It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t because she had spent all that money on these Razens. They helped. They were useful. It wasn’t her fault Beady had died. This feeling that was growing inside her, Val thought it was because she wanted to fight, to feel that adrenaline pumping action all over again—that heart-stopping satisfaction of dodging shot after shot, losing her mind to the moment.
It was her calling. She was sure of it. This was the way to prove her worth. This was how she’d forget about everything that had once caused her pain. And to that, nothing else mattered. She’d focus only on herself. Nobody else. She would find that excitement again that sparked her interest in life. She would search to the ends of the earth to fill that void.
Fighting was the answer.
Through a bit of using her former connections as a thief, she managed to find an infamous underground boxing organization that took on whoever was available.
Rules were simple—the usual when it came to boxing like no kicking or hitting behind the head. But there were a few additional rules stating that stoppage of the fight usually relied on an inconsistent human referee and that no projectiles of any kind were allowed. And that was mostly it. Anyone could enter at a chance of winning some money, but nobody was liable for any injuries or repercussions. Weight differences were completely neglected, especially when cybernetics were involved.
She’d entered on the spot. And after dodging a few shots, she’d gotten knocked out within the first five seconds. But after waking up on a rickety bed, staring into a grimy, cement ceiling, she’d come to realize something else, something deeper than her initial interests in the sport—
Pain. She liked the pain. And that gritty, visceral feeling that came with it—she liked that too. It was a reminder of all that she’d done to her brother.
Beady was dead, and in a weird way, the pain had made her acknowledge that fact. It was relieving. She was finally getting what she’d deserved. She was finally getting her punishment, her consequences for letting her little brother die so pitifully without having seen any part of the world she’d so dearly wished to share with him.
She wouldn’t forget this feeling.
With that acknowledgement, she also understood how it helped her forget. Every shot to her gut made her feel like she’d deserved it, and every punch to her head helped her forget about her regrets. So with a new raving starvation for injuries, she signed up for more. And she kept going, week after week, only to last a few seconds longer than her last. She kept fighting, incurring injury after injury, managing to impress even the greatest underground boxers with the longest loss streak anyone from that ring had ever seen. And eventually, she was rewarded for her persistence.
It was only because of her Razens that she’d recovered mostly unscathed from her bouts. With each and every punch thrown her way, she’d instinctively managed to dodge the worst of them. And as her utilization of her eyes improved, her speed soon followed.
Slowly, she started taking less hits. Her awareness heightened, and the use of her x-ray vision enhanced with every match. Instead of getting blindsided by a flurry of punches, she was jumping around almost with an aura of grace and elegance. Her dodging became so advanced that eventually—
She started to win.
Her punches were weak, but when she was dodging nearly every and any attack, it was inevitable that people would notice. She gained recognition amongst the crowd, and soon, a title was given to her by the masses. A new nickname from her success—
Dancing Valerina.
But as soon as her fights became easier, she started to drink again. There were less distractions, less pain. Not enough of anything to fill that gaping hole inside. And after dodging so many punches, she couldn’t even manage to drown her incessant thoughts out.
One night, before a major match, her next opponent walked up to her, hands raised above his chest in a fighting stance. There was nobody around in the dark alleyway where she always drank herself to death. Only a streetlight dim enough to show her where she’d left her bottles of beer. So when the first shot from her future opponent came, Val got struck right smack in the center of her face.
“Wha—what the fuck, dude!” she slurred her words. “The fight’s tomorrow. Wait your”—she hiccuped—“turn.”
The man readied another punch. “I ain’t losing to a fucking drunk ass bitch.” He struck, but it barely missed her head. “Get up. I know you ain’t shit.”
“Oh.” She pulled herself up. “So you wanna go?” She raised her hands, still swaying left and right. “You-you fucking… coward.” Then she gestured for him to attack. “Come on. You’re no match for me. You can’t hit—”
He punched her square in the abdomen. She gurgled up an entire wave of vomit and fell to her knees.
“You, ugh…” She lurched back, resting her spinning head on the fence behind her. “You’re weak! You dirty f—” She vomited a second time. This time, it splashed all over her shirt and torn jeans.
“Fuck, man. Disgusting piece of shit.” He spat on her face. The slimy goo dripped down her cheeks. “If you never came, I’d still be at the top!” His hands slowly fell to his side. Then he grabbed her by her hair and leaned in closer. “Don’t even think about showing up tomorrow.” He threw her head to the side and started walking away, spitting quiet insults along the way.
She managed to pull herself up just enough to shout, “Come back, coward! If I weren’t so”—she hiccuped again, almost choking on her own spit—“so drunk, you…” Her eyes started to blur. Maybe she’d had too much again. “You…” As her eyes tiredly fluttered to stay open, she saw a shadowy figure approach her. “You coming back? You—”
“Lass?”
The voice didn’t sound familiar.
