of his head.

“Shame, you’ve got a killer instinct. You could probably make some decent cash, even at just smokers.”

Seth rolled his eyes as he slipped his navy tee shirt over his head. Smokers were amateur, usually poorly regulated MMA fights. The guy was right though, you could make some nice side cash at them. “Not for me.”

“Oh, well. See you around.” The drop-in left the locker room and Seth stared after him. As he slipped his shoes on, his mind took hold of the idea of returning to David and Anthony’s fights and refused to let go. Seth tied his shoes.

“No,” he muttered. “I’m not going back.”

The satisfying crunch of his knee knocking out that other fighter was almost audible. The roar of the crowd, the thump of the music. He wanted it. He wanted to fight again, no-holds-barred. He pressed his lips into a thin line. No. He couldn’t feed the demon. Seth picked his duffel up and walked out.