“Screen, set bout time for four minutes, with one-minute warnings and a twenty-second final countdown,” Sento instructed.

“Four-minute bout timer set,” came the answer as their home screen mounted on the dojo wall flickered to life. The large numbers appeared on the screen, stark against the black background, just waiting for a command to start counting down.

“Ready?” Sento asked, drawing her attention back to the match.

Not trusting herself to speak, Kiriai nodded, bent her knees and tightened her focus. Her mouth was so dry, it was hard to swallow.

“Screen, begin bout timer.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sento had exploded across the distance to her. He faked a high blow, kicked her front foot out from under her and with aplomb landed a solid uppercut in the moment she hung mid-air. The forceful blow sent her crashing backward onto the springy wood of the dojo floor and knocked the wind out of her. The uppercut had been perfectly placed, in that sweet spot centered in her torso, just beneath her ribs. She curled on the floor, every muscle in her chest spasming, unable to respond to her commands to breathe. A tiny internal voice reassured her that she would be able to breathe again soon, until it was drowned out by her clawing panic for a breath of air, now.

Sento stepped back and stood calmly as the seconds ticked by, waiting to see if she would get up. Seconds passed like hours. Finally, with an unexpected jolt, Kiriai's muscles let loose, and she gasped in the sweetest breath of air she could ever remember. Get up. She knew she had to get up. She chanted the words in her head and pushed herself to her hands and knees. Her breathing was still ragged, each breath ending in a groan.

She finally made it to her feet, settled into a shaky stance and held up her fists. Sento’s gaze met hers and she saw the self-satisfied smirk on his face. It was dawning on her how much of a better fighter he was. He really had been going easy on her, using her to test out his newer, less practiced skills. He had also been giving her a smattering of openings to allow her to learn from him. But this, this was a ’ranged fight, and winning was the goal. He looked determined to keep his sponsor token and wouldn’t leave her a single opening.

Kiriai refused to quit. An apprenticeship under her grandfather wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but it wasn’t fighting. She forced herself to ignore the pain and focus on the fight. If she won the token and became a scrapper, she’d have to get used to pain like this on a regular basis.

“Three minutes remaining,” the screen announced.

Sento seemed to think he had already won. “There’s no shame in losing to an opponent with superior training,” he said, his voice calm and confident.

His words ignited a mix of outrage and determination.

“I—” She tried to speak, only to have her voice choke without the breath to support it. There would be no chance of winning if she couldn't draw in a decent breath. Kiriai forced her lungs open with three deep breaths, releasing a loud kiai with the last exhale.

Surprise crossed Sento’s face, but was then replaced by a pleased expression. “I have to admit,” he said, “I would have been disappointed if you had quit. You have a strong fighting spirit. You just need more training.”

“Well,” she said, her voice raspy, “I’ll be getting that training after I win the sponsor token from you today.”

“No one can accuse you of a lack of confidence,” he said with a laugh.

Kiriai didn’t respond. Instead, she took advantage of his distraction to dart forward, trying a low kick followed by a sequence of punches thrown as fast as she was able. Despite her best efforts, Sento easily slipped to the side, evading her attack and executing his own series, landing a glancing sideways blow beneath her rib cage. It wasn’t a solid hit, but it made her gasp in pain and struggle to catch her breath again.

The next two minutes passed in a similar fashion. The more experienced fighter easily evaded everything Kiriai could throw at him and landed blow after blow. At least he limited himself to occasional single blows and didn’t seem inclined to knock her out or cause significant injury.

It wouldn’t do to break your sparring partner, she thought cynically to herself.

“One minute remaining.” The mechanical voice held no emotion or acknowledgment of the fact that it was counting down to the death of all her hopes.

Kiriai stood on shaky legs, panting to get enough air into her lungs. It was a fight to keep despair from winning out. She had a single minute to earn her place as a fighter and she couldn’t let it slip through her fingers.

At this point, it was impossible to land a blow against Sento. All she had left was the wording of their ’rangement and the desperate plan she’d hatched before the fight. She had to get close enough. Until now, she’d been chasing a shadow that flitted just out of her reach no matter how hard she tried to hit it.

“Twenty seconds remaining,” said the screen.

It was now or never. They had time for one last exchange. Everything depended on Sento underestimating her. If he felt assured of the victory, she might have a chance. With all the energy and speed she had left, Kiriai charged. She had given up on any kind of trained technique and simply threw as many punches, kicks and strikes as she could while throwing herself bodily at her opponent. Nothing landed. It seemed Sento had an even easier time avoiding her flurried attacks and, with a skilled sidestep, was able to slip an uppercut into her side that made her gasp in pain. Kiriai slowed. It wasn’t hard to act as if the fight were over for her. Sento didn’t bother stepping back this time and Kiriai would have smiled if she had had the energy.

“Ten seconds remaining. Ten, nine, …”

Kiriai blinked her eyes, struggling to focus her vision. She pushed the pain to the back of her mind, knowing she’d pay for it later. She had to focus. This was it. She hoped that Sento’s arrogance would give her the chance she needed.

With a desperate call to her ancestors for luck, Kiriai pulled herself up for one last attack. She knew Sento didn’t have an ounce of compassion during a real fight. She was depending on that. She kicked and punched with all the strength she had left. Even she could tell it was pathetic. Then she dangled the bait. As if exhausted, she left the entire front of her body unguarded, the perfect target for a kick. Sento took the bait, and with negligent ease, he threw a simple front kick to her unguarded center, slow and without his usual quick recoil.

Agony exploded from the point of the kick through her whole body, making even her fingers and toes curl in pain, but she acted before he could pull his leg back. Desperate, she grabbed the scrapper’s lower leg. With her last remaining strength, she brutally slammed her fist into the top of his foot, before collapsing to the ground in a boneless heap.

“Ow!” Sento yelped as he danced back and scowled down at her.

“End of the bout,” announced the screen.

“What kind of jerk move was that?” Sento demanded. The fighter tested his weight on the injured foot and winced.

Kiriai, still struggling to breathe as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, looked up at her angry sparring partner. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She had done it!

“That is the jerk move that won me your sponsor token,” she said in triumph.

“What?” He demanded, his face twisted with surprise and anger.

Her smile faded and uncertainty returned. “But I landed a blow to a critical target?” Ugh. She gritted her teeth at how tentative her voice sounded. She had outsmarted Sento and won the bout. Why can’t I stand up for myself?

Sento’s roar of laughter made her feel even worse.

“You think hitting me in the foot counts as a critical target?” He barely got the words out between his laughter and had to lean forward to catch his breath. “You can’t win a bout by hitting someone in the foot. Besides,” he said, recovering and taking on a more serious tone, “someone who lost his token from a punch to the foot would be a laughingstock.” Then, as if visualizing the very event, his expression turned cold as he met her eyes again. “And I will not be a laughingstock.”

“But our ’rangement―”

“Said a critical target or the head, not the foot.” Sento interrupted, his voice cold and intimidating.

“But the foot significantly affects your ability to fight,” Kiriai tried one more time as she struggled and failed to get up. It was impossible to argue her point from such a weak position on the floor.

Sento stepped closer and towered over her. The look on his face made the rest of her words dry up in her mouth and she sat back. That cold anger aimed in her direction made it impossible to speak.

“You. Lost. The. Bout.” He enunciated every word, and Kiriai knew it was over. She sagged and dropped her head into her hands. Having made his point, Sento turned to gather his things on the other side of the dojo.