A six-meter long, fifteen-centimeter-wide balance beam elevated on iron stands stood in the center of the Hubert Academy gymnasium. It was surrounded by a thick blue mat. In the wooden bleachers overlooking the floor, an assembly of students, parents, and school faculty sat. The buzz of conversations drowned the soft classical music playing from the loudspeakers set up by the scoreboards. Air conditioning hummed. The gymnasium was comfortable despite the hot and humid June weather and the packed crowd inside.

When the music stopped, a ceiling spotlight focused on the balance beam and the crowd subdued to respectful silence. Deep within the bleachers, from atop her high draped podium, another spotlight fell upon the principle of Hubert Academy. A soft looking woman in a light blue dress suit waved her straight blonde hair whenever her head moved; she had a gruff voice that bellied her appearance.

"Welcome to fifth annual Hubert Academy Fencing Tournament, sponsored by the National Association of Private Schools. As your principle, I am honored that we should have such a fabulous turnout, especially since summer recess has officially begun. With that said, let me introduce the undisputed champion of our own Hubert Academy fencing club, Nathan Mavenslick."

Nathan had gleaming black hair which he parted to the right. There was a slight wave to his hair. His skin was fairly pale, especially considering his hair and his dark green eyes. The girls shouted his name as he scanned the audience with a smirk. He was a thin boy who had grown quite strong. An unshaven look darkened his jaw. Hanging outside his uniform was a heavy medallion of tarnished bronze given to him by his grandfather on his sixth birthday; four openings lined its edges, two of which a chain ran through.

Carvings of delicate vines and seedlings ran along the outer edge, some of which reached into the beams that connected to elongated skull like design in the center. The skull had an eye of lapis and teeth of emerald. Nathan shook his fist for the crowd before jumping on the edge of the balance beam with his fencing mask tucked under his right arm.

For a show, he balanced the handle of his foil on the tip of his foot, keeping it perfectly vertical as he bounced it a few centimeters. At last, he kicked it, sending it upwards far enough for him to reach out and clutch the grip with his left hand with perfect finger positioning for the upcoming match.

A few girls swooned for him as cheers erupted. Jody Fischer stuck out her tongue, though it seemed more a playful gesture than an insult. Nathan nodded to her. Then Jody clapped and shouted his name with a little fist wave. The principle asked for the applause to subside, and resumed her duties as an announcer.

"On your left is the champion from New Hope Methodist, Darrell Flemming, also known as the lightning sword."

A small section cheered as Darrell stepped onto the stand cautiously. He stood perfectly straight, staring through his opponent with piercing blue eyes. Darrell was about the same build as Nathan, but had a healthier looking skin tone and lighter, straighter hair. A somewhat dour expression was affected by the tendency to purse his lips, which he was doing extremely tightly at the moment. His noble, slender nose pushed down slightly. Nathan kept his eyes on his opponent.

"The rules are simple," the principle explained, "each combatant's uniform is attached to an electrode monitor. The target area includes the chest and stomach only. Any hits to those areas will be counted by the monitor as critical strikes. The first combatant to receive three critical strikes will lose the match. Absolutely no aiming above the chest! Also, anyone who falls off the balance beam will automatically give his opponent a strike. The combatants may now don their masks."

Nathan zipped up his fencing jacket to hide his pendant before slipping his mask over his head. With their masks on, they conducted a quick salute by slashing their foils downwards.

"En garde!"

Nathan took a defensive stance and waited for his opponent's attack; Darrell complied by accelerating toward him with a fierce lunge. His entire body propelled the assault. Nathan knelt below the strike, parried strongly, and struck dead center in Darrell's target area without much effort. Nathan sprang upwards as the first red light on Darrell's electrode monitor brightened. While Darrell recoiled from the touch, Nathan issued another forceful parry which left his opponent no choice to retreat. Nathan couldn't help but think that his opponent was like everyone else he had fought so far, a complete throw aside. He'd have to make this look harder than it was or his audience might get bored and his opponent resentful. Then Darrell announced a renewed attack.

Darrell lunged, but this time backed away in mid-lunge before lunging again. The first lunge had been a mere feint with little energy invested into it. By the second lunge, Darrell had anticipated Nathan's counter strike and executed a well-timed parry of some force. Blade smacked blade. Nathan was driven back a few steps to avoid taking a hit as Darrell forced his sword to the side.

