“When the world began to fall apart, we all assumed the government would eventually show up and fix everything back to the way it was. We were wrong.”

— Anonymous Journal #21, Oath Keepers Archive of Truth, Volume 12

The blow rocked Kiriai’s head and the familiar copper taste filled her mouth. She staggered back a step and shook her head to clear her thoughts. This wasn’t the birthday present she’d been hoping for when she woke up this morning.

“Do you need a break again?” asked Sento as he waited for her to recover. “I just need to run through this new combo a couple more times and it’ll be ready to use in the dispute arena on Saturday.”

“Who are you up against? Which ’zen are you representing? What’s the dispute?”

Sento raised one eyebrow. Kiriai felt stupid. He was her only chance and she was going to ruin it by acting like another annoying fan.

“Sorry. I’m just curious about the other aspects of being a scrapper and how it all works,” Kiriai said, hoping to sound more like a serious student. “I have a lot to learn and I appreciate how much you’re teaching me.” Kiriai held her breath, hoping the touch of flattery would help pry more answers from the experienced fighter.

He considered her words as he stood in a relaxed fighting stance, hardly showing any effects from their last hour of intense training. His short, black hair didn’t have a strand out of place. On the other hand, Kiriai was a sweaty mess, clad in her faded uniform that showed her ankles after a recent growth spurt. Sento wore a tailored gi, Jitaku’s green and white patch a bright spot of color against the black fabric. His pale skin gleamed in a way that accentuated his striking looks. Even his nose, slightly crooked from previous fights, added a rugged quality to his face. A few inches taller than she, he outweighed her with muscles chiseled by his life as a hood scrapper.

“I’m fighting against Scrapper Hando,” he finally said.

“The two-striper who’s got some really good kicks?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Sento said, surprise and a touch of approval on his face. Kiriai struggled to keep a serious expression on her face when she really wanted to grin like an idiot. All those hours at the arena would pay off today. She could just feel it.

“Hando is lower rank than I am,” Sento said with a casual gesture at the fighter’s implant on the back of his neck. The flexible rectangle glowed white with three yellow stripes, tangible proof of Sento’s rank and skill. Kiriai wanted one of her own so badly she could taste it.

“—but he’s sneaky with those kicks and has surprised others before me. If you want to be a good scrapper, remember that information and preparation can be even more valuable than fighting skills sometimes.”

Kiriai nodded but stayed silent, hoping the interested expression on her face would prompt Sento to say more.

It worked.

“The dispute is actually an interesting one this time, though I get paid the same as I do for the boring ones. ’Zen Tenshu, a shop owner, suspected one of his employees had been stealing from him. Instead of reporting it to the ’forcers, he set a trap in the locked cupboard where he stored the valuable jewelry at night—”

“You’re fighting in the chopped off hand dispute?!” Kiriai couldn’t help herself. The story had made the rounds of the entire hood within hours.

Sento pursed his lips. “Let’s get back to work. I still have a lot to do today.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Kiriai said and ducked her head into a repentant posture. When would she learn to think before speaking? “Please continue. I know how little fact there is in gossip and I’d love to hear the story from someone directly involved, like you.”

Sento hesitated, looking indecisive.

“Please?” Kiriai looked up, hoping he’d relent. She resolved not to say a single word if Sento decided to share the rest of the story.

The older fighter sighed, but Kiriai could see the story pushing to be told. It was too sensational to keep bottled up. “Well, Tenshu posted a warning sign on the door about the booby trap. The stupid employee thought the sign was just a decoy. One night, he snuck in and pried open the cupboard anyway and”—now Sento’s eyes were gleaming with amusement—“as soon as he reached into the cupboard, the machete came slamming down and cut off his hand.”

Kiriai flinched at the visual image.

“The fixers were able to stop the bleeding, but couldn’t save the hand. Most ’zens thought it was perfect justice. The idiot showed up at hood headquarters to file a dispute against his boss for the future amount of credits he will lose being a one-handed worker. Normally the hood magistrate would refuse such a frivolous dispute, but Hood Boss Akuto doesn’t want to encourage vigilante justice, so he’s letting this one through.”

Kiriai shook her head, grinning at all the drama. “I can’t wait to see you win and teach that idiot what happens to thieves, especially stupid ones.”

Sento didn’t return her grin. “Kiriai—I’m fighting for the thief, not the shopkeeper.”