“You fine, lass? Hey!”
She heard him say something else, but it sounded muffled, far away. “Who…” she managed to rasp out, but she couldn’t finish her sentence. And before she could hear another word, her eyes rolled back.
For a brief second, she thought she heard a familiar cry…
…
“Beady!” Val bolted up. “Bead—what?” She felt around; it was soft. A bed? She didn’t have a bed. She usually slept on the floor.
She looked around. This wasn’t her room. Her room was an old one-room apartment she had rented out through her boxing winnings. This place looked better. Not too much better but still better.
“Where the hell—agh!” Her head ached like she’d been hit by a baseball bat.
“Here.” A gruff voice entered from her right. “Water.”
“Thanks—huh?” She was handed a glass of water, but the voice came from below the bed frame. How was that even possible unless they were lying down? Small hands, rough by the texture, and a gruff, intense voice. Why were they on the floor…
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh.” Her questions were answered the moment she’d peered down the side of the bed. A short, intimidating looking man with an even gnarlier looking beard stared her back—the face of an old-time biker if she’d ever seen one. Out of all the opponents she’d ever fought, this man looked the scariest. Like one wrong move and she’d regret it kind of scary.
“What? Haven’t seen a dwarf ‘fore? If ya got a problem, say it to my face!” The man’s brows curled, one hand to his hip. He glared back with an intense expression, almost like he was waiting for some kind of specific response.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“No, you’re just… not what I expected to see this morning.”
He stared for a long while, eyes completely expressionless. Then he bursted out into a hearty laughter. “Hah! I’m just messin’ with ya.” He shoved the glass of water forcefully into her hand all while quietly chuckling under his breath. “Take it. It’ll help you with your hangover.”
“Right…” She swallowed a few gulps, eyes still trained on the random stranger and the room around her.
“It’s fine, lass. I ain’t gonna bite.” He grinned uncharacteristically brightly before taking a seat on a small stool across from her. He then pointed at her shirt. There was a large vomit stain in the center. “What have ya done to get so out of the element?”
“Oh, I…” Then she remembered something, and her eyes widened. “Shit! I got a fight!” She pulled the sheets off and tried to get out of the bed but immediately collapsed back the moment she’d gotten on her feet. A low, gurgling groan escaped her throat.
Hangovers. She hated them. But it wasn’t like this was anything new. Why did it feel so much worse?
“You should rest, lass. A hit like that on the head ain’t gonna heal in a day.”
“Hit?” Then she remembered. Bits and pieces of the scene the night before came back—her opponent had come to take her out before the official match.
But a contract was a contract, and money was money. She needed to go even if she were in this sorry state. It wasn’t like they’d care if she called in sick or told them that her opponent punched her before the fight.
Morals? She smirked. Of course they don’t have that here.
“Stop.” The man moved between her and the door. “You’re in no shape. You’ll just come back with more permanent injuries, lass.”
“Thanks, old man, but I think I know myself better than you.” She tried to move past him without being rude, but he continued to block her way. “Seriously, I gotta go.” Her patience slowly wore thin.
“You gonna fight like that? Really think you can win?”
“I’m not going there to win.”
“Well, you should.”
She could feel her nose twitch just a bit. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t know me.”
“You’re living like an animal, lass. Not even a care in the world.” He shook his head almost in pity. “I can tell. You weren’t kicked out. So tell me, did ya leave your family behind to become like this?”
“Leave…” Her voice trembled. She could feel something boiling inside. “My family behind? You—” No, take a deep breath, she told herself. It’s not worth it. He’s just riling you up, Val. He doesn’t know.
“Why else would you live like this?” he remarked. “I’ve seen you fight, lass. You’re good. But you’re killin’ yourself. I can tell. You like the pain. I don’t got a clue why, but you like it. Like ya got some sadness built up in ya. Think people can’t tell?”
“Shut up.”
“I get it right—”
“Shut up!” Something snapped inside her. “You’re not my dad! Why do you fucking care?”
“Because I want to help ya.”
The old man gazed straight into her with those piercing eyes. The moment he’d said those words, she could tell—he wasn’t lying.
“You want pain, don’t ya? But me?” He gestured towards himself. “I want to see ya soar. Because I’ve got an eye for potential. I can help you get to the big leagues.”
“What do you fuckin’ get out if it?” She wasn’t going to fall for any dirty tricks. It had been far too long since she’d lived out here in the slums.
“I’m livin’ fine and mighty—”
“You call this fine and mighty?”
“It’s fine and mighty to me.” He nodded, eyeing her as if to check if she was still listening. “And I’m just doin’ this for myself. Call it whatever ya want, but I don’t want someone like you rottin’ away out here.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“Don’t think of it like that. You’re doin’ a favor for me. I really do want to see you fly, lass. And that ain’t no lie.” He sighed. “Look at me. Do I look like I could be a boxer?”
