Jay paced back and forth inside the makeshift ring. The storm sage had said to focus on compression and expansion. Akira said to relate that to something he knew. The problem was how.

Jay took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air before forcing it out. After ten minutes of blanking on a solution, Jay noticed the motion of his breathing. As he breathed in, his lungs expanded, stretching out to let in as much oxygen as possible. Expansion. Then they all squeezed back, expunging the carbon dioxide from his body. His lungs now far smaller than half a second before. Compression.

Breathing seemed nothing like thunder. But blood and magnetism were an even stranger pair, and that worked for Akira.

Jay sat. He closed his eyes. Solely focusing on the motion of his lungs. Expansion. Compression. Expansion. Compression. He delved deeper into the mechanics of breathing, exploring how each movement contributed to the whole process. Subconscious processes rose to the surface. Jay had never thought to fully control his breathing mechanics, his lungs did pretty well on their own. But now he focused on the whole chain of command.

The heart was ever-present. Its metronomic pulse providing stability and certainty to the rest of the system. But his other muscles also followed a rhythm of their own. Jay's intercostal muscles never moved on their own, they didn’t need to. His diaphragm was the same. What use was drawing air into the lungs if there was barely any space for it?

They had to work together. Both muscles needed to contribute to the cycle of expansion and compression.

Jay's ribcage expanded, creating space for his lungs. His diaphragm responded, contracting and making even more space. The vacuum forced air into Jay's lungs, into his blood. But then they had to go back. It was a cycle after all. Jay's chest collapsed on his lungs. Forcing the air, and all the carbon dioxide stored within it, out of his body.

It was all a cycle. Compression. Expansion. Compression. Expansion.

Once Jay felt in tune with his own cycle. He tried to relate this to the cycle of thunder.

Trying to create a thunderclap was a dangerous thing. Last time Jay did it, the explosion sent him soaring in the air. It was even more dangerous when all your focus was right in the middle of your torso. Jay's muscles might be able to handle another explosion. His squishy organs… Probably less likely.

The worry infiltrated Jay's mind, and once it got there it stuck. He couldn’t go five breaths without imagining his insides spread out across every inch of the training room. The only wall spared from the brutal red paintjob would be the one with Akira's horrified silhouette on it.

Maybe I’ll try something else.

----------------------------------------

Jay got up and started pacing again. Why didn’t the breathing work? Was it because he was afraid? Or was it too far from the true nature of thunder? Although it contained the cycle of expansion and contraction, it lacked explosiveness. It didn’t fully match.

Giving up on the breathing, Jay looked for something else. He felt he was on the right tracks with breathing. Jay was a boxer, not a scholar. He didn’t have the conceptualization of a scientist like Akira, nor did he have the rhetorical flexibility of a poet like the storm sage. But for the last seventeen years he’d trained his body into a well-oiled machine.

Focusing on something like the iron in his blood was never gonna work for Jay. He needed something he knew, something concrete, and there was nothing, even boxing, that Jay knew better than his own body.

People often called athletes stupid. People were often right, but not entirely. The reality was that athletes cultivated a completely different type of intelligence to what most people viewed as “intelligence”.

Most people saw intelligence as a great scientist, inferring the tiniest details from an equation and solving the mysteries of the universe. Or a novelist, intricately placing words on a page to delicately draw emotions from the minds of their readers. But a great athlete's intelligence was focused almost entirely inwards.

An athlete precisely understood the capabilities of their body, a great athlete knew the exact commands to draw every drop of potential from it.

Coach had always stressed the importance of bodily intelligence. Jay didn’t get it initially, he just wanted to punch faster. But eventually he saw its importance. A fighter who didn’t know their body was like a general that didn’t know their army. Doomed to failure.

“If you really think about it. Your muscles are just a bunch of tiny pistons. Each one can only expand and contract. It’s when you combine them, that you can do the fancy stuff. But to do that, you need to know each muscle personally.”

Jay replayed Coach’s words in his mind. Were his muscles the link that he was looking for?

Breathing had the cyclic nature, but it was missing something. The ferocity. The pace. The pure force that came from pushing air so hard that a shockwave echoed for miles after. Jay opened his eyes and raised his hand to his chest. He felt his bicep contract as his arm folded. He threw a jab. Tension released from his bicep as his arm straightened. The tension returned when he pulled his fist back. Pent up force, itching to be set free.