“But—”

Sento scoffed and Kiriai felt foolish all over again. “Just because the ’zens get to choose their scrappers, doesn’t mean we get a choice. We fight when and where we’re told. Besides, I get paid the same for a win, no matter what side of a dispute I am on.” He took a closer look at her. “What? Change your mind about wanting to be a scrapper?”

“No,” Kiriai hastened to answer.

“Well, it isn’t all fame and glory. Not only is it a ton of brutal and painful work, there is a dark underbelly to the whole business that the fans never see. Still interested?”

Kiriai wasn’t a stranger to hard work. Making any headway as a smaller girl in the dusty rings of the youth arena was no easy task. And there wasn’t anything else like the thrill of the fight when she pushed her body and it responded, faster and harder than her opponent. Victory was so much sweeter for the number of failures that came before.

“You’re smiling.”

Kiriai tried to summon back a sober expression.

“No,” he said. “That smile tells me a lot.”

Kiriai wasn’t sure what he meant, but decided to keep quiet. She didn’t need any more naive words to come out of her mouth.

“You ready to go again?”

“Sure,” she said and used her tongue to probe her swelling lip. That punch had hurt. She wiped the back of a hand across her forehead and blew out a breath before putting her hands up again. Seeing she was ready, Sento gave her a nod and settled into his stance. Kiriai tensed, bent her knees and gripped the worn bamboo floor of her home dojo with her feet. Their practice session was almost over and Kiriai still hadn’t figured out how to broach the subject more important to her than anything else in her life right now. If she didn’t say something soon, she could lose everything.

Kiriai’s thoughts were scattered as Sento charged at her with the same five-move sequence he’d practiced for the last quarter hour. Her job was to give him an opponent to practice on and if she could manage it, block a few moves. He moved so fast, she wasn’t doing so well with the second. The first, though, that wasn’t difficult, just painful.

This time, Sento went easier on her, pulling his punches at the last instant. It wouldn’t do to ruin his practice partner. The sequence done, Sento stepped back and cleared his throat. He was ready to go again. She would really love to rest, but there was no way she would tell him that.

“Do you need a break, kid, or can we finish?” Sento asked as if he could read her mind.

Kiriai tamped down her annoyance. She was lucky to have a shot to work with such an experienced scrapper, not to mention one who hadn’t given away his sponsor token yet. He held the key to getting a shot at her dream, but she had to get it from him today.

She put her hands back up, but his condescension still rankled. He had been a beginner once, himself, hadn’t he?

She didn’t think before she spoke. “I’m not a kid. You’re only two years older than me. I may not be a scrapper, but I’ve been fighting and training since I could walk.” Kiriai clamped her mouth shut. She looked to see how much she’d annoyed the scrapper.

Instead of being angry, Sento barked out a laugh of surprise. He eased back, stretched his neck side to side and shook his hands out. Kiriai let out a relieved sigh.

“That’s what I’ve always liked about you, kid,” Sento said, emphasizing the nickname. “You’re fearless. That is worth its weight in gold in a scrapper.”

Her time was up. It was now or never. She couldn’t wait any longer for Sento to offer her the promised payment. Kiriai’s heart started racing and her mouth went dry. She struggled to seem nonchalant as she spoke. “I need to ask about the sponsor token you promised me.” She wasn’t able to hide the hint of desperation in her tone. “It’s been weeks now and I’m running out of time. Actually, I need it today.”

“What’s your hurry, kid? You still need more training time before you’re ready to be thrown into the scrapper ring. You think this is tough?” He shook his head and Kiriai saw how little he thought of her skills. “Besides, I only have one sponsor token. I have to choose who I think will be the best fighter for the hood before I decide who to give it to. Plus, I want someone who wins a lot. The sponsor commissions can build into quite a pile of credits in two years.”

“What?” She struggled not to yell. She’d been so patient and now he was going to welsh on their agreement. “We had a deal. I spar with you, and you give me the sponsor token. And now you’re saying it’s all about credits? You can’t give it to someone else!”

Instead of anger, a haughty coldness filled his face. Kiriai gulped. He was happy to tolerate her as a practice partner, but not if she challenged him.

“I never promised you the token,” he countered. “If you recall the terms of our ’rangement, you agreed to spar with me in private, and I agreed to give you my sponsor token when I decided you were ready to become a scrapper.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Who knows when I will decide you’re ready? What if you never are?”

