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Thread: New Peaks Academy: Fight School - IC Thread

  1. #91
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    Ilya Dyatchkina (Iwazuma) vs Ayame Mizuki (TheDoctor)

    "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our Sophomores Final Match!"

    Ayame stood in her corner of the ring with eyes closed, chin tucked to her chest. Her blue spandex top was stained navy down the middle with sweat from her previous matches. Perspiration, triggered by the massive amount of bodies in the arena, now dripped eagerly down her muscled, rippling midriff and was quickly absorbed by her black spandex shorts. More droplets trickled from where they ended at her upper thigh all the way down to her bare feet. The lengths of black hair that had escaped her high-set hair tie were now plastered across her forehead and neck, slivers of dark against skin flushed with warmth. Her hands, wrapped in tape and slightly-padded black fingerless gloves, tapped against her thighs absentmindedly as she drew in the roar of the crowd. Her bottom lip was still slightly swollen, split with a small splotch of blood as courtesy of her previous opponent. The healers wanted to fix it, but it was so minuscule that she refused their help.

    The pain made her stronger anyway.

    She had made certain not to deplete her energy too badly in her early rounds to save room for the quarter, semi, and final rounds, and she could even feel the slow digestion of carbohydrates converting to the aura she felt in the pit of her core. Match by match, she fought her way to the center stage, storing her enemy's blows and returning them tenfold in unforgiving knockouts. And with every victory she played her part, courteous and kind to the losers and congratulating them for a good match.

    But that's all they were: losers. And now another loser stood in front of her, one that she planned to defeat from the very beginning. Ilya Dyatchkina, the four-armed freak, was destined to reach the final match, with her two extra appendages supporting her like crutches to the very end. Few students could stand up to her attacks, for they were simply too much for a standard fighter to withstand. Some called it unfair for her to participate in the tournaments, but they were all losers too.

    Ayame was no loser. Ilya would fall to the ground in utter humiliation, just like the rest of them. That was the truest form of defeat.

    One individual, however, stood out to her while she watched the freshman matches between her own fights. Ethan Walker was his name, an American with a wolfish attitude. He was mean, he was brutal, he was absolutely ruthless both socially and physically. His entire personality was repulsive by definition, which was clear in his cocky strut and abrasive body language. But most of all, he was fierce, animalistic, ferocious.

    It was everything that Ayame wanted from her opponents. If only she were a Freshman again so she could crush him in the tournament. The spark of his defeat would shine so gloriously.

    “In the red corner, B1 ranker Ayame Mizuki!”

    Ayame’s sapphire eyes snapped open as the announcer introduced her, and they immediately widened in a happy smile as the crowd broke into shouts and applause. She raised her arm and waved to a few groups; a cluster of her fellow sophomore girlfriends screaming her name, a bundle of guys from upper and middle classes who all thought she fancied them, a group of Janissaries she frequently worked with against Imperials.

    No family, no mother and father, of course. But that was okay. She smiled brightly at them all regardless, even throwing up a cheesy two-fingered peace sign next to her rosy cheeks at one of the camera crews.

    As the crowd died down, she closed her eyes briefly and exhaled forcefully, shaking her head as she appeared to regain her focus. However, it was all part of the act. A cute, smiling, fun-filled girl who fought viciously was idolized by underclassmen and peers alike, for it permitted her to trump in all fields. Real victory was absolute dominance. Real victory was unbounded and limitless.

    “And over in the blue corner…"

    "Also rank B1, Ilya Dyatchkina!"

    The Slovak girl, dressed in a simple black hoodie, flexed her arms viciously, her extra appendages shredding the purposely flimsy gear in a display that got the crowd screaming her name. She smiled to herself. This was the moment she was waiting for. After only a modest 7th place in the holiday tournament, she was ready. The final round was against another top contender, Ayame. She had done her homework; this girl used the opponent's energy against them. An extremely dangerous foe for sure.

    And yet, she was still human. She still bruised. She still could be knocked unconscious. Ilya stretched all four arms behind her back, hearing a satisfying crack as she prepared herself for the final round of what was already quite the fun tournament. In three matches, Ilya had seen a B-3, a B-2, and another B-1. All of them fell to her unforgiving onslaught. Her muscles had been nearly completely exhausted, but the break before finals gave the healers enough time to replenish them close to full strength. She was chomping at the bit to finish this tournament off once and for all.

    Her opponent was no slouch, and she could tell. The crowd might see Ayame merely focusing, but Ilya saw more in the subtleties of her expression. She was preparing herself for a challenge. Excellent. Ilya saw it upon herself to deliver that challenge. With her hoodie shredded, she sported a modified tank top that hugged her body, complete with matching camo shorts. Her fingers, normally taped together, were taped individually: A modification Ilya made herself headed into the final bouts, she had a hunch she would need to play different to her style to win this one. An adjustment she made gladly; she wasn't going to let her foe make a monkey out of her.

    Even so, she was still a good sport about it all. She took two powerful strides forward, interrupting the competitor's focus with a tap on the shoulder, then one arm extended. "It takes a true strength to reach the finals. May it guide you in our bout." Ilya nodded, quietly shutting her eyes. "I respect this power you possess. But I am sorry to say...Táto aréna je váš koniec." Cryptic words spoken in her native tongue as she waited to see if she would honor her with a handshake.

    Ayame turned with feigned surprise as Ilya got her attention, but a confident yet friendly smirk returned quickly afterwards. "Heh, I don't really know what that means, Ilya." Her eyes darted to the other girl's four arms, then to the one extended before her. Without hesitation, she grasped Ilya's hand with her own in a firm grip. "But hey, good luck, girl. Let's give them a good fight!"

    She released the girl's hand and popped in her mouthguard, smiling at the other girl before turning her back to her and loosening her shoulders. As her arms flapped against her sides and she hopped on her toes, Ayame felt the beast in her chest roar in fury. She had never been more ready to battle, to demolish, to devour.

    Taking two steps away and turning around, she rolled her neck to either side, stretching her trapezius back and forth. Two muffled thumps hailed from her fists pounding together, and she raised them up alongside her forehead with Ilya framed between her palms. Oh how badly she thirsted to crush her right then and there, but the judge still kept them at bay.

    Her left foot stepped forward with toes pointed forward, right foot back and angled partially outward. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she once again felt the beast claw at her insides. Just start the match already.

    Her response to Ayame's ignorance of her language was a simple "Oh, do not worry. You will know soon enough." With a deathgrip for a handshake, Ilya was doing her best to show no weakness to her opponent. No opportunities to get through her defense. And Ilya had a hunch defense was going to be huge here.

    Ilya strode back to her corner of the ring, waiting patiently. Ayame was a weird sort. Every word she spoke seemed to be either carefree or cheerful, but man, she had such a ferocity in battle. It would be quite pleasurable to crush her spirit.

    She turned to Judge Weiss impatiently. "Ano? We can get started, yes?" She gripped the ropes with her arms, stretching them one last time as she prepared to demolish her opponent. This wasn't going to be a simple match, but it was one she could win. One that would make her the star her mother always knew she could be.

    Weiss smiled to both competitors. "I want a good, clean finals match here, alright? If you're both ready, then let this finals match begin!" Weiss hopped back as the crowd roared. Ilya took her time leaving the corner, approaching Ayame with a slow, calculated stride. She didn't want to rush in and mess up; if prompted, she would make the first move, but even she knew it was best to see what the enemy was bringing to the party first.

    Ayame took several quick steps forward as the match started, her opponent remaining as a target between her palms. As Ilya slowly approached as well, Ayame continued to bounce on the balls of her feet, staying only just away from the reach of the other girl. She circled her back and forth for a few moments, examining how her joints met her shoulders, how the four arms moved when she did, what was a guard and what was a hitter. She’d certainly never faced a four-armed opponent, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t prepared for it.

