Max followed along, wondering what was going to happen. If everybody involved continued to be polite and play nice, so would he. But he'd lived a long time and even without his current financial worries, had a very short tolerance for nonsense. For Imperial Dojo's sake, he hoped they were bringing him inside for kind and honorable reasons.

The dojo itself was the nicest that Max had ever seen on earth. There were another double set of doors after the first before entering one large central room, four open rooms off of it. All the auxiliary rooms were for different things, with different equipment. One of the four side rooms had weapons on three walls and was large enough for anybody to to practice with the weapons. There was probably room for three people with spears to do forms.

Overhead lighting was artfully clear and consistent. The back wall had an office and a door leading to the men's and women's bathroom, and presumably showers.

At least three boxing rings were spaced around the dojo, maybe more. Cushions in strategic places suggested there was a way to add poles and ropes in the middle of the floor to create an official sized boxing ring.

Everything was clean, there were even flush TV screens in some of the walls. Two screens were being used as Max walked in. At one, a student was practicing a weapons form while watching video instruction. The other was being used by two students watching a replay of a slow spar they'd just done.

Wow, thought Max. I don't even want to think about what a place like this costs per month.

As soon as Max walked in the door, everyone's heads snapped up. He counted thirteen other people in the dojo. And the facilities were large enough, it still seemed empty. There were eleven men and two women, and they all looked tough as nails. All of the men were of various builds and ages, but they all had a certain aura that Max was familiar with. Despite that, he kept holding on hope that everybody here was going to be cool.

A man walked over, smiled at Tom and Max, and then asked, "Is your name Max, right?"

"Uh-huh," nodded Max. "I was hoping I could get a part-time job teaching here."

"Nice," said the man. "My name is Larry. Larry Elmore. I'm the owner and manager of the dojo area of Imperial Gym."

Max said, "Cool. So…Imperial Dojo?. He couldn’t remember the exact name of the place after his quick internet search and just assumed that the martial arts area would have a separate name from the gym. And since it was close to another business he knew about, he hadn’t needed to plug the name into his phone for directions, either. He’d only skimmed the name back in his apartment.

Larry laughed like Max just made the funniest joke in the world. But he kept his face blank. The situation felt really awkward and he wasn't really getting great vibes.

"So we might be able to work something out with you," said Larry. "But we have a reputation to uphold."

Embarrassingly late, Max realized how he’d messed up. After all, this was a job interview of sorts, and walking into a job interview without knowing anything about where you supposedly wanted to work–like its name–was never a good look. He schooled his expression but noticed when Larry's eyes tightened.

"So that was a good question," said Larry.

No, it wasn't, he thought to himself.

Larry continued, "It seems like MMA studios are springing up like weeds lately. You know what MMA stands for, right?"

"Mixed martial arts," Max said, knowing that it was kind of an insulting question but feeling like he might have deserved a little bit for the one he just asked.

Larry nodded like a passive-aggressive insult hadn't just been delivered and said, "That's right. It's really trendy for any school these days to call themselves mixed martial arts and throw a few random things together and tell students that they're the next best thing since sliced bread. After all, every martial art in the world were all highly segregated or geographically separated, and merely combining your peanut butter and your jelly makes for a better combo, right?" His tone was obviously sarcastic.

Max nodded.

"And we all know there is some truth to that but at the same time even though peanut butter and jelly is a good combo, peanut butter and mustard probably isn't. It takes a high degree of mastery of multiple martial arts to truly know what works well together. And on top of that, we have plenty of combative sports now that have proven how effective or ineffective some martial arts can be in the real world. However, at Imperial, we approach all this from the philosophy that there are two types of ‘MMA.’ There's the MMA that people watch on TV, the kind with rules. And then there's the MMA for actual self-defense where your goal is to incapacitate your opponent by any means necessary."

Max nodded again, feeling a mix of emotions. He could see where this was going, and it aligned with his own beliefs. In fact, if he had continued his sales pitch from earlier, he honestly might have said something similar. However, Max didn't think Larry's perspective on real-world combatives was quite the same as his, considering Max had fought and killed hand-to-hand for centuries.

Larry said, "Our dojo has extremely high standards and a first class reputation. We do get occasional people like yourself who would like to teach here, not only because they can make money, but also for the prestige."

"Uh-huh," Max replied. Even though what Larry was saying hadn’t occurred to Max before, as soon as the words were out the other man’s mouth, he knew it probably wasn’t a lie. This was a very ritzy facility, and based on some of the customers he’d seen on the gym side, there was definitely an affluent group of people who came here. He didn't understand it himself, but there were always people out there who wanted to try to rub shoulders with the rich, as if they thought money was contagious or something.

"So here's the deal," said Larry, smiling in a way that didn't seem so friendly. Max noticed that some of the others in the gym or dojo had moved closer to hear the conversation. "How about this? You put on pads and spar with us. We see how you do, and if you impress us, you can teach. But if you lose, maybe you can become a member here." He grinned. "That seems fair, huh?"