“Uh—”
“I’m no boxer. I know that better than anyone. And I won’t cyber-up my body for it either. That’s just my personal code that I live by.”
“So… what are you trying to say?”
“I wanted to be a boxer—a living legend. I wanted to fight, tussle, do all those small things everyone else could do without battin’ an eye.” He leaned in a little closer. “You know how that feels? When you can’t do what everyone else can? To me, that’s like rottin’ away. And I don’t wanna see that happen to someone who has everything to become the best.” He then suddenly fell to his knees.
“The fuck are you doing?”
“Please,” he pleaded. “Let me live my dream through you.” Val could almost feel the sincerity dripping from his words. “I’m no scammer, lass. I’m just hopin’ big one last time before I go. I don’t got no other reasons.”
“Fuck, really?” She took a deep breath. Right now, all she could see was an old man who was determined to see things through. Her anger was gone. In its place, she felt admiration for somebody who had something she couldn’t have—a genuine drive. “Fine,” she reluctantly replied. “How’re you gonna help me then?”
“I ain’t no pushover, lass.” He motioned towards the back of the room. There in the corner was a bunch of electronic equipment, gizmos. There were hammers, nails, even anvils.
“What the hell even is all that?”
“My gym,” he replied. “And my house, I guess.”
“Your gym? What kind of gym has hammers?” She took another swift look around. “And anvils?”
“Ah, that’s because I’m what you’d call a punksmith.”
“Punksmith? The hell’s that?”
“I’m no doc, but I can make and break cyber-ups. And installin’s pretty easy too since I got the experience.”
“Seriously? Cyber-ups?” She looked him over. This old man? She could imagine him banging metal with those bulky arms of his, but to install cybernetics throughout her entire body… Could he really do that? His fingers looked like massive sausages, not like those intricate surgeon knives she’d seen before.
“Don’t trust me, do ya?” He chuckled. “You’ll see.”
“Okay, sure.” Benefit of the doubt. “But still, why’s it a gym?”
The man opened a door, revealing an entire boxing ring and a few worn-out, leathery sand bags. “That’s why.”
“Shit…” An entire boxing gym on the other side? “How big is this place?”
“It ain’t that big. This is all there is to it. A boxing gym in the front, this workshop in the back”—he pointed out the window beside the bed—“and a small backyard.”
“Wait, but why do you have all this? You box?” Didn’t he just mention that he couldn’t be a boxer? But maybe she’d heard wrong? She’d honestly still never heard of boxers of his stature.
“I teach,” he corrected. “Like I said before, I ain’t got the height for that. I think I’m pretty good at it though. Teaching that is.”
“Oh, that’s why you said that…” She’d thought about getting taught before, but she never had the chance. Money was tight between her rent and her precious alcohol. And how much better would teaching make her? Experience was her best coach. But if I can get him to teach me for free…
What had once started as an obsession to punish herself eventually became her entirety. Boxing was her life now, and to that, she had a goal, a dream that grew bigger along the way.
Deep down, she wanted to win. She wanted to go pro, reach for the stars. She wanted to show Beady what she had once promised—the world. If he was watching from up there somewhere, she wanted to win and show him a world where things were going right for once. A world where she and her brother could’ve happily lived together, where everything had worked out.
She wanted to show him that she could keep going, that she could finally be proud of herself. She wanted to be in a world where if Beady were still there, she’d finally have no regrets left to fear.
She’d finally be free from her past.
“Havin’ doubts, are we? You don’t think I can teach?” The man snorted, shaking his head in disapproval. “Like all the others, I say. You just—”
“Teach me!”
“W-what was that?” The man seemed startled by the response.
“You have to teach me!”
“Well, ‘course! I was plannin’ on it.”
“Promise you’ll make me great?”
“I promise I’ll make you champ, lass.”
“I want no less.”
The man bursted out into another hearty bout of laughter.
“W-what?” Her face went beet red. “Did I say something weird?”
He held out his hand.
“The hell?” She looked at him funny. “What are you doing?”
“Shake it.”
“Shake it?” She grabbed his hand and shook, eying him suspiciously. “Like… that?”
The man smiled wide, grinning from ear to ear. “Nice doing business with ya, Ms. Briarwood.”
“How did you know that?” She’d never once mentioned her family name to anyone. She hated that name. “Don’t ever call me that.”
The old man was slightly taken aback, but it only took a second for him to adapt. “I didn’t know you—ah, not to worry. I won’t make that mistake again. I can promise you that. Now, here’s to a new potential world champion!” His eyes brimmed with fire—a look so determined, she’d have felt threatened if it were any other situation. But then, he pulled out a long stick and gave it a few practice swings.
“That’s…” What had she signed herself up to? She could feel the wind whipping past like knives every time he swung. “You’re not going to hit—”
“Call me Coach.” He grinned. “Because you’re gonna need one.”