    Let’s get started, then.

    Her cutesy eyes now hardened in a focused stare, Ayame stepped within reach and let loose two quick test jabs with her left hand, each jab returning back to its guard before snapping forward again.

    For a good ten, tense seconds, no fighter made a move. They carefully watched each other, eyes on the prize, searching for any weakness they could find. Ilya was primed to not show any at all. As Ayame seemed to get into the zone, Ilya felt her muscles tense, ready to react to anything.

    The first move was testing the waters, a simple pair of left jabs. Her right arms moved into place, expertly blocking the strikes with ease. "My father hit me harder than that when I was a baby, yes?" Ilya beckoned with her top left hand, chuckling. "Let's just beat the shit out of each other, ano? It's what the crowd came to see." Gently berating her opponent, Ilya stepped into her next move, a right hook from her top arm, a mere test to see just what she would do. It was not packed with too much strength, so even a direct hit wouldn't give her TOO much...

    She remained silent to Ilya's provokations. It certainly took more than that to get her worked up, and it wasn't even worth responding to her simple insults. We'll see who laughs when I knock you senseless, baka.

    Ayame's riposte was simple. Raising and clenching her left arm so that her glove brushed just past her ear, she let the hook collide with the meat of her upper arm. As skin smacked against skin, she lowered the arm again, and she followed up with a cross from her right.

    Ilya was not one to let things go at anyone's pace but her own, and as her attack was blocked, she decided to set exactly what the pace was. Rather than stop there, Ilya instead pressed the point, taking a step inward as Ayame threw her cross, dampening the blow with her top arm as a block. Her bottom arm, however, had other missions.

    Using the momentum from the step, Ilya wasted no time in throwing a punch straight at her stomach, giving Ayame little time to react. She had made stronger men than Ayame puke if she hit it just right...just like that shot in the Semi-Pro. Why did she like bad movies so much? It was beyond her...and also pointless to think about.

    Ayame instinctively flexed right before the impact, the punch colliding with her abdominal wall. A heavy grunt pushed past her mouthguard as the painful force rocketed through her torso, but she quickly collected it into her energy reserves. A punch to the gut, despite its strength, was not enough to halt her advance; she retaliated by raising her left knee and pivoting on her right leg, slamming a quick roundhouse kick for Ilya's side with the shin bone just above her foot, hardened and dense from years of kicking.

    Ilya saw the kick incoming. She had a few options, but decided to go with the 'unrelenting' option. Refusing to give Ayame even an inch of space, she kept forcing her way forward, once again blocking the blow with half of her 'arm'senal. That one was definitely more powerful than a simple cross, though. Took her a moment to repel the attack before she continued to press the issue, ignoring the dull throbbing of new bruises beginning to form.

    "I know your power...so I will just have to knock you out before you can hit me with it." Ilya drove home the point with a double hook, one aimed at the head, one aimed at the gut, both from her left side. There was no way to block them both easily, and if both hit...well, Ilya wouldn't mind a quick and easy finish.

    The smirk on Ayame's face was clear well before her kick even landed. Whatever you say, freak.

    Her left leg planted back on the ground quickly after her kick and her right knee rose. She simultaneously brushed her right hand past her ear, curling her arm back in a movement she used to block Ilya's previous hook. Both of Ilya's punches slammed into the meat of her thigh and upper arm with a ripple, blows that almost sent Ayame off balance. Once again she collected the force from the hits, but this time, combined with the force from her previous hit, she redistributed a third of it somewhere else...

    To her fully-retracted left fist, level with her eyes.

    Driving her raised right leg back and hopping slightly up with her left leg, she leaned forward and slammed her left fist directly for Ilya's head. Between the force of her momentum and the redistributed aura, it was certainly aimed to rattle her senses.

    Damnit. A punch like that should have knocked her on her ass to have blocked it the only way she could have. But that wasn't what made Ilya's eyes widen. She thankfully had telegraphed her punch enough, giving her a brief moment to think.

    When the leg came up, she had one chance. Rather than retract her punch, Ilya followed through, putting even more force into a push, sending her just enough off-balance. Not enough to miss...rather than her head, the punch struck her shoulder instead. There was plenty of muscle to at least cause less damage than a blow to the skull, but Ilya found herself staggering backwards, a yowl escaping from her as reverberations rippled through the bone. That one could have ended much, MUCH worse. It burned to move her arms to a degree...so that was her power. And she had a hunch it would get much worse.

    Still. She was far from out of this fight. Ilya righted herself, a grin on her face. "You punch with the strength of four arms. But you do not have the defense of them." She allowed Ayame to make a move...or not. She would have time to recover more if she chose to be passive again.

    Ayame hopped back as Ilya retracted after the blow, loosely wringing out her hand that she had just punched with. "I could shay the shame about you. Wooh! What a hit, huh?" Her words came out with a lisp through her mouthguard as she hopped back and forth to keep the blood rushing, her right shoulder and abdomen nothing short of smarting and bruising. But I've got much more than that, babe. "Thish ish gettin' fun!" She punched her two fists together several times. "Let'sh keep going, huh?"

    After rolling her shoulders to loosen them up, she quickly tightened them again and raised her fists to her temples. She approached Ilya again, testing her again with a few quick jabs.

    Here we go again. She had gotten just enough reaction out of her opponent for her burning to subside to a dull throb once again. Fantastic. Her right side was taking a pummeling today. No doubt her mother would be doting over her all summer long. Still. She had caused noticeable damage to Ayame in return, which brought a slight smile to her face. This one was still more than up in the air.

    More than willing to honor Ayame's request, Ilya approached evenly, her top arms outstretched just a little bit. Just a bit so as not to scare her off, but she needed it to...

    When Ayame went in for her jab, Ilya acted, ignoring them and letting them strike her in the head. They were testing jabs...not enough strength for anything devastating, but that was another blow to her right side. Of course. She growled at the impact, but pressed forward, wrapping her arms around her attacking target in a clinch, locking her foe's arms between the two combatants. She leaned in on Ayame, putting as much weight on her as possible. This was her favorite position...because she had all the control. With two arms still free, she locked, loaded...and unloaded a double-barreled shot at her sides. She didn't care if the arms got in the way...something was going to be hurting.

    Ayame audibly growled as fists slammed into her sides, the impact on her right crashing into Ilya's previous point of impact. As she collected the energy, more than enough to replenish the aura she spent on her superman punch--perhaps even double--she forced her arms up, their skin slippery with sweat. When her hands pushed free on either side of Ilya's head, she clasped both hands, one on top of the other, at the back of Ilya's skull just between the top and the neck. Clenching both forearms around Ilya's neck by squeezing inward with her back and chest, Ayame pressed her elbows close together and pulled down, forcing Ilya's head to Ayame's neck in a classic Muay Thai clinch.

    Control of the head meant control of the body. Ayame didn't even try to stop the smile that crept across her lips.

    Using Ilya's weight that she pressed against her, Ayame wrenched her to the left side to disrupt her grapple, keeping the clinch around her neck. Immediately afterwards she pulled her back to the right and forcefully jerked her head downwards, directly into a right knee rising to meet it with a third of redistributed aura.

    Grr.... She was dealing blows, but without a knockout, she was constantly letting Ayame back into the fight. Now she found her sight cut off as she was counter-clinched. And something told her that what was coming was not going to be good. She still had a moment to assess, to react to the situation. She still had two limbs. She could get out of this.