The outrage that filled Kiriai at his deception hurt much worse than the blow to the head. He was right. That had been their ’rangement. Besides, she had no real power to force him to give her his token. With a sinking feeling, she realized it was in his favor the longer he strung her along.

Anger and desperation built in her chest. She had to make this work!

Her grandfather, Ojisan, had been pressuring her for a decision and today, her birthday, was his deadline. The image of him last night popped into her head, a white-haired older man pulled up to his full height, which still only reached her chin. His lined face had been stern, his finger waving, and his words were delivered with the presumption that everyone in hearing would jump to obey.

“You’ll be sixteen-years-old tomorrow and it’s time to commit to your path. I expect you to officially start your fixer apprenticeship under my direction by nightfall tomorrow. You’ve been blessed with the mind and work ethic to be a great healer. You’ll learn to save lives, like those of your parents. You need to put aside your childish fancies.” And then, as if he had been giving her some great concession, he had added, “You may take the day to come to terms with the significant commitment this signifies in your life.” Her face must have been fairly distraught because at the end he had softened enough to give her a half smile before patting her on the shoulder and saying softly, “It’s time to grow up, Kiriai-chan.”

Just remembering how he treated her, and bringing up her parents that way, made her blood boil. Just because he couldn’t save them didn’t mean she had to be stuck with a lifetime of mixing herbs and tending sick patients alongside him. It would be torture. And how could he be oblivious to how much she loved fighting, how good she was?

She had one way out: convince Sento to give her his token so she could officially become a Jitaku Hood scrapper. She refused to give up her dream without fighting to the last second.

With renewed determination, she settled back into a stance and put her hands up. “Fine. I’ll show you I’m ready to be a scrapper. Let’s go again, Sento? Or are you too tired, old man?”

He laughed in surprise. “I thought you’d had enough for the morning. But I’m happy to go another round before I have to get back to hood headquarters.”

“Wait,” she interrupted him as he moved into his own fighting stance. “Let’s up the stakes for this last bout,” she said, knowing how much he loved a challenge.

He smiled and Kiriai’s hope flared back to life.

“Sure, kid. What did you have in mind?” Then his expression sobered. “But it can’t be money. That’s like taking candy from a baby. It has to be something that won’t steal food off your table.”

Kiriai felt her face flush. Even Sento knew how tight money was in their household. She shoved that embarrassment to the back of her mind and focused on her desperate plan. She was determined to do better with the terms of this ’rangement than the previous one. This time she had to be the one to manipulate the terms to get what she wanted.

“How about if I can land a strike, any strike, on a critical target, in this last bout, you will give me your sponsor token?”

Sento dropped his hands and took a step back, looking unwilling to follow through on the reward he’d promised her for weeks.

Kiriai pushed harder. “I’m just asking for what you promised. If I can land a critical blow, then I’ll be ready, won’t I? I know I’m nowhere close to your level of skill, but I’ve learned a lot from you. If I become a scrapper it will be because of how much you’ve taught me.” She added the last, hoping to flatter both his honor and pride.

Seconds passed in silence as the young man considered her offer. Kiriai forced herself to relax and project confidence. She was a fighter. She deserved this. Most importantly, she had earned this.

When Sento’s face relaxed into an arrogant grin, adrenaline and excitement flared through Kiriai. He was going to agree.

“Maybe, kid. But you only mentioned how you would win the bet, not what’s in it for me. We have to do a little ’ranging to settle the details before we start. It’ll be like our own unofficial battle. And since you’re the one who started naming terms, why don’t you finish? Detail the win/loss conditions and prizes.”

A sudden sense of uncertainty popped her excited bubble. She was a fighter, not a ’ranger. Besides, she had already lost out in their first ’rangement with Sento. She needed all her wits to come up with the words and details that would give her the best chance of winning the token.

“Not so sure anymore? Maybe this isn’t the best idea after all.” He turned toward the pile of his folded street clothes on a wooden bench against the back wall of the dojo. “’Ranged fights outside the arena are illegal anyway. We can talk about the sponsor token in a few days when I have time for another training session.”

“No, wait,” she almost yelled. He turned around, eyebrows raised. “It has to be today. If I don’t win your token today, I’ll be starting a fixer apprenticeship with my grandfather tomorrow.”

“Taking care of injuries?”

“And the sick,” Kiriai added, dropping her voice.

Sento blanched and raised a hand. “That kind of stuff should stay behind closed doors, in iso.”

