I went to my designated locker inside the locker room.There was a limited time that I got to keep the locker, but I had more than enough time.

I stripped off my burdensome coat and hat for sports clothes. The jacket I wore had a rigid enough collar with a t-shirt that couldn’t be ruined easily. I was prepared as I’d ever be.I waited with the other competitors, sword in hand.

For once, I was not asking to do good, nor I wanted to do okay.

I was never talented in swordsmanship. All I asked for was mediocre results. I wasn’t asking for much. There were people that could rely on, there had to be strength in that.

In my hesitation, I never checked who I was going up against. That had to change, my eye scanned the list to spot my name.

(Donovan Hart, Kiko Zaar)

I observed the placement.

Kiko Zaar was who I had to fight. I assumed that the combatant was a beastkin by the exotic name. That was going to be a problem, as they were much stronger than humans despite the rhetoric that said otherwise.

“Donovan, you’re up,” the organizer said.

“Be with you in a few minutes,” I responded.

I grabbed my sword and headed out for the ring. The stadium was big, housing many souls.Their voices distorted from the distance.

I wasn’t ready; but then again, I never was.

— — —

There was a tunnel covered in concrete. I heard the distant echo from the walls from the participants. The announcer hyped everyone up with a booming voice. The distortion from the distance made everything hard to hear.

A card blew onto my shoe as I was entering the tournament. It seemed to stay there. I picked up the card to see what looked to be a tarot card.

(The Hanged Man)

The tarot card was upside down when I picked it up. The man looked to be standing instead of hanging from the rope on his ankle. I stared at the card. It was unusual for anyone to carry tarot cards, let alone drop one, and on the tournament grounds at that. My world was set on hold by a strange phenomenon.

“Hey, you shouldn’t be dallying here. You still got your bracket to do, remember?” The organizer screamed from the hallway.

“Sorry, I was caught up in some superstition,” I said.

The organizer was confused, but I wasn’t going to explain. I threw the card back onto the ground. I couldn’t afford to dwell on such frivolous circumstances. My name was on the line.

I have to do more than my best. I have to do fine.

The organizer led me through the end of the tunnel, I was blinded by multiple lights.

There were too many faces to tell who was who, but I knew Dolores and Noel were there in the crowd.

Everyone was absorbed in the festivities while I noticed my mind wandering.

There was an elevated concrete slab in my way. I climbed the stairs and reached the top. My eyes scanned the other end. I adjusted my glasses and aired my jacket.

That must be her. She had to be Kiko Zaar, the opponent I was facing.

The beatkin sized me up from the other end, or from what little size she had. I stood a head taller than her, yet she was the one who was willing to challenge me. What irked me was her white eyes that I sensed despite how far away I was. Her white hair gave her a refined look.

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Nyancans were easy to read, supposed to be; yet I saw no signs of distress from the beastkin. Not a single twitch from the ears, no tail fluttering. Meanwhile, I resisted the urge to whip off the sweat from my brow.

The weapons were dulled, they reduced the injuries caused by the blows during the tournament. I carried a falchion, a single-handed, one-sided blade while Kiko used a rapier.

Rapier prioritizes style over function, how impractical. Wait for her to make a flashy move and then punish accordingly. Repiers bend easily, so she can’t guard well. When I attack, that would be the opportune chance to seal a victory,

I comforted myself, yet seeing the beastkin in person waned my resolve.

*Swish* *Swoosh*

She practiced her sword, disregarding the strategy I had in my head. She sliced the air multiple times within the second.

My sword felt so inadequate in comparison.

No, function over style, I reminded myself. I watched how she used her rapier. I knew I had a chance.

I prepared myself for the upcoming bracket. My arm tossed the sword into the air as I attempted to feel the weight, and… oops. The falchion fell onto the ground.

I swore that the nyancan laughed at me. I awkwardly kneeled down while picking up the sword. Lorry and Noel watched me make the blunder moments ago.

I haven’t started, and already I’m making a fool of myself.

The room quieted down as the referee strolled to the middle of the ring. I rearranged my stance while Kiko chose her stance. The way that she held her sword was over exaggerated. I kept my feet flat on the ground to prioritize defense. From what little I understood about swordsmanship, I had to find a solid state before I continued. My body was anything but steady, but this was enough.

The bell rang.

Kiko and I went into a sprint. I kept my legs steady as I focused on legwork. I took my falchion and went for a wide swing. My sword went away from her rapier, where if she tried blocking, I could follow up with another attack.

Yet she never blocked. Her blade brushed against the broadside of my sword. My sword went off angle, sending me off course.

Why block when you can deflect? It seemed so effortless to her.

My sword was already so far from me. I overextended myself. I had no choice but to let go of my stance. The nyancan was now on the offensive, an undeniable fact.

Kiko made countless slashes, each slash was a blur. I receded back further with each cut. She was planning on being relentless. I was already unbalanced, there was no point in letting me recover. The nyancan propelled me to the back of the ring.

This all happened because of a single mistake.

I would fall from the ring if she pushed me any further, an immediate loss due to ring out. I couldn’t let that happen.

She forced me to act in desperation. I lunged with my sword, an unusual move. The woman grabbed her rapier to deflect the attack, yet the strike was never my intention.

All I needed was enough space to recover my footing.

My hand reached out for her sword. I was threatening to grab hold of her blade, or at least tried. She aimed a kick towards my gut. I was too late to dodge.

I shifted my body away from the edge so that I didn't automatically lose. My body rolled on the ground from the impact. I tumbled away from Kiko, my shoulders and back getting most of the blunt force. I slid from the cement after I finished rolling on the ground.

The referee ran out into the ring, and stopped Kiko with his arm. The spectators jeered as I went down. They were getting rowdier, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me. All the mocking, the vitriol, they directed their displeasure towards the beastkin.

I had to face the honest truth, I wasn't at my peak. 2 days of sleep deprivation, mild heatstroke, and high enough blood pressure to burn a house down would do that.

I’m hurt. I have less fighting capabilities than before, however I have a promise to keep.

To Dolores, I was going to take it easy after the match. And Noel, I had yet to fight him inside the ring. Most importantly, my honor for my name was on the line. Backing up now would be all for nothing.

I wasn’t asking for much.

My body got up from the ground, and I gripped my falchion. The referee looked at me and directed Kiko and I towards the opposite ends of the ring.

She held her rapier up high and I took my stance. I modified my stance for a more dynamic style, something I was unaccustomed to. Large attacks weren't going to work, they were too predictable and easily deflected.

I have to win, at least for a little while.

When we were ready, the bell rang.

We traded blows. Kiko deflected every one with a swipe. I used all my might to bombard her the best I could, yet her face looked different. In fact — she was grinning; no signs of ears being flat, touching the head, or thrashing of the tail.

I was losing ground, a few more strikes from her and I’m finished. Something had to change, or at least myself.