    At the moment Ayame jerked her body, breaking her clinch and forcing Ilya's head off Ayame's shoulder, her lower arms shot up, forcing against Ayame's arms and halting the push downwards. Her knee failed to strike at the point of maximum damage, instead coming right at the very end. A much weaker blow that Ilya was sure Ayame wanted. And yet, she could still feel a SNAP as her nose broke, beginning to spill blood as it twisted out of shape. Burning pain on her face didn't blind Ilya; she had come too far to fail here.

    Time for the counterstrike. Her hands gripped Ayame's wrists tightly, refusing to allow her full motion of her arms. She sent a silent thank you to her decision beforehand to tape each finger individually; without it, she would have had no chance at this grip. Slowly, she removed her head from the clinch while keeping her grip firm. "So I see." Her voice was skewed slightly, her broken nose in the way of speaking properly. Her right top arm flew forward at Ayame's exposed head as her lower arms yanked her forward, looking to repay her in kind for her busted nose.

    Ouch.

    Ayame's head whipped to right as Ilya's fist collide with her cheek, her vision dimming and head clouding momentarily. Between the force of Ilya's punch and her own body being yanked forward, the hit was almost enough to knock Ayame unconscious. The knuckles split the skin both outside and inside her cheek, the taste of blood overwhelming her mouth. She hoped beyond hope that all of her teeth were intact.

    Absorbing the sizeable aura from the blow, she felt the beast inside of her churning in a fiery inferno. The amount of energy collected within her was approaching her threshold, and with the last punch she could feel a foreseeable physical limit. It was more than enough to end the fight, though, as long as she used it wisely.

    You'll pay for that one, bitch

    As her center of balance fell to the right, her previously raised right foot landed forward and slightly to the left of Ilya. Her body lowered and hunkered slighty with both of her wrists still held by Ilya, her weight mostly on her left leg as if to sweep out Ilya's legs with her right one. But upon regaining control of motion, her hips and torso immediately twisted counterclockwise and she shifted weight to her right leg, which straightened as she rose. The rotational and upward motion of her body combined with half of her collected aura, all of it concentrated in the point of her right elbow. Her wrist remained in Ilya's grip, but in their close proximity she twisted her arm up and over in an elbow strike across Ilya's cheek in one fluid motion.

    What was she doing...? Ilya watched her motions post-punch with near curiosity. Was she going to try to sweep the leg? Hah! Ilya never skipped leg day. Her efforts would almost certainly be in vain. She practically wanted to laugh...good thing she didn't. A shifting of weight had her on her guard, but the flying elbow came almost out of left field. Ilya didn't have time to get a defense up, so she did the only thing she could, move her head with the motion of the blow.

    Doing so spared her the knockout. The attack glanced off her jaw instead of a direct cheek punch. Normally it'd be nothing to worry about. But with the sheer force of the strike Ayame dealt, the crowd practically fell silent as a nasty SNAP arose as the elbow hit. That was her jaw. Ilya staggered backwards, her top two arms gripping onto Ayame's as well to keep her balance. It took a moment, but she slowly swiveled her head back to stare Ayame down.

    What she would see was nothing less than a look that could silence a lion. Absolute fury bored down on the girl as the Slovak loosed an unearthly growl, the sound distorted now both from her nose and her busted jaw. Ilya wasn't out, but the pain had blinded her to nothing but anger and finishing the fight. She wasn't going to be able to take much more.

    So it was time to drop this girl once and for all. With Ayame's arms still successfully locked by her lower arms, her top arms rose again, her body brimming with adrenaline that kept her standing. One, then the other forced themselves at the still-exposed head, a one-two punch from the boxer meant for nothing more than to drag what consciousness she had from her.

    Ayame's teeth clenched against the mouthguard as Ilya recovered from the jaw break, genuinely shocked and more than a little irked that she still held onto her wrists, let alone her consciousness. How she retained her composure was beyond Ayame, but she could think about that when the fight was finished.

    Or rather, when she finished the fight.

    As Ilya's top fists rose again to pummel her head, Ayame took advantage of her positioning to Ilya's left by slightly bending her right knee, pivoting at the hip, and slam the knee with half of her remaining aura behind Ilya's thigh to disrupt her balance and send her punches wide. She simultaneously used her arms held tightly by the lower appendages to twist her torso clockwise, pushing Ilya's disrupted body back over her right leg. With the other girl tumbling backwards, Ayame felt the vicegrip over her wrists slacken and yanked her right arm free of her grip. Channeling her remaining aura through her arm, she pulled her fist up with her elbow eye, her fiery eyes briefly locking with Ilya's as she fell.

    Nighty night, sweetheart.

    Suddenly, a hand caught Ayame's forearm, halting her fist mere inches away from Ilya's already broken nose. She jerked her gaze up to the hulking figure of Judge Weiss, eyes blinking in surprise. "Ah...Judge Weiss?"

    Judge Weiss nodded sternly at Ilya on the ground. "The match is over, Ms. Mizuki. Ilya is in no condition to continue fighting." There was a brief pause when whispering consumed the noise threshold of the arena, and finally Judge Weiss released Ayame's arm and waved over the healers to Ilya. When he turned back to Ayame, a smile broke across his face.

    "And the winner is, Ayame Mizuki!"

    Ayame broke into an open-mouthed smile and shouted ecstatically with the roaring crowd, popping out her mouthguard and pulling her fists to her chest. "Yes, yes, yes!" Giddy giggling shook her shoulders as she opened her arms wide to wave at the crowd, all hints of exhaustion banished from her mind. Letting her hands rest on her head and taking deep breaths, her eyes wide with excitement and enthusiasm, she slowly wiped the sweat from her forehead.

    Heh. I knew it.

    After addressing the flashing cameras for a few girlish victory poses, she slowly walked across the cluster of healers around Ilya with her hands on her hips. She spotted the girl's eyes from between two healers, a cutesy smile dimpling her cheeks as they made eye contact. Raising two fingers to her lips, she blew her a kiss over her shoulder as she approached the edge of the ring.

    But the beast inside her roared in contentment.

    Thanks to Karma for the dandiest set
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  2. #92
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    Ayame leaned against the tile hall leading to the split locker rooms, an area not privy to the paparazzi in the main arena. She was clothed only in a silky violet bathrobe that ended mid-thigh and a pair of flip flops, her hair still damp and brushed over one shoulder to curl next to her neck. The punch from Ilya had caused her cheek to swell more than a bit and her abdomen was purple and yellow in three separate places, minor injuries that she’d have the nurse check out later on.

    But she had something more important to address first.

    As if on cue, the glass doors to the hall swung open, and in walked the individual she was looking for. Every step he took seemed to shout arrogance, and yet his demeanor backed up his cocky attitude. She grinned to herself as he approached the door to the men’s locker room opposite of her, looking at her toes and wiggling them absentmindedly. This was a boy who commanded attention from his peers, who demanded to be recognized for his gusto in the ring and confidence out of it. His stare was more than enough to send the whelps of the school skittering back to their holes, and his stature boasted superiority over them.

    Raising her gaze to Ethan Walker with a smirk, Ayame crossed her arms over her bathrobe. “So how does it feel to be the best of your class, Freshman Champ?"

    Ethan Walker approached down the hallway, still wearing his grey gym shorts and a black tank-top. There was a slight limp with his left leg, due to overexertion in the final fight. His Despite that, the medics did a marvelous job in patching him up - and the crowd was still cheering after Ethan's speech.

    Overall, he felt good... he felt like he was on top of the world.

    And it seems like he already has a number one fan.

    Ethan halted his movement, before turning to face the speaker: Ayame Mizuki. He never personally met her - but he, like countless other males at this school - had noticed her.