Kiriai had grown up around her grandfather’s work, but she’d run into plenty of ’zens who responded like Sento. Fixing injuries was an accepted part of a society full of arenas, but no one wanted anything to do with illnesses and the sick. Even now, generations later, whispers of the horrible post-blast plagues haunted their society.

Kiriai shrugged. “Someone has to do it. My grandfather saves lives, but it’s not the life I want. I want to be a scrapper like you. Will you give me a shot today?”

Kiriai held her breath as Sento decided what to do.

“I’m not going to just give you my token. You have to earn it. The fighter I sponsor has to be a winner.” His voice was sharp, but Kiriai thought there was some sympathy in his expression.

Kiriai nodded, trying not to look too eager. “Of course. I wouldn’t want your token if I didn’t earn it.” It seemed the right thing to say, even if it was a lie.

Sento gave her an approving nod.

“I’m ready to ’range the terms.” A crazy plan was coming together in Kiriai’s mind.

“Let’s say this is a training session with a teacher offering a reward as an incentive for doing well,” he countered. “And any ’ranging is also strictly for practice, agreed?”

Kiriai nodded and let out a breath before speaking. Her plan had to work. “I win if I score a blow to a critical target on your body during the bout. My prize―I mean incentive―is your sponsor token given to me immediately after the bout. You win if you are able to keep me from scoring a blow to a critical target for the entire bout. Your, uh, compensation for training?” she hesitated, hoping the phrasing would skirt the issue of illegal fighting. Sento smiled this time and with a grin Kiriai continued. “… is ten extra sparring sessions, your choice of day and time.”

Sento stopped, his face giving nothing away as he went over the conditions in his mind.

“Twenty sessions,” he countered, before adding, “as compensation.”

Kiriai’s heart almost stopped at the rush of elation that coursed through her body. He was going to make the bargain. She had a chance!

She took a steadying breath and forced her voice to remain calm. “Fifteen sessions is a good compromise, don’t you think?” she countered, knowing that driving a hard bargain was essential for a fighter. Sento didn’t need to know that she would have happily wagered a year of bouts for the chance at his sponsor token today.

“Deal. And two more details,” Sento said, raising his hand and making Kiriai’s hopes falter. “We need to define a critical target and the length of the bout in order to best advance your training.”

Kiriai hesitated. She had to get this right. It took a few moments for her to sift through words and phrases to find the best ones. It didn’t help that she needed to add something to distract Sento so he didn’t examine the wording too closely. Sento waited patiently. Kiriai knew he expected this to be an easy contest and hoped that his arrogance would work against him. With a last mental adjustment to the wording, she said a quick prayer to her ancestors and committed herself.

“The length of the bout will be four minutes. A critical target will be defined as a body part that, if injured, will significantly decrease the fighter’s ability to continue to fight, or,” she added, raising a hand to stop Sento before he interrupted. She had to distract him from the first part of the ’rangement. “―a blow to any portion of the head. I don’t want to lose because you argue that you could continue to fight with a bruised ear. If I can land a blow to any part of your head, that should be enough to earn the token, don’t you think?” She shrugged with a sheepish expression acknowledging how unlikely such an event was.

Sento considered her words for a few short moments before returning her grin. “Well, I did say that I liked how fearless you are. One four-minute bout and if you can land a blow to my head or another critical target, you’ll have your token before I leave. If not, you’ll owe me fifteen more training sessions.” He held out his hand. With a racing heart Kiriai shook it, sealing the ’rangement that gave her one chance at the future her heart was set on. All she had to do was earn it.

“Now,” Sento said as he stepped back to the standard starting distance for a bout, “you can’t argue that I haven’t been teaching you any fighting skills. The details of the ’rangement are sometimes more important than the fight itself. With this little lesson today, I’ve taught you the basics from start to finish, even though this is just a training exercise.”

Kiriai hardly heard a word he was saying. She felt like everything was moving too fast. She needed more time to prepare. It was crazy that the next four minutes would determine her entire future. Sento had already settled into a fighting stance, fists clenched, bare feet gripping the bamboo floor and ready to attack. His strength and skill would be obvious to any onlooker while she probably looked like a worried schoolgirl.

Kiriai clenched her jaw, chastised herself, and struggled to push aside all the emotions rushing through her. It took a few seconds, but the calm calculation of her inner fighter finally managed to take charge. She took a deep breath and released it slowly through pursed lips. She had one purpose: to hit Sento, just once, in the next four minutes.