The day finally came when they got the call. Val was enjoying a nice slice of cheese pizza on her usual couch when Coach ran over with news—an offer from a boxing manager. They wanted a fight immediately—in less than a week.

“What?” She moaned. “That’s, like, too early! Why the hell should I agree to that kind of schedule?”

“Lass,” Coach called out. He got awfully quiet. “It’s Spider.”

“Huh?” She straightened up a bit.

“Adrian Spider.”

Adrian Spider. That wasn’t just any boxing manager. That was the boxing manager. Boxing manager for the current undisputed CBI World Champion…

Daddy Long Arms.

The champ had an undefeated professional record of 99-0, and there was a reason he hadn’t lost yet. Just like Valkyrie, he rarely got hit. Just like her, he was nimble and fast, hard-hitting when necessary. He would meticulously overwhelm his prey with onslaughts of attacks that couldn’t be dodged. The opponent was bound to be hit no matter the situation.

But this overwhelming presence wasn’t because he had amazing eye implants. No, it was because his entire body was a cybernetic monstrosity. His arms and legs were segmented into so many mechanical parts and pieces that they looked more like flailing, iron tentacles than fleshy limbs. And his flexibility was absolute insanity. There was no avoiding his punches. And there was no landing any either. He wasn’t some ordinary boxer that could be fought without any sort of preparation. Quite literally, he was a monster. A predator known to many as…

The Bloodstained Huntsman.

“Fuck!” she cried. “Well, why didn’t you say so!” She needed to train. Immediately.

She had seen several videos of his fights, so she knew how dangerous her opponent was, but that wasn’t something she wasn’t already used to. Her build as a boxer was on the slimmer side; a single punch from any professional boxer had the capacity to down her. Long Arms wasn’t any different. All she had to do was avoid getting hit.

And that was her specialty.

“Listen, lass. I know you’ve come a long way,” Coach called out. She moved past him to get to her gloves. “But this one’s different. You can’t just rely on that eye o’ yours. We can always push it back—”

“No!” she yelled. “You told me I’m more than my Razens! Then you know I can take him on.”

“I’m not sayin’ ya can’t, lass. Number two never beat him for a reason. Just—”

“Take the offer.” She moved towards the bag. She was confident she’d win. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for this entire time. And she had won every bout since her debut. What more did she need to prove that she was ready?

She only had one goal—to win. For herself, for Coach. For everyone that supported her and her aspirations. She’d show the world she wasn’t just some lowly thief, a dreamer. She’d show the world what she was made of. And then, she’d show Beady…

“Fine.” Coach pulled out his mitts. “One, two, roll, three, two.” Coach called out the combo. He held them up for her to see. “C’mon. We’ve got work to do.”

She smirked. Coach was the best she’d ever had. To her, he was more of a father than any other she’d known before, and she was dead set on making his dream come true too. She would show him that she had potential. That Coach had chosen the right person for the right job.

As she roughly followed through with the combo, she noticed all the old, worn-out equipment around her. The gym was in such disrepair. The couch was tearing apart, the walls were showing concrete. After her next fight, she promised herself she’d renovate the place. She’d buy Coach a new bed, better doors, better desk for his workshop. She’d pay him back for everything he’d done so far for her.

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It felt like all she had were debts—to Beady, to Coach. But this was her responsibility. After all, they were the most precious people in her life.

Her earnings up until now had run dry from all the alcohol she’d consumed, and the money she was making from boxing wasn’t necessarily the best either. But once she was number one, things would change. Everything