    The American's light-blue eyes did not bother trying to hide its intentions, as they traveled up from Ayame's shapely and revealing legs up to her charming face. Ethan formed a smirk at the scantily dressed young woman, before speaking up.

    "It feels damn good," he quickly stated. It was short and sweet.

    "So, why am I graced by the presence of the sophomore champion?" he questioned aloud - it was clear that she was waiting for someone... specifically him. Normally, he wouldn't treat a woman in such a formal manner - but considering she came out as the sophomore champion... she has more than proved herself as a fighter, in Ethan's eyes.

    Ayame pirked up, her lashes fluttering with slow blinks. "'Cuz you caught my attention, dummy. Do I now need permission to talk to the top of your class?"

    She giggled and waved her hand, the tips of her fingers brushing against his shoulder. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'm pretty impressed. You had one crazy fight out there against ol' whats-his-face in the final." She cocked her head to the side as she sized him up and down, a few strands of damp hair dangling past her ear. "Looks like you really got beat up, huh?"

    Ethan held a cocky smirk as he felt Ayame's physical contact on his shoulder - she certainly know how to play the little vixen act. "Kyami," Ethan simply stated aloud. Regardless of defeating him, the American fighter still had a certain respect towards his opponent.

    "I got my share of bruises, yes," Walker nodded in agreement, his light-blue eyes blinking with with a playful attitude. "Seems like you had your fair share as well," he pointed out, raisng a hand up and gently pressing it against Ayame's swollen cheek - but not too much pressure to cause any pain.

    "At least these bruises give you that sexy fighter look," he chuckled.

    His hand was immediately snatched away by Ayame's moments before his fingertips made contact, and she gripped his palm firmly with her fingers. "Uh-uh-uh." She tutted at him. "You can look, but you can't touch." Her eyes narrowed on his coyly, pausing momentarily before releasing his hand and her playful glare. "It was just a bit of collateral damage. Gotta take some to give some, right?"

    "Say," she said, crossing her arms again under her chest. "what do you think woulda happened if I was your final opponent instead of him?"

    Ethan raised his eyebrows when Ayame forcefully grabbed his hand, keeping a firm grip before finally letting go. Hmm... she's definitely a feisty one, he commented to himself, before chuckling aloud.

    It was an interesting question, but one that deserves some merit. Ethan raised up his uninjured hand once more, this time stroking his face in a manner to mockingly ponder. "Hmm... that is a good question," he stated and taking a few more seconds to think about the matter.

    He then dropped his arm, "But I think the result would basically be the same, and I would be victorious," it was a short-and-sweet answer. "Unless if you think differently, Ms. Sophomore Champ?" he questioned, his eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief, as he was interested in hearing her answer.

    "That's it? That's all you've got for me? You win?" Ayame tutted again with a shake of her head. "So boring. Do you enjoy that, just plain victory?" She turned her nose up at him. "I didn't ask you whether you would win, Ethan. I asked you what you think would happen."

    She leaned slightly closer, her gaze catlike and sly. "Let's try that again, and think about what you would feel."

    "Well, from my perspective," Ethan began, his smirk never faltering as Ayame dislike his response. "In life, there are only winners or losers... I don't ever intend to be the latter. Now, in regards to how I feel would happen - there would probably be quite a few emotions."

    "First, pain. I can imagine those aura strike of yours would hurt quite a bit. Second, I can imagine the close physical proximity of the fight and the high adrenaline rushes would probably increase... a certain chemistry," Ethan insinuated with knowing eyes, before chuckling. He straightened up his posture, before finishing up his response. "And the one feeling that I would never let go - the determination to achieve plain victory," the MMA fighter stated, obviously repeating Ayame's teasing words.

    "Do those answers suffice for the grand Ayame?"

    "Hmph. Hardly."

    Ayame leaned back with lips pursed, her arms tugging the edges of her robe closer across her body. "You're wrong if you think any of your matches out there were 'victories.'" She waved her hand at him as if nudging aside his thoughts. "Yeah, yeah, you technically won, you beat your foe. But you never defeated them, Freshy. You never made them experience real pain."

    She leaned her arm against the tile wall and fixed him with a sassy stare. "If you want to really defeat them, you gotta get in their head, kid. That means more than using your fists. That means using this." She reached up and tapped the center of his forehead. "If you want them to really lose, then you've gotta make them so infuriated that they lost to someone like you, but make them completely incapable of taking their revenge. Make them try so hard to get better, beat them again, and make sure they know it. When you make them struggle and flail for something they can never reach, that is when they are truly defeated."

    "That is true victory," she withdrew her hand, crossing it over her other one. "And I think you're the kind of boy who might like it."

    "Sorry, I'm an asshole, but I'm not that much of an asshole," Ethan chuckled, apparently disagreeing with Ayame's mindset. "I'm perfectly content in beating down my opponents and sending them into the hospital. I'm perfectly content in breaking bones and shattering prides. However, I am more than content on giving them a drive to do better. That drive will push them to train harder - and then they'll come back and face me. In turn, this will drive me to train harder myself, and ensure that I never become complacent and will always strive for excellence."

    Ethan then began to turn around, apparently finishing up with this conversation. "And just to let you know - if you will battle me with that mindset... then you will never, ever have the opportunity to truly defeat me," he stated, but making it sound more like a promise. The American MMA fighter will never allow anyone to destroy his fighting spirit.

    Ayame's finger rose to her mouth, lightly biting it to hold back her smile as he spoke. Ooh, what a paladin. How amusing. As Ethan's steps reverberated down the tiled hall, Ayame watched his back, her eyes narrow and fiery and her lips spread in a delighted smile. He may not agree now, but he's younger. He'll understand when he fights a new crowd.

    "Whatever you say, kiddo. I look forward to it." Ayame turned around as well to return to the locker room, her voice returning to its playful tone. "Hit me up next semester, we can have a good time out of the ring, eh?"

    He'll understand when he's finally defeated.

  3. #93
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    And finally it came to the Senior tournament. As expected, the fights were on an entirely different level. This was the final chance for these students to show what they learned and what they were capable of, the final tournament of their final year at New Peaks Academy, and the final shot to impress anyone looking to employ the talented young fighters. Well, maybe not the last shot... but the last shot to do so on such a grand stage. In any case, the mightiest sixteen fighters at the school now made their way to ringside. Each of them knew the stakes of the tournament. Pride, prestige, fame, and a nice fat prize. It was up to them to fight for it... and fight they would. The bouts were as fast as they were furious. Sasha, Kyle, and Shotaro were the three standouts. They had barely broken a sweat in the bouts that led up to the semi-finals, and would now have to fight among themselves to determine the champion.

    Kyle staged a surprise upset when he defeated Sasha in their match, using his ability to evade a powerful axe-heel kick and deliver a decisive elbow to the back of Sasha's head. The final match began with a lot of posturing and bluster, with the two young men exchanging insults and jabs at one another, then quickly devolved into an all-out brawl. Kyle gained an initial advantage when he took the fight to the ground, but Shotaro's brute strength and special ability allowed him to tough it out and get back to his feet. The last straw was a devastating tornado kick that Kyle simply couldn't withstand, and Shotaro won by judge intervention. Sasha won her bronze match as well, her triumph clinched by the same axe-heel kick that had been her undoing in her fight against Kyle. With that, the Senior Division Tournament came to a close, and the school year at New Peaks Academy with it. All that was left were the closing ceremonies, led by the Senior Champion. Tomorrow, there would be a great celebration before things at New Peaks would wind down for the lazy summer months.