Max scratched his nose and gave him a blank expression. Now that the gig was up, he realized that his suspicion hadn't been too far off the mark. Although Larry was doing a good job appearing friendly, a glance around at the others in the dojo showed him the truth. He saw ugly expectation and disdain. Max didn't know if it was for him personally, or if it was true that there were others who had tried to come and teach before. Probably the latter. But he could imagine what some of the students watching were thinking.

Here he was, some arrogant stranger with an average body, popping up out of nowhere, barging in during business hours, asking to teach at their prestigious, expensive facility. From that perspective, their less than friendly attitudes made sense.

A side of himself that Max didn't love—an ugly side, but one that had served him well over his life—began to growl at the back of his mind. At this point he should just leave. Ultimately, all of this was fairly petty, but he had nothing else to do, and it might not hurt to blow off some steam.

Max smiled like he was clueless and agreed.

Only a few minutes later, he walked out of the locker room attached to the men's restroom and surveyed how the center room was laid out now. He had half expected there to be a boxing ring set up, but there wasn't. Instead, everybody who had been in the dojo before was standing in the four open rooms off the main room to watch but be out of the way. In the middle of the main room was one of the Max had seen before, one of the guys watching footage of a previous spar.

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He was a big guy, probably two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, and he grinned at Max. The grin was friendly, the eyes were predatory.

Max had taken his time stretching in the locker room, asking himself how he wanted to play this. None of the people in this dojo had been actually evil so far. After all, they'd even supplied him with a cup and some extra padding if he'd wanted to use it. However, Max still didn't know exactly how all of this was going to play out. But he definitely hadn’t signed up for this little exhibition to be somebody else's punching bag.

He’d come out of the locker room with head padding, a mouth guard, and some basic martial arts grappling gloves. After scanning the room he’d noticed that his opponent was basically outfitted the same exact way. Max walked up to the center and Larry stood to one side. The dojo manager said, "You're brave, Max. I'll give you that. I know it can't be easy to walk into a dojo like this and challenge it."

Mx spit his mouth guard into his hand and said, "Challenge it?"

"Of course," said Larry. "Isn't that what you're doing? If you walk in here asking to teach, that means that you think you're at least as good as the instructors here, if not better."

He almost said something gracious, but then that inner snarling beast in the back of his brain made him reconsider. So all he responded with was, "That's right."

A few of the students around him muttered. But Larry didn't bat an eye, just smiled widely again. "Well let me introduce you to Jefferson here." He pointed at the big looming man with gloves on. "Jefferson is an assistant instructor at Imperial. And even though he isn't one of the best at our dojo, he's still more than good enough to teach here."

Jefferson nodded with a stony face and a frown like he was at a weigh in at a pay-per-view match.

"Cool. My name is Max." He gave the introduction with an absolute deadpan tone and felt gratified when one of the students began to chuckle before getting elbowed in the gut by one of the other students.

"Fair enough," said Larry with another one of his fake smiles. "So, the rules are simple. There are no rules. Do your best not to cause lasting harm, and Jefferson will too. Don't be afraid to tap out if things get scary, or hairy, or painful. But other than that, this is going to be by our combat MMA rules, which is–," he said and held up a hand.

"There are no rules!" chorused all of the surrounding students.

Max thought about all the paperwork he’d signed before and the rolled up copy he had in the back of his pants. He saw sly smirks among some of the students.

"Do you agree to this?" asked Larry. “You can always quit now if you’re scared or have any regrets.”

After making a show of thinking it over, Max snapped his fingers and said, "Sure, sounds fun."

"All right." Larry moved into one of the four rooms and the others back up as well. "Begin whenever you're ready. Go ahead and touch gloves."

Max shrugged and walked over to Jefferson, who had his glove up, giving him a light tap. A split second later, the man took a heavy step forward and delivered a savage kick aimed at the side of the leg. He decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt and assume the strike wasn’t actually intended for his knee. But with such a powerful kick from a big man, it could still cause serious damage to someone untrained.

Sometimes, intention mattered a lot. The same things holding Max back from easily getting a teaching job in martial arts also provided context for this first exchange. He had no doubt that after Jefferson’s kick, he was planning a cross to the chin with all his weight behind it to knock Max out.

In the locker room, when he had been trying to decide how he wanted to play this, he’d wondered if he should spar more like people on this world did, or drag it out, or if he should be serious. Max already definitely decided not to be serious because that would have ended up with a dead opponent and lots more problems in his life that he just didn't need. Not only that, it wasn't worth killing somebody just for some hurt pride or petty gaff.