With this new perspective, Jay started moving around instead of sitting and breathing. He looked for the simultaneous expansion and contraction in each step he took.

Left leg forward. Compress the quad. Now there’s room for the hamstring to extend. Right leg has to tense. It’s supporting the full body weight until the left step finishes. Left foot hits the floor. Right leg relaxes. Slightly.

Left arm raises, hand touching the chest. Shoulders need to hold tight to keep it up. Bicep is fully compressed.

Throw the jab.

Chest: Push. Contract.

Tricep: Push. Contract.

Bicep: Release. Expand

Core: Brace. Contract

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Back: Relax. Expand

Jay danced around the ring. Eyes closed, intensely focused on every movement. Each movement was a cycle in and of itself. For one thing to expand, another must contract. But each contraction didn’t just support other movements, it readied itself. Storing energy for the next burst.

Jay felt the individual beads of sweat extrude from his pores, supremely aware of every aspect of his body. He only made simple movements, but the focus required to consciously track every muscle wore out Jay's mind.

With every motion, Jay focused more on each individual compression and expansion. There were no shockwaves yet. But when he threw a big punch, Jay felt reverberations in his muscles. Echoes bouncing inside his body.

Jay's eyes flicked open. A glass bottle arced towards him.

Shoulder contracts, pulling the arm up. Tricep expands, making space. Forearm contracts, pulling the fingers open.

He caught the bottle.

“Nice interpretive dance you got there; you should probably take a break though. Are you any closer?” Akira said.

“Getting there. But not yet. I can keep going though.”

“I know you can. But should you?”

Jay took a swig and poured some water over his head. He was getting closer to creating his first thunder wave. Jay didn’t need a break right now. He needed a final push to get over the hump. “How about you? Did you learn anything from the sparring session?”

“I think so.” Akira said, scratching his forehead. “I’ll need to test it out though.”

“Round four? I think being in a fight might help me channel the thunder essence. I can tell I’m close.”

“Hell yeah!”

Akira ran out of the coliseum to try and find boxing gloves, or at least something close. Sparring to touch was fine, but it wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even close. Contact, even at twenty or fifty percent, was necessary to develop useful habits.

Jay would stick to the basics this fight. The simplest, most foundational movements. Each step, each punch, would be one he'd done millions of times before. To understand his overlap with thunder, he needed to understand himself as much as possible. That meant doing the things most familiar to him.

When Akira returned, he threw a pair of blue gloves at Jay.

“You’re giving me the blue pair?” Jay said, letting the gloves fall to the floor.

“Oh. Maybe I just don’t know enough about boxing.” Akira said in the least convincing voice possible. “I thought the higher ranked fighter got the red gloves. I’m rank fifteen, and you’re… Not.”

“Point taken. Prick.” Jay couldn’t wait to knock the shit eating grin off his opponent’s face. Akira had got him with that one.

Jay forced himself to stop thinking of what he’d do the second he overtook Akira in the rankings. Akira was in another universe to him right now. He had to focus on the task at hand. He had a thunderclap to make.

Jay tightened his rustic padded gloves and redrew the lines in the gravel. Refamiliarizing himself with the ring. Jay walked into his corner, the blue corner, and waved Akira over. He’d already warmed up.

Akira didn’t rush in this time, so Jay took the initiative. He raised his gloves to his temples, the first thing you learned inside a boxing gym. He slid his left foot forward slightly, before following with his right.

The second thing you learned inside a boxing gym.

Akira stood still, too still, he wasn’t bouncing on his feet or moving around the ring. Just standing there. Waiting for Jay to strike. Jay obliged, stepping just within range and jabbing. Jay's left shot out like a bullet. There was no power behind it, its purpose was to make the opponent react and provide Jay with information. Akira effortlessly pawed the punch down, then brought his guard back up. He moved as little possible, daring Jay to try and find an opening.

If there wasn’t an opening, Jay would just have to make one. He kept jabbing, each time altering the angle slightly and analysing how Akira responded. Jay focused on compression and expansion with every punch. Hitting Akira was good, great even, but Jay had a more important goal. He noted the variations in each jab, the different preparations needed for each one.