    A small parade rolled along the main road of the Academy, carrying the champions to the Galleria. There, the faculty and administrative staff spoke about the mission of New Peaks Academy, why it is so important, and so on. After a short while, Mrs. Ballard-Sandoval walked over to the microphone and informed those in attendance that the closing speech would be delivered by the Senior Champion, Shotaro Yanmei. She applauded as she stepped back to allow the champion to use the microphone, knowing he would likely have something inspirational to say despite his brash reputation.

    "Sup, everyone? So yeah, I know I'm not the first person most of you associate with doing this kind of thing... but let's give this a shot anyway. Some might say what we do is silly. Some might say it is wrong. Some might say we're crazy. Some might even say combat is no longer about men and women, but SCIENCE. Missiles and bullets can end a fight without endangering the person using them... but missiles and bullets are assembled. Their end results can be measured. They are what they are, and nothing more. Take away the warhead or gunpowder, and they are harmless. None of that can be said about a martial artist. We here at New Peaks Academy show the world that there are some things that even science can't measure.

    The great martial artists are MORE than the sum of their parts or their power. We may no longer train to destroy enemies or fight wars, but we are still warriors. What makes our martial artists here succeed is what I call our martial spirit. Science can never measure that. We take our respective arts and strive ever higher toward levels even beyond perfection. There lies a place where training, power, and grace reach their ultimate balance. Where fighting skill becomes martial art. Each of us will reach that point some day. I know I speak for all of us here today when I thank New Peaks Academy for helping me reach that level and allow me to transform from a fighter... to a martial artist."


    There was a brief pause as Shotaro's speech seemed to sink in. Mr. LeBlanc was the first to applaud, and was quickly joined by several other staff and faculty. The students followed suit almost immediately as well. It may not have been the best speech in the world, but it was unrehearsed and from the heart rather than prepared ahead of time and from the mind. If nothing else, it showed that even the most powerful fighter on campus still knew the value of learning and education. Despite his strength and skill, he was more than capable of being humble. Many of the other students took a moment to think on his words and consider what being at New Peaks meant to them. Even the injured students who were watching on television from their hospital beds couldn't help but contemplate the champion's speech.

    With the talking concluded, fireworks shot into the air and burst to the tune of thunderous cheering and applause. All that remained now was for the students to either head to the docks and helipad and make their way home, or to head back to their dorms and prepare for a tropical summer on campus. The tournament had come to a close, the champions had been decided, and the fighting was finished for another school year. But the fighting never stayed gone... once the next round of classes began, it would all begin anew. Soon it would be the start of another exciting and combat-fueled year of learning at...

    NEW PEAKS ACADEMY!
    Spoiler: Neat Stuff Within 

  4. #94
    Crimson Casanova
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    The freshmen champion watched from the crowd. Shotaro's speech managed to reach the hearts and minds of countless people within the crowd, who were cheered and clapped for the outstanding martial artist. Ethan stood there, crossed arm - showing a bit more resilience compared to everyone else, but gave an affirmative nod of agreement. The fighters of New Peak all had a powerful martial spirit - anybody that has watched the tournament could not disagree with that sentiment. Ethan would like to say that his own fighting spiriting is indomitable, refusing to back down from a fight regardless of the circumstances.

    It seems like next year would be quite interesting. Apparently, he just made a new frenemy with the likes of Ayame. She'll be one to watch out for - seems like she has every interest to crush his fighting spirit if... when they perform combat. Also, Junkiro may be another person to watch out for - he may not be a vengeful person... but he was the former freshmen champion, and he will not let an opportunity of lossing a championship mantle slip by him again. Of course - Kyami and Cyst would prefably want a rematch with the American MMA fighter... and hopefully the latter will properly recover from their last battle. As Ethan convinced himself earlier, he does not blame himself over Cyst's injury - it only happened because Cyst happened to be a bit clumsy. Then again, perhaps he was scapegoating the blame to her - instead of himself. Regardless, there will be a time when he meets with Cyst again - and he will answer for what he has done - whether verbally or physically.

    Ethan took a step back from the clapping crowd, turning around before walking again into one of the dark corridors. He still held a smirk on his face - still content over everything that has happened. His story could be shared as an underdog - one with no name but came out as the champion, to be known by all. It would be quite the inspiring story, and he would hope it would inspire others to push themselves even more. Just as he hoped that one day - he could give an inspiring speech like Shotaro just did. He would inspire people to do better and better - and eventually, he would face these people in combat. They will push him to the brink, and Ethan Walker could only look forward to that.

    Now, what shall Ethan do for his school break? He intends to return back to his normal family and spend nice quality time with that. He couldn't wait to share the news with his younger sister, and see the proud look on her face. Ethan's smile became wider at the thought - knowing that he has done a damn good job, and made his sister proud.

  5. #95
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    Cyst didn't care about fighting. Not really. To her, learning Krav Maga was always something she did to survive. Fighting in the ring was what she did to earn money, and that's why she was good at it. Nobody bet on the little girl with burn scars. It's a simple fact that let them eat for many nights. However, now Cyst thought differently. She was sitting in her Dorm room, fresh out of the hospital and still hurting, a little. The problem is that she had the taste of not only blood, but also victory behind her teeth. She fought hard and got far. The bronze sash in the trash was earned, though not by much. The money they sent her was won through victories. Not pity. She didn't know why it was important to her, but it was. She was developing a sense of pride, and that scared her. She's seen many fall to pride. It never failed to remind you that confidence, in the end, was terrible for you. But... she wanted it. To be confident.

    Her fists clenched. She needed a fight. To get this ridiculous shit out of her head. She needed to hit something very, very hard. Something that could bleed. Something that was as vulnerable as she was. She stood and walked out of her room. Then out of the building. Then she walked to the nearest park, taking a deep breath and sitting down on a bench. It was no secret that she liked the park. Nobody was really sure why and nobody bothered to ask. Especially after her bouts with Vince and Matt, people were starting to avoid her more. It was confusing, but she didn't care. She needed something to take her mind off of pride. A distraction.

    Eventually, she found it. A woman that was large and muscular, almost Amazonian. Clad in baggy jeans and a red crop top. The dress code was so lax as to be almost nonexistent, here. It's what Amaltheia loved about this place, beyond the fighting. She saw Cyst, but didn't recognize her. The girl wasn't Imperius and wasn't really all that notable. She didn't pay attention to the Freshman tournament. She had always had her own fights to worry about. But she smiled and waved and Cyst waved back. The kid seemes nice enough Ammy thought. Which made it all the more surprising when she felt the rush of air behind her that made her turn around, just to be met with the image of a rapidly approaching foot.

    Ammy caught the speeding leg, her instincts leading her to almost break it before a second one caught her in the back of the head, the surprise alone causing her to drop her catch. She turned to see the hobo-looking girl with a great big smile on her face. So this kid was looking for a good time, eh? Well, far be it from Ammy to keep that from her...

    Thirty minutes later, neither of them had made any ground. Ammy kept catching Cysts attacks and Cyst kept escaping her grapple attempts. A small crowd had formed to watch the two of them go at it. Eventually, Ammy up her hand and smiled. "Your pretty good, alítis, but I'm afraid we're done here. Any more play and we'll attract the attention of the faculty. You should keep at this, though. Next year, I'll face you after the summer tournaments. For real, that time, none of this playground shit. Bye." She turned to go, but stopped to sidestep Cyst's attempt to stop her, putting a hand on her back as she fell and driving her into the ground, smiling wordlessly as she walked away. Cyst stood, sighing. She was gonna kill that woman. One of these days, she was gonna knock that girl out. To hold back in a situation like that... Cyst smiled. She turned and walked back to her dorm, giggling to herself the whole way. She now knew why she was here. That fight had shown her the answer.

    She was here to be strong.
    Last edited by Dawscombine; 01-24-2017 at 12:59 PM.