Ultimately, he’d decided to go easy if his sparring partner was polite and not trying to go too hard. But if his opponent used strikes or power that could really hurt a normal person–which these people obviously thought he was–he was going to react by fighting a bit unconventionally. He’d respond in a way that not many people, if anybody else on this world, even could.

With the skill of over one hundred years of experience, Max dipped down, moved his weight forward, and caught Jefferson's shin directly on his knee. Instead of a clean kick to the side of the leg that the other man had been expecting, all of his force was concentrated on the one bony spot on Max’s knee. The people watching might assume that Max had fared even worse. Blocking a kick like that with a knee was a great way to wind up in the hospital. Except Max’s stats were different. His body was strengthened with mana, which not only made him stronger, but also more durable.

Jefferson grunted in pain and fell back, studying Max. The man was obviously hurting. Meanwhile, Max felt right as rain. But he decided not to move. In fact, he didn't even drop into any kind of ready stance. He just stood there.

Max could tell Jefferson wasn't quite sure what to do or what to make of what had just happened. By all accounts, Max should have been in more pain than Jefferson right now. Eventually, maybe because of the weighty looks of his fellow students, the big man moved in, trying to set up a simple combo on Max. One, two, three punches in lightning quick succession: his gut, head, and one last elbow at his jaw or temple are.

How rude, he thought. It was the last strike that actually pissed him off and made him decide to truly stop playing nice.

If that blow had connected and he were a normal person, he absolutely could have wound up in the hospital, maybe even worse. Whether intentional or not, this spar had moved past being a little mean into overkill. He didn’t know if Jefferson actually meant to do that. It could be that he trained so often a certain way, when he got stressed, he just defaulted to more serious, dangerous martial arts. Max saw the other man’s eyes widen a little bit even as he threw the strike, so there might have been some truth to this theory. But what was done was done.

Max blocked all three strikes easily, the last one by raising his left hand up over his head and letting Jefferon’s elbow strike his arm. Then he counterattacked.

The two of them were extremely close so he stepped on his opponent’s leg above his ankle, directing force from behind. He didn't hear a snap, but he wasn't trying to break the bone. Jefferson’s leg buckled as he intended it to. Then with explosive power, he rotated and planted a blow right on the sweet spot of the jaw, using his fist as a hammer.

Jefferson was out cold before he hit the mat.

Silence fell in the dojo. The spell was broken when one student ran to the unconscious Jefferson and another angrily stomped towards Max. At this point, his irritation was actually still pretty high, so he looked dead at the big, angry guy approaching him and said, "This was a spar. Chill out."

“Ken, that's enough," said Larry. He made a gesture at the advancing man who stopped but didn't retreat. Ken continued to glare daggers at Max.

Thankfully, Jefferson was starting to wake up, but he was definitely not ready to stand on his own. His friend helped pick him up, and Jefferson winced as he tried to put weight on his ankle. Another student examined Jefferson's leg and ankle and sighed in relief.

"It's not broken, Sifu," the student said to Larry.

Larry nodded and gave Max a considering look. "Some might say that was a surprise attack or a sucker shot," he said.

"If ‘some’ might say that, then those some would be completely full of shit," he said. “Maybe special needs. How the hell can there be a surprise attack or even a cheap shot in an ‘anything goes’ spar?” Now that what was done was done, I didn't see much more value in pretending to be humble. "If he hadn't thrown that last elbow, I wouldn't have dropped him like that."

Now, some of the other students were muttering. He could see three of them near the first guy who had started forward, and they were developing that creepy aura people can get sometimes before they become a mob. I wasn't particularly worried. And Max thought more than anything else, his confidence was both holding them off and pissing off Larry. The man definitely meant what he said about his dojo's reputation. Or at least that was his perception of it.

Larry said, "You seem to truly have some skill, Max. Respect.” He turned. “Right? Right everyone?" He ran his eyes over the surrounding students. "Respect, right?"

"Respect," they muttered. The handful that looked like they wanted to jump me only moved their lips though. Larry smiled again, and now I knew for sure better than to trust it. He said, "Tell you what, Max, how about double or nothing?"

"What do you mean?" Max asked.

"How about this: You've already won your first spar fair and square. We all admit it, right?" The surrounding students reluctantly nodded, at least most of them. "But we can make it more interesting. How about... You already have the right to teach here, but... What if... We have another deal. You lose, you become a student, just like I mentioned before. But for at least a year. And have you ever, actually, wait. It looks like you're younger than twenty-five, right?”

After Max nodded, Larry continued, “You could be a very interesting participant in local MMA tournaments fighting for us. In some of them, young ages draw interest, too. But if you win this spar, we'll give you one thousand dollars today."

Bastard, thought Max. Asshole obviously thinks I can’t win, and he knows I need money. Out loud he said, "So if I lose, I need to fight for you and be your student. And if I win, I get some cash?"

"Exactly."

Max crossed his arms. "Show me the cash first. But I’m interested."