The jab might be the most cyclic, methodical attack in all of fighting. To start, Jay's left arm was entirely compressed, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Then he released it. It didn’t matter if there was an opening or not. The jab attacked relentlessly. All the tension releasing into one stiff punch. Whether the fist landed, got blocked, or missed completely didn’t matter. After each attempt it returned, recompressed, and prepared to go again.

Jay kept jabbing. Inside his range but, more importantly, outside his opponent’s. Akira didn’t give him much, but Jay didn’t mind. Each punch brought him closer to the essence of thunder.

A twitch in his opponent’s thigh let Jay know Akira was tired of waiting. Akira slipped outside one of Jay's jabs, using Jay's own arm to block his vision. He switched stances, leading with his right foot, and twisting his wide hook upwards into Jay's ribcage. Jay couldn’t block fast enough. He accepted the hit, but not without giving one back.

Jay winced as Akira smashed his ribs, they weren’t tapping each other anymore. Jay countered with a right, but it fizzed against Akira’s blocking red glove.

Was that…

Akira continued pushing, refusing to take a step back. He constantly switched between orthodox and southpaw, making it almost impossible for Jay to get a read on him. Fighting in a no-rules coliseum was bound to lead to a boxing style unconstrained by convention, but Akira made it work. Jay continued to throw his jab out, but he no longer felt the essence of thunder in his limp punches.

Perhaps power was a bigger part of thunder essence than he first thought. Yes, it was cyclic, but that missed a key part. Force. Every sound wave was made of compression and expansion. Not every sound was a thunderclap. Thunder was only born from the immense power of a lightning bolt.

If Jay wanted to recreate it, he’d need power too. Jay's right fist called out to him. He’d barely used it this fight. This was its moment.

Jay kept backpedalling, steering Akira around the ring, hunting for his chance. Akira didn’t make it easy though. His chameleon-like stance switching left a ton of openings for Jay to exploit, but it slammed them shut moments later. Ambidextrous switch-hitters were rare, and most didn’t blend their stances half as well as Akira did. He shifted his weight seamlessly, seeming light as a feather when he stepped in before planting his foot with such force the ground shook.

But that strength was also a weakness. A quick entrance was great because it brought you closer to your opponent. But it was also terrible because it brought you closer to your opponent. It all depended on who had the faster fists.

Jay knew Akira was going for a smash from the southpaw stance, he’d already landed it once this fight and it was tailor made for his unorthodox style. That’s what he’d aim for.

Jay had a target. Now he just needed to set the trap and lay the bait.

Right fist cocked and ready to fire. Jay retreated with larger steps than before. This small adjustment had two purposes. Firstly, it slowed Jay down, giving Akira more opportunities to drive in. More opportunities to take the bait. Secondly, it put more weight on Jay's back foot.

If you trained enough, you could get pretty strong arms. But there’s a reason the glutes are the biggest muscle in the body. A reason the average person’s legs are four times stronger than their arms. No amount of training can equal supporting the weight of your body every time you stood up.

There was also a reason the right straight was generally the most powerful punch a human could throw. It could utilise the legs more than any other punch. More weight on your back leg meant you could transfer more power to your back fist.

It meant you could transfer more power to your opponent’s face too.

Jay was betting it all on one punch, he had to. Compression and expansion were fine, but thunder needed raw power too.

Jay waited until his opponent switched to southpaw before he let out a weak stretching jab, overextending his shoulder. Jay took a big step back, compressing his right leg. Akira took the bait. Stepping in deep with his right foot.

Jay drew his left arm back. The entirety of his weight pressed into the gravel underneath his right foot. He began to push. The ball of Jay's foot twisted. Directly facing his target. Every string of muscle in Jay's leg pushed down. Grinding the earth into dust.

Now that he'd set it up, Jay's right fist awoke from its slumber. Over a hundred kilos of heavyweight boxer pushed the earth. The earth pushed back. Jay's arm extended like a piston, unleashing all his strength in only one dimension.

Akira’s raised gloves guarded his head, so Jay’s right fist trained in on his ribcage.

And nothing was there to stop it.