  6. #96
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    "C'mon Junkiro! I know you can get that leg moving!" The enthusiastic trainer encouraged the young ex-Champion with all her might, and Junkiro responded as best he could, managing to move his leg a little bit. She gave Junkiro a winning smile and a pat on the shoulder, then helped him relax with as little pain as possible. "For day one, you've made good progress. Rest that bad boy and we'll give it another go tomorrow." The young lady exited the gym, which served, for the moment, as a makeshift rehabilitation facility for the few injured students who had remained behind, leaving Junkiro alone for the moment. He wheeled himself to the exit after a quiet stare at the unused equipment. So quiet....a thing he was quickly growing to learn.

    Surgery had been days after the tournament ended. Junkiro was eager to get back into the ring as quickly as he could...especially to show that jerk Ethan his victory had been naught but a fluke. He would grow stronger than before and toughen his body to ignore even the strongest blows, make himself stickier than ever...but before any of that could happen, Junkiro had to learn to walk again. After close to a week of recovery, this had been step one to that end.

    Junkiro sighed as he wheeled himself to the food district; most of the shops had closed, but RKO's was still open for business, serving for free the students who had been unfortunate enough to have injuries they were working off. Only eight or nine students could afford the on-site rehab, but not many more in total had been injured, at least. Junkiro was a strange case; he should not have been able to afford any of this. And yet, he had looked at his account's data over and over again, and the numbers did not lie. He had become wealthy overnight. The cash influx had been enough to cover surgery, a personal rehabilitation trainer, and even a few hundred left over for himself. Had it been a glitch? Or had someone actually given him all that money?

    Junkiro shrugged his shoulders, thinking back to the year past. Strangely, he realized Shotaro had never cashed in on his claim. After the first month or two, they both had seemed to forget completely about the blackmail. At least it wouldn't be happening again. With him gone, he presumed another would come to lead Imperius Gloria. He had heard Cyst had fought someone there the last day, but he was not out of the hospital in time to see if that was truly the case. Instead, he found himself largely alone.

    Wheeling into RKO's rewarded him with the greeting of "Junkiro! You want your usual?" from the chef, who was more than happy to serve the recovering students. Junkiro nodded politely and moved to his usual place, a few feet from the television that broadcast WWE reruns...well. The biggest one, anyways. His usual these days consisted of the Triple H Triple: A burger with onion rings and coleslaw, fries, and one of the restaurant's semi-famous milkshakes. It was a strange combination on the burger, but one he enjoyed. He mused over his recovery; the doctors had said his recovery would likely be about thirteen weeks....putting his debut back in the ring at slightly after sophomore year started. Junkiro vowed to defy that time. He wanted to show everyone he was still the champion, and make his family proud...who he had not gotten a call from since the tournament. He worried they may have been mad since his loss, but he did receive a letter the day prior asking how all was. Perhaps they had forgiven him.

    He called Kyami daily, the sound of his boyfriend's voice helpful in keeping his spirits up when depression threatened to cloud his drive. Being injured, he found, takes a lot out of the spirit, and sometimes relying on others was the only way to get by. He made it a point that in a few weeks he would take a few days off to visit him, lest he go mad from workouts and speaking to nobody. All in all, a bad ending to an otherwise good year.

    And next year would be even better.
    Karma is the best.

  7. #97
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    The end of the school year had come. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was happy to have been a part of the tournaments. They had changed him. Kyami was different. From the first moment, he stepped onto campus till now coming in as runner up to the title of champion, he was different. He had gained friends, lost friends and learned so much about himself. He learned how to deal with depression and beat it every day of his life, though he accepted that some days it would get the upper hand and he would use the techniques he learned to cope with it. He sat in his room at home reminiscing on all the things that had happened and all the people he had come to care about. Junkiro called every chance he got and from their last conversation Kyami had learned that Junkiro was healing up well.

    Kyle had been in touch like he had promised. Kyami had been present during the graduation, and was there when Kyle took runner up at the Senior Tournament. From their last conversation Kyle had managed to land a big motion picture role. Kyami would guess that Kyle would become an action star like he dreamed sooner than later. He was proud of him, so very proud and their conversations lasted just as long as his conversations with Junkiro. It was good to hear from everyone even though they were on a small hiatus. New Peaks was his home away from home, but at the moment he didn’t miss it. Upon his arrival back home, Kyami was greeted by a very proud father and an overly concerned mother. They had watched his televised fights and while his mother had been a nervous wreck, his father was extremely proud of his level of control and technique. They were happy to announce the trip to Australia that his mother had planned for him.

    Kyami was enjoying his time away from it all, relaxing on a beach in Australia, allowing the rays of the sun to bombard his skin cells in hope of getting a perfectly bronze tan. In nothing but a speedo he hoped that all of the exposed areas would get solar contact. Every now and then he’d think of Vincento, or Ethan and would send a text whenever he could, but for the most part he was under constant communication with Junkiro and Kyle, whenever Kyle could get a break shooting scenes. New Peaks had changed him for the better, and as he relaxed on the beach he knew that he would never be the same, he would never go back to the innocent tai chi fighter he was when he first arrived. No, he would be forever changed and he embraced the thought with a smile.

    “Ky, let’s go for a swim,” his cousin called out to him from the water as he looked over with squinted eyes. A smile on his face he stood and ran over to the ocean, diving in with little restraint as laughs filled the air.
    Special thanks to Poison Ivy for the awesome sig and avy set.
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    Troy's phone vibrated on the bench next to his head where he'd set it, the screen lighting up to grab his attention. He stayed still for a moment, having laid down to rest his head in hopes the dull throbbing in his chin would vanish. Unfortunately, he had no such luck. Slightly annoyed by the pain he was undergoing, which had gotten even stronger as he became more and more awake, Troy sat up and grabbed his phone, only to see the entire short text in its preview on his lock screen:

    I am sorry.

    That meant failure. Dammit, Ayer. Troy wouldn't bother to ask how the French boy had managed to lose track of her, as it was irrelevant, but regardless, he was still a little pissed. Chin's not helping, either. At the very least, it wasn't that big a deal, and after a few minutes he texted back. That's alright. I've got a different idea anyways. Hitting send, Troy stood from the bench, pocketed his phone, and made to leave the locker room. He considered attending the debrief at the Galleria, but imagining the crowd forced his mind away from the idea. Instead, he stepped outside and just took a stroll, waiting for time to pass and hoping he wouldn't be recognized. Fortunately (and unfortunately), the new Freshman Champion had stolen Troy's underdog shtick, so Troy himself didn't gather much attention from the people who also decided not to go to the Galleria.

    It was hot. Troy had to question the merits of placing a definitively athletic academy on a tropical island that was hot normally, no less during the summer. He didn't mind the heat all that much, but it wasn't good for someone who liked to wear jackets, and he had to remove his for fear of heat stroke, carrying it over his arm as he walked. Well, at least I showed up in the tournament. He had lost a little bit, in the end, to the guy who won with a nice backstory, but Troy hadn't really been expecting to be that well off in the first year. If anything, his "close" loss to the German girl had put things in perspective. It occurred to him now that his usual bullshit he'd been pulling wasn't going to cut it at a school of dedicated, talented and well-trained fighters. I guess I should have realized that a little earlier. But it worked for a while. Of course, playing catch up meant doing something he'd been hoping to avoid. It sucks, but I'm gonna have to actually pay attention to my parents over break. His champion parents were strangely kind and forgiving, and seemed to at least somewhat understand that fighting was not Troy's preferred career path, but that didn't mean they weren't still going to force him back into the training he'd never been motivated to fully participate in. Especially now that he was in a fighting school, and the fact that he'd gotten through the summer tournament prelims -- he'd made the mistake of showing potential, and it was going to cost him. But I need it. Lucky for them, our interests line up for once.

