Our fight is probably fun for Kiko. And for what? For me to struggle?

We were still trading blows, and I was in mid thought. The nyancan was better than me. Better at swordplay, and better in strength. So why keep up with a dying charade?

For pride? No, she had more of that in strides. I had nothing.

I let go of my stance, I no longer needed it. My teachers told me that my swordwork was sloppy. What I was taught was useless, my family’s style was worthless. The fight was for myself, I had no need for my name.

Everything — was pointless without aim.

So, I surrendered my balance, forgot what I was taught.

The burden I was carrying was gone. The falchion only caused my grief. I realized how little the Hart meant to me. All those sleepless nights worrying, and for what? A father who wouldn’t show up for his own son’s tournament match.

All the exhaustion, the deprivation, the damage came crashing over. I staggered on to the cement. Kiko was the first to take advantage of my state. She lunged with her rapier.

There’s the flashy move that I am waiting for.

She was wrong. For once, my body was solid. I staggered away from the blade. There was no need to recover.

I took out my sword and lunged back, disregarding form. She was too arrogant, and I punished accordingly. She jumped out of the way instead of deflection. My falchion rushed towards the beastkin. I lunged again.

(Sideways slash, right side.)

My eyes scanned her rapier, I predicted her next move. I moved my blade, following her swing. My blade twisted. The nyancan’s blade made contact with the broadside of the falchion. The steel from the rapier bent.

I swung my sword with all my might. There was little recourse in defense. Her ears twitched as the blade bore down.

She took her palm and struck me, I barely saw what happened. The beastkin pushed me back with her free hand.

My body fell back down. I slided across the ground. The referee came and broke off the engagement, with his arms near Kiko.

The spectators were quiet. They watched on as a beastkin dominated the match. Some beastkin beating a human, has to be a ridiculous notion.

I lifted myself from the ground, My touch warmed the cement. My hands stuck due to the sweat on my palms.

She struck me for the second time. I knew something was wrong. Kiko’s strength never laid in her rapier. That weapon was a way to hide her strength. Not for a moment had she treated me as a proper threat.

I am going to lose because of her. My pride, my friends, dolores; the tournament meant everything to me. It is my last chance of redemption. And for her, a sense of vanity.

I wasn’t asking for much, I wasn’t asking for much.

My eyes stared at Kiko, it was for her, only her, nobody else.

The referee gestured to start again, but I wasn’t paying attention. The spectators, the match; none of them mattered.

I started in a sprint. Kiko lifted her sword to counterattack. My falchion rushed in with a predictable swing. She parried the blade and countered with a lunge, her counter attack lacked its previous flair. The only problem was that I never dodged.

My body twisted. The rapier impaled my shoulder. The beastkin’s eyes widened as the sword sank in my flesh. The blades were dull for a reason, but I dove into the edge. The referee called the match. A win on her side, yet the result stopped mattering.

I sank the blade deeper within my tissue, held the sword so that she couldn’t recover it. I no longer had my falchion on me, the sword fell on the ground.

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My target was her ears.

Kiko tried hard to pull free, yet my hand held firm. She wasn’t expecting this, nobody had. The referee was screaming, but the words blurred in the background. My entire soul focused on her — those twitching ears, the subtle movement she tried to cover.

This isn’t about winning anymore.

My hands went for her ears — those delicate, sensitive, nyancan ears. She jerked back, but my hand was faster. I felt the soft fur brush up my finger tips; the view I saw as she enlarged her eyes. Kiko reeled as my fingers grappled harder. She instantly recoiled from my touch.

She hissed, a bestial cry. The elegance crumbled in my hand. The fighter I knew was gone. Her blade twisted in my body.

We were at a stalemate.

I saw in real time how her ego fell apart with each tug on her tufts of hair. Such a vitriol reaction. The response was primal on both our sides.

The referee was screaming at the top of his lungs while this was happening. But what was he going to do? Disqualify me for using an illicit move? That ship had long sailed.

Kiko and I both held onto the rapier. She pulled the sword from out of my shoulder. I lacked the strength to clasp on. My body went numb.

*Drip* *Drip*

Blood fell onto the ground. It was my own. My eyes stared at my stab wound. A narrow cut for a narrow blade. I released my hold on her ears. The once petrified nyancan gained back her poise. She glanced at the referee.

That anger in her eyes, she was suppressing her rage.

All she cared about was winning. Act out and be barred from the next bracket, a simple answer to her behavior.

The beastkin aimed her sword. With a slash, she swung for my face. Her rapier brushed past my head. With a swipe, the glasses I was wearing dropped from my nose.

“Clink*

The glass cracked from the frame.

I knelt down while I clutched on my wound. My vision blurred with my missing glasses. The world was dizzying from my exhaustion.

How did I get to this point? It seems so impersonal now that I look at it with such a bitter lens. The puzzle pieces were there.

How can I be so blind? I asked myself. When I lost my glasses, everything seemed so clear. This was all done by fate, and I — played the puppet.

Kiko should have never been in the first bracket. A woman of her strength was always put into the higher brackets so as to not interrupt the lower bracket. Having one-sided matches was boring. Seeing the audience’s reaction was telling enough. This could be explained away as the organizers’ pride and prejudice made a beastkin go to the first bracket.

Then there was the referee. He was unbiased at first glance. He appeared neutral, yet his way of stopping the fight was tougher than most. The referee acted within gray territory, only pausing the fight when absolutely necessary. A way to favor the more powerful party involved.

Those 2 aspects could be dismissed if it wasn't for the last damning piece of evidence.

The envelope for my Declaration of Disownment.

My father knew well how sending a servant in his stead would affect me. All it took was a simple reminder from the envelope. I was meant to find the declaration.

The servant handed me the letter with enough resistance. My father planned for me to see the declaration.

I was so caught up with redemption that I let the emotions take hold. I performed worse because of it.

My last chance? I never had one.

My father set me up to fail.

There was a realization that I was wrong, I asked more than nothing. I was asking for the world to change, when I neglected taking responsibility. I failed in my duty of what made me a person. Pride? Honor? Ego? Those were meager compared to my own obligations.

What did I have to lose to care so much about the tournament? A father who wanted nothing more than to see his own son fail. I meant so little to him? His own flesh and blood?

All those emotions, the anger, the resentment; the resentment, they all vanished. A familiar feeling arised, a feeling that I masked under the more vitriolic emotions.

Emptiness.

The tournament was pointless. Winning would’ve bought me a few months at best.

The promise that I made to Dolores? She was only a brief fling. I started to believe Noel’s words that she was using me.

I was truly a man with nothing left to lose.

My knees buckled down to the floor. I used my arms to prop up my body. My lips quivered. I gazed at Kiko from below. She stood away with the referee between us.

I couldn’t find the hate I had for her. She was only a victim of the system. Kiko simply chose to fight without pondering the broader implication of a rigged game. I wanted to say sorry, to apologize. What I did was unacceptable. I grabbed her ears in a moment of rage, assaulted her, demeaned her. I was truly a degenerate.

My arms gave out. I tried opening my mouth to speak, but all that came out was my breath. My head turned up, I looked at Kiko one last time.

My arms wobbled as I used them for one last time. The dizziness finally got to me. My upper body fell onto the cement.

I’m so tired… Tired of feeling nothing…

If I didn't let the emotions, the attachments, or people get in the way; I would’ve had a chance at winning. The fault lied with fate. If only I had a better grasp of control.

Emotion and duty goes separate.

But right now, I must sleep; for I have mistreated myself for far too long.

My head fell back down. The world’s a cold place.