The move was repeated with differing variations. Darrell attacked speedily and adjusted the blade position enough to keep Nathan guessing. Over a period of five minutes, he pounced upon Nathan from every direction like a multitude of prowling tigers. The crowd was in awe. Nathan reeled backwards. He was slowing down just trying to block the constant attacks. The edge of the fighting platform was approaching. This was actually fun!

Darrell's sword came fiercely, aimed with precision, and struck home.

A red hit light flashed on Nathan's monitor; the crowd gasped as the score was now even. They took position at the center of the beam for the next round. This time from the start, Darrell resumed lunging even more quickly and Nathan was immediately thrown off balance attempting to dodge. Backing off at the wrong moment caused Darrell to miss an opening, but he still forced Nathan to retreat.

The echo of striking metal filled the gymnasium, even over the screams of the crowd and the chants of girls imploring their school's champion to win. It looked like a repeat of the last round until Nathan was once again near the edge. He refused to retreat any further. Every move became guarded as it seemed essentially an even match. Nathan swirled his sword for a forceful parry and lunged for the target zone, which forced Darrell to take a wide step back, but the gained ground was soon lost as Darrell lifted his foil and aimed his attacks from above. A test of stamina continued for a short duration. The sound of swords clanging against one another echoed through the gym.

After a while of struggling to keep the pace of his opponent, Nathan's attacks became less varied, his arm too tired to push his foil against parries from above. The sweat was soaking through Nathan's uniform. Steam billowed from the screen of his mask. Then, Nathan's sword began to falter. Darrell immediately capitalized, brushing it aside and striking an easy hit. Nathan realized something. Darrell wasn't nearly as perspired; in fact, he seemed almost as fresh as when the match began. Nathan's parries grew weaker, his retreats more desperate. He began to fear the end was not looking as good as he had thought.

Would he fail to win in front of the entire fencing club, the entire school, Jody? He was determined not to let his summer recess be ruined by defeat in this crucial match. It was time to unleash some of his special abilities. Nathan whispered the words, Pozalm Zaberias, as he touched the bronze pendant around his neck with the pointer finger of his free hand. New energy flowed through his blood as he returned to a defensive stance with his free arm behind him. He lifted his foil high, leaving himself wide open for an attack, but as Darrell lunged, Nathan parried so fiercely that the foil escaped from Darrell's hand. With a single deft swoop, Nathan targeted Darrell's shoulder. They were evenly matched once again.

On the final series, Nathan was the one charging forward. His foil struck so forcefully on the parry that sparks flew. Nathan's sword swung right from the outside and pushed his opponent's blade inward across his chest. He pushed forward, allowing his sword to press Darrell's until they were at an unusually close range, almost helmet to helmet.

It happened so fast that Darrell couldn't think to get his sword out of the lock while the tip of Nathan's blade pointed in the air. A push to the left from Nathan's foil caught Darrell unprepared; he quickly lost his balance and fell to the mat. The gymnasium erupted into cheers and shouts.

"That isn't allowed!?" Darrell shouted angrily.

"Silence," yelled the announcer, the crowd quieted, "Is that legal? Let me see. There's nothing against it in the rule books for this style. Nathan Mavenslick is the winner by knock down. What an unbelievable final match these two have participated in. Let's have a round of applause for the new Huntingdon County fencing champion!"

Droplets of perspiration flung outwards from Nathan's mask as he removed it. Cheers erupted from the crowd. Some girls screamed his name as he lifted his sword to the air in impromptu celebration. He so relished the victory he scanned the assembly to absorb the moment into memory. While doing so, Nathan spotted an elderly man in a black suit who was standing with the support of a black cane.

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That seemed unusual, being that this was a fencing tournament between private high schools; not to mention that the wrinkled man with disheveled gray hair stood out in an audience mostly composed of teens and their parents. Nathan returned his gaze to the old man, who clapped briefly before donning a black cape and making his way out. Perhaps, Nathan thought, he wanted to leave before the crowd.

But there was a trophy to be presented, and a short victory speech. It wasn't so much a speech as a quick thank you, a short acknowledgement of his opponent's tenacity, and some praise of his father, his coach, and his school for good measure. With the short ceremony out of the way, Nathan retreated from an advancing crowd to the locker room. The old man returned to his mind. He had to ask himself, what was with that guy, was he an Olympic recruiter? On the bench in front of his locker was a rag to wipe his damp black hair and a bottle of chilled water, both of which he used eagerly. After a few sips, he was face to face with his former opponent, who greeted him with an extended hand and a pleasant smile.

"You're amazing!" Darrell said, "How did you pull off that last minute burst? I thought you were finally wearing out and then you had me, I never fought anyone that strong."

"It was determination," Nathan lied, "I just didn't want to lose. Besides, my dad makes me train all the time; you'd almost think I was supposed to be a warrior or something. You're tough though, I never expected a challenge."

"I still think you should have been disqualified for using a move like that," Darrell said, his eyes narrowing.

The water bottle almost dropped from between Nathan's fingers, but quick reflexes helped him catch it.

"Well... they obviously didn't," Nathan said, voice slightly quivering, "The rules are fair. It's not like I cheated or anything."

"We should have a rematch. How about one at my school?" Darrell asked, "I'm giving some fencing lessons over the summer for extra credit. I wouldn't mind holding a class tournament. I'd like a re-match; that is, if you're not afraid."

"Afraid, no way," Nathan took a long gulp of water, "I accept your challenge, so you better be afraid. I could use the practice."

"Every Monday morning, starting July."

"I'll be there before the summer ends, but I won't tell you when."

Darrell went back to his locker to pack up as Nathan wiped his face dry and then carefully folded his fencing equipment and placed his sword into a designer sports case. Outside the lockers, Nathan's father carried Nathan's seven-year-old sister, Natalie, on his back. Norman had the same short black hair as his son, but the stubborn black hairs of his chin produced a consistently dark jaw shadow that Nathan was only beginning to develop. Natalie jumped over her father's head and into the arms of her brother. The orange shampoo that had cleaned her wispy black hair could be smelt as she nuzzled her brother. It was quite the contrast to the scent of drying perspiration dripping from Nathan. Nathan's fencing coach approached them from behind and gave Nathan a pat on the shoulder.

"That's my champion caliber athlete; don't know what this school would do without him. You're going to give Hubert Academy a name for itself during the summer tournaments. But we need to get this guy into basketball, football, something more team oriented. Whatever it is, I'll be behind this young man all the way Norman. All the way!"

"This is good training for the boy and you're a great coach," Norman said.

"Thanks a bunch, you know me, fencing has always been a particular favorite even though it isn't quite as popular as the team sports," said the coach, "I want him on the football team next year. That's not a request."

"You were awesome," Natalie said. "You knocked that guy over like he was nothing! I'm glad I don't have to fight with swords. It looks scary dangerous."

"At least I enjoy this more than the other training," Nathan whispered as he put her down next to their father.

"Nathan, I have to take your sister to dance," his father said, "I think you earned some free time tonight. What are you planning for the rest of the day?"

"I was going to grab a pizza with everyone. I'll ride my bike home."

Norman sighed, opening his wallet, "Pizza. I guess you earned it; fine then, have some pizza with your girlfriend, remember, nine thirty. And don't make a pig of yourself."

"Jody's not my girlfriend," Nathan grumbled, "She's a normal friend, like one of the other guys."

"Right, I'll take your equipment home," Norman said, ignoring the previous statement as he took the black case, "Nine-thirty, no later."

"Right, Nine-thirty," Nathan groaned.

"Oh, and, you're in big trouble later, you probably know why," Norman said, "We'll talk about that later."

Without another word, Norman took Natalie by the hand and they left the locker room. Nathan knew what the trouble was. His father had noticed the flow of energy from the pendant and was probably upset. What was the deal anyway, Nathan thought, that fencing match was crucial, and what good was power he couldn't use? His father didn't understand what it was like to be humiliated in front of everyone.

After shaking hands with the coach one last time, he went back to the locker room to shower and change into a clean pair of jeans with a hole in the left knee and a dark gray shirt with a sports logo. His sneakers were about ready to fall apart. He checked his locker one last time to make sure it was clean and empty before closing it. The key was plopped on the coach's desk as he went out the door. Jody, Bill and Howard were waiting by the bike racks, guarding Nathan's black and white mountain bike. None of them had brought their own bikes along, so Nathan walked his bike to the local pizza parlor with them. They ordered a large pizza and portioned it at a wide red booth.

Jody pulled her light blonde hair back into a loose pony-tail that hung past her shoulders so it wouldn't fall into on her slice. She was slender, small but not short. Her blue eyes were bright. Bill was the running back on the school football team. He was sort of average all the way around, brown hair, matching eyes, a strong build, good height, but nothing about him ever stood out to Nathan. Bill never spoke much either, he blended with whatever group he happened to be in. Howard was more unique; he was tall and his chest was so broad it made the cheap cotton shirts he wore tight. Since he was so big he played offensive line backer.

"It's a good thing you're so powerful," Jody said, "because that guy was a pro. His technique was amazing; and everyone could see you were exhausted before that sudden adrenaline rush you pulled."

"Come on," Nathan said, "I wasn't some push over. I gave him a run for his money. Besides, don't you think it takes a little focus and technique knock a guy like him to the mat. I mean, really, you never give me credit."

"You may be luckier than you think to have a dad that makes you train so hard. He's really out to make you a real man," Bill said.

Howard laughed, "I don't like to do any of that stuff. Yet I get stuck with all the hard chores because I'm the only boy in my family. My sisters don't do anything around the house. I swear, girls right?"

Nathan gave Howard a disturbed look, "You should complain more?"

Jody frowned, "I have to work just as hard as any boy. I have to take out the trash, and I do all the landscaping, including mowing the lawn."

"You're an exception," Nathan said, "You're practically a guy."

"What do you mean by that?" Jody asked quietly with a sudden blush, unable to make eye contact with anyone, "I'm not practically a guy. I'm just as much a girl as any other...."

Howard forced a mocking laugh as he gave Jody a playful punch on the shoulder.

"It's not funny!" Jody yelled, "Women can do anything men can, and in most cases, they do it better!"

"My family worked the coal mines for generation, and I've never heard of a woman mining coal, doesn't that prove something?" Howard said.

Jody smiled sadistically, "It proves that the men in your family were too ignorant to get real jobs."

"That's just ignorant Jody," Nathan started. "Why do you always have to be so touchy? You have to admit that women are at least different physically. There's no way a normal girl could keep up with Bill on the football field or block a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound defensive back like Howard. Also, there's the whole upper back strength thing. Also, you don't have to register for the draft and if you do choose a military career, they make it easier for you. Also, you get scholarships I can't ever hope to get without needing to even do anything for them. Let's be honest, do any of you think I would've been able to beat Flemming if I was a girl?"

"No way!" Bill said emphatically.

"Why not?" Jody asked, clenching her fists on the table, "You knocked Darrell off balance using the methods your dad taught you. If I would've had a teacher like your father, I could've used the same technique to beat him, and if I'd been a little more focused, I might've represented the Academy instead of you."

"Give me a break," Nathan said, "I defeated you in thirty seconds flat. You may have come in second to me, but it wasn't because you were good. It was because everyone else was terrible. And you'd have to be a hulk to beat Flemming; you don't even begin to know the extent of his strength. Even a gorilla girl like yourself could never beat him. That's why men and women don't compete together in sports. It wouldn't be a fair match. It's just common-sense."

"You... self-assured... chauvinist jerk face-wad! I wish you were a girl. Then maybe I'd actually like you a little bit," Jody said, standing up. Since Nathan was holding his third slice of pizza, she took the opportunity to push it into his face. "I refuse to sit here and be insulted by a bunch of toxic, insecure, macho, stupid, meatballs any longer!"

"You must have really struck a nerve," Bill said as the door clanged on Jody's exit, "And here I thought she was one of us. Girls never change."

Nathan was left sitting with pizza smeared across his face. Howard broke out into raucous laughter. The remains of the pizza were squeezed into Nathan's fist as he resisted throwing it. Instead, Nathan pounded the disheveled slice against the counter, only succeeding in mashing the sauce all through his fingers while splattering it over the booth. This only made Howard laugh all the harder, though Bill protested because drops of red sauce sprinkled his shirt.

"I need to wash up," Nathan said.

In the restroom, Nathan washed the tomato sauce off his face and out of his hair with hand lotion and tap water, drying himself off with paper towels. By the time he'd finished the parlor was empty, Howard and Bill had greedily finished off the remaining pizza, leaving the mess behind and the bill for him to pay. Some friends, he thought. It was only six o'clock, and already the celebration was over. As he hopped on his bike, the old man in the black cape from the gym watched from across the street, but disappeared into an alley before Nathan ever noticed him.

"She didn't have to rub pizza in my face," Nathan mumbled.