    Troy's walk brought him around the main loop of the campus, turning at the markets and heading back towards the stadium. He was walking slowly, just trying to kill time until he got to go home. He was so slow, in fact, that by the time he got back to the stadium, the debrief was over, the speeches given and the crowd pouring towards the helipad, full of students ready to go home. Somewhere in there would be his own ride, and unfortunately, he'd have to brave the crowds to reach it. Shit. I didn't think this far ahead. With a sigh and a deep breath, Troy put his jacket back on and moved towards the flood of people, bracing himself for the noise. He didn't hate crowds that much in principle, he just didn't like how noisy they were. His rambunctious parents made him appreciate the quiet moments. Plus, he couldn't think over all the sound, and he liked thinking. The more one thought, the less one was likely to fail. Doesn't always work, or else I'd have bought earplugs on my way here. Too late now. Stores are probably closed anyways. This was hardly Troy's ideal way to start a summer break, as he found himself slaloming through crowds and trying not to get bowled over by students who were almost all stronger than himself. His above average height served as his only advantage by allowing him to stand on his toes and peek over everyone's heads to see where he was going. At the very least, he was looking forward to being home, if only because he didn't like being in one place for too long. Occasional change had a way of keeping one interested and inspired. Troy'd used his entire freshman year as a sort of trial run, trying to find what worked and what he'd need to get some attention around campus, and now that he knew, he'd have plenty of time to prepare for sophomore year. And the years after. But I'll work that out when I get there.
    Last edited by Standatrocity; 01-30-2017 at 09:15 PM.

  9. #99
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    (Copost with Standatrocity)

    Isabella walked from the stadium with downcast eyes, her drawstring bag over her shoulders and her slippers replaced with shoes. She spent the rest of the Freshman matches in the locker room, taking as little space as possible and trying not to be noticed. Finally when the ceremony occurred, she took her opportunity and slipped out of the facility. Her silvery white hair garnered little attention other than hushed whispers, which she immediately tuned out.

    The size of the crowd lessened as the distance between her and the stadium grew, and by the time she got to the girls' dormitory she was all but alone. First she had to shower, then eat, then begin packing to make the last boat for the day from the island. After her incident in the semifinals, she had no desire to show her face amongst her peers. They'd seen her lose control not once, but twice in simply tense situations. Could she even call herself a martial artist?

    No, perhaps she couldn't. After all, Wing Chun was never meant for competition. It was meant to kill.

    But that's no excuse. Sifu always remained in control, no matter the situation. She entered her room and tossed her bag on the bed. Sure, she was good at fighting; no, she was great. She had made it to the Freshmen semifinals, but she could tell that her peers were far above her. They exercised restraint, and even then they improved and refined their techniques. They knew the difference between delivering shoves and bone-crushing blows, and they knew when they were appropriately used. All she knew how to do was break them.

    With a quiet, choked sigh, she pulled off her sweat-stained shirt. I don't belong here.

    Two hours later, Isabella left the dormitory in plain, loose clothing, her secondhand wheeled suitcase dragging behind her. Her possessions were minimal, so packing up her room was trivial. She walked quickly despite her small frame, clearly eager to escape from the island as soon as possible. She wanted to avoid the rush of journalists and family members that would be leaving the island, and she especially didn't want to be recognized by any of them. She had already replayed that semifinal match again and again in her mind, and she knew she would for many years to come, contemplating everything she did and anything she could've done differently. She didn't need someone to remind her about what had happened.

    Troy had given up on the initial crowds. He simply couldn't stand them, and had instead stepped off to the side, deciding he wasn't in that much of a hurry after all. It wasn't as if anybody would notice him if he just chilled against the side of the stadium with his hood up and his phone out -- everyone was too focused on other things. He planned to make his escape in between the waves of people, after all the students who were ready to leave immediately, and before the ones who had to pack up first. If he was lucky, there would be a short time with a lot less people, and the path to the docks would be a lot more bearable.

    It was by sheer coincidence that someone else seemed to have the same idea. Troy likely wouldn't have noticed the mysterious German girl if she wasn't so conspicuous, but it was for that reason he understood immediately why she was leaving when she was. She stands out too much. Trying to avoid attention, probably. But why? Unless she hates crowds too. ...Also, dammit, Ayer. You had one job. It was an effective, if obvious strategy to leave when the crowds were at their thinnest, but Troy still had to wonder if maybe Isabella wasn't the smartest cookie. For someone as tall as him, it made sense, but small as she was, most likely nobody would spot her in a flood of people unless they were walking directly next to her. Troy didn't question it for long, since it worked out in his favor. Hell, maybe she just happens to be leaving now and doesn't give a shit.

    Pocketing his phone, Troy casually pushed himself off the wall and started moving to intercept, trying to decide how he wanted to get her attention. It might seem unorthodox to start an incomplete plan, but his mind worked best under pressure, and he didn't have much time to plan at the speed she was moving. I could do that jacket thing again. No, too risky. I could call out, but that'd be too ambiguous. Don't want her to think I'm going for revenge or anything. He was close; time to make a decision. Fuck it. No need to over-complicate. Lowering his hood, Troy deliberately stepped into the girl's path and gave his friendliest, most carefree smile, along with a little wave. "Yo." Come to think of it, she might just bowl me over. Well, I can still work with that. If she pays me no mind, then there's not much I can do about it.

    Isabella glanced up from her downward gaze as someone stepped in her path. Keep walking, just walk around the--

    She stopped, the back off her luggage nipping at her heels. No, of course it had to be him. There was a pause, brief but pregnant, as Isabella chewed her tongue. What do I say, what do I do?

    Turning her head back down, she unconsciously slipped into German. "Entschüldigung mir..."

    Troy cocked his head to the side with a clueless look on his face, partially because it was part of the character -- even if she wasn't looking, Troy was a bit of a method actor, so consistency was key with him -- but also because he was genuinely puzzled by the foreign words she'd spoken. She looks downcast. That's definitely indicative of something. I think I know how to proceed from here.

    He let the silence proceed a little longer before speaking, his anything-but-serious tone contrasting the girl's apparent mood. "That's, what, French? I don't know French. Or wait, aren't you German? Or was that the other girl... ah, shit." He considered pulling his phone out to translate what she had said, but realized quickly that even though he remembered what the words sounded like, he had no idea how to spell them, and German wasn't a friendly language in that regard. Instead, he repeated them in his mind a few times, trying to keep them memorized so that he could speak them into his phone later. Probably nothing important. Good to be sure. "Well, anyway, that was a good fight. Sorry for being a cocky ass at the start there, I was just trying to psyche myself up. Never expected to make it that far in the tournament, if I'm honest. ...Hell of a last hit, by the way. I saw a video of it, and damn. I got wiped out. I don't even remember it happening." He was trying to sound friendly and nonchalant, just to see how the girl would react.

    "Bitte, halt--" Isabella spouted to him before realizing her native tongue. "Please...stop. I didn't mean it." She continued looking down at her feet. "The hit, I mean. It was an accident. So, please...stop."

    So she's upset about it. That's clear enough from her behavior. Was it reflexive? It's not like I'm horribly injured. Though it does still hurt. If she doesn't want to talk about it, I should probably stop... Troy made a point of looking surprised, moving his head backwards slightly along with a dubious blink. "Okay, well, I'm sorry if I..." Or... I could push it. "...wasn't tough enough for you, or anything. I know I didn't put up much of a fight, and man, that whack. That came out of nowhere, like BAM." He enunciated that last word a little more loudly than one might expect. Troy kind of felt bad, messing with the poor girl -- he was maybe a little manipulative, but he wasn't a monster -- yet still he managed to justify it in his head. This is necessary. If I can get her to go off on me...

    "Please, I said stop it!"

    Isabella's hand visibly tightened on the handle of her suitcase as she shouted, causing more than a few bystanders to glance at them. Her jaw trembled as the conversation halted again, and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. "I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry I lost control. I didn't mean it, and I'm leaving if that helps."

    Not quite what I wanted, but it'll do. So she really did lose it, just like muscleman. Troy shut up for a moment when the girl shouted at him, then glanced around at the bystanders looking at them. Shit, I forgot about the people. As the girl talked, Troy directed sharp glares at anyone staring until they went on their way. It worked for the time being, but he cursed himself for forgetting the situation. He turned back to Isabella, who was not looking very emotionally stable. I could bullshit, but that probably wouldn't end well. Even if she believed me. Confrontation will make it worse. I hate the cliché, but I think all I can do is reassure her at this point. I get the feeling she might not take it to heart, though.

    "Hey, look." Troy raised his right fist to his torso, pointed at his with his left hand, grinned, then punched himself in the chin, right where her knockout attack had landed. He didn't hold back, either -- the impact made an audible thwack. Pain shot up his jaw, exacerbating the throbbing pain that had already been present, but he didn't let it show on his face. He was reasonably good at not letting people know when he was hurting. "See? I'm fine. Doesn't even hurt. I'm a tough guy, I can take a hit." Troy knew that probably wasn't going to help, as clearly the issue was deeper than he could get at yet. If anything, it might do more harm than good. But he waited for the girl's response nevertheless, hoping it was what he was expecting. Good thing she's not as unpredictable here as in the arena, or I'd be fucked.

    Isabella's eyes rose slowly to Troy as he spoke, but the moment he punched himself in the jaw her hand jumped to her lips in surprise. What is wrong with him?? Did I hit him too hard? However, as he responded her hand slowly drifted from her lips back down to her side. No. He's mocking me, that's all. Perhaps I shouldn't have apologized.

    With a short humph, she pivoted her roller bag to the side and tucked her head, walking around him without a response. It doesn't matter. He'll never see me again anyway.

    Oh, crap. Dismissal. But at least it's a different kind of upset. I think I managed to turn the situation here, just a little bit. Troy watched the girl pass him, giving himself a little time to think of his next move. Should I leave it at that? I guess it was stupid of me to think I could handle this in one conversation... maybe after summer. He watched the girl walk away from him, and suddenly understood the meaning of a particular lyric. Or maybe I'm overthinking this. "Whoa, hang on. Was it something I said?" Troy turned and jogged a little to catch up with the girl -- he was technically going the same way, after all. "What, are you mad or something? You know, usually when I punch myself in the face, I at least get a laugh or two."

    "This isn't about anger. This is...personal to me." Isabella continued walking, keeping her gaze forward instead of addressing Troy face-to-face. "I've never done something like that before, and I didn't even know I was doing it. So I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't mock me like that. I told you, I'm sorry."

    She glanced down, her pace unwavering. "I...I don't know what's wrong with me."

    Troy stared at the girl incredulously as she spoke, then looked away as she finished. "Oh. Well, that sounds like a real problem. I don't think I can help you with that one. But, uh, I can tell you one thing." Okay, now is the time for bullshit. "You ever heard of the Duncan family? If you're into the fighting scene, you probably have. World Champions and all, we're, like, the best. Or, well, you know, my parents are. I was always a little --" Troy coughed for effect, then looked at the girl with that same careless grin. He was good at that grin, it had served to be very convincing in the past. "-- B-team. But, uh, if the issue is just a little lack of self-control, well you know, my dad had problems with that. You know, in his early days. Tells me about it all the time. Lots of accidents, happens when you have all that bottled-up talent I guess." He never did. But strongman did, and he was in a world league too, so I guess there's some distant hint of truth to the concept, at least. "Obviously now he has about seven million trophies, at conservative estimates..." I'm probably not that far off. "...so, uh, if that's all you're worried about..." Troy trailed off on purpose here. Again, he knew that a little anecdotal evidence wasn't going to solve the girl's problem, and he wasn't trying to. All I need to do is establish myself as a good thing in her mind, and I can get on her side. If I can distract her from her issue for even just a few seconds, I win.

    Isabella slowed down as Troy spoke, processing his words of wisdom. Yeah, that might be true, but was he trained how to kill people with his hands at the time? Finally she slowed to a stop as he trailed off, and the grip on her luggage slackened. Perhaps I overreacted at him. Maybe he is trying to help here.

    "I get it, I really do." Her voice lost some of its intensity as she settled a bit, but she still refused eye contact with him. "You want me to see it as something that just happens in a fight. You don't want me to think it's my fault. But this is...different. I had control of my body, and I always have...but then it just got away."

    A short sigh huffed from her lungs. "And if I'm going to use something so deadly, I need to know I won't lose control of it."

    Troy kept walking for a few steps without realizing the girl had stopped, as he'd been looking dead ahead while talking and her stature prevented him from seeing her in his peripherals. When she spoke from behind him, he realized his mistake and turned to face her once more. After considering her words for a bit, Troy just gave a helpless shrug. "Personally, I have no idea how to fix that. You ever think maybe you're just stressed? Pent up? Let it out on a dummy or something, I dunno. Well, no, I'll bet you beat the living daylights out of punching bags on the reg anyways..." He let there be a short pause. "Say, you've got a phone number, right? At least, I hope so. Here, put yourself in my contacts." Troy strolled up to the German girl and held his smartphone out to her. "I'll ask my dad what he did when I get home, and I'll get back to you. Would that make you feel better?" Guess I'll have to do a bit of research on this. Nothing I won't be able to figure out, hopefully. Maybe Dad can hook me up with an expert, if I can find a good reason.

    Isabella blinked in surprise, startled at the interjection of the screen in her vision. Really? He's asking for my phone number? She took it and stared at the new contact screen, watching the cursor blink as if waiting for her response. Why can't you just let me go? This won't change my mind about leaving.

    "Uh...sure." After a brief moment of hesitation, her thumb started tapping away at the screen. Fine, if it'll get him to let me leave before the others. Turning it back, she handed it over to him. "There. Look, I don't mean to cut this short, but I really need to get going before the crowd shows up, okay?"

    Troy took his phone and pocketed it. Success. This went surprisingly well. "Alright, I understand. See you next year." He turned and headed back towards his spot by the building he was leaning against, waving backwards at the girl as a sort of half-assed farewell. "Try to cheer up, alright? I'm sure it'll work itself out, one way or another."

    Don't want any more attention than we've already gotten. I'll wait for her to get out of sight before I leave. God, I hope the crowds don't catch up first. Once he was back in his place, he pulled his phone back out and opened up the voice translator, setting it translate German into English. After a moment of consideration, he quietly spoke into the phone's tiny microphone: "Int-shool-dee-goong-meer". The translator, finicky as it was, and as weird a language as German could be, incorrectly returned Abolition more. [i]...Huh. Some sort of revolutionary phrase? Fuckin' Germans, man.

    Isabella nodded to him as he walked away, her eyes linger on his back. "Yeah...sure." Gripping her suitcase again, she kicked it back on its wheels and continued towards the docks, the knot in her stomach somehow feeling tighter than before. It was one thing to tell herself she'd do it, but telling someone else about it made her feel even more unsure. Moreover, it appeared that Troy didn't even pick up on what she was saying, especially considering his last comment. It added a bit of accountability to her decision, but it wasn't enough to change her mind.

    I'm not coming back next year.

    Thanks to Karma for the dandiest set
    Spoiler: RPs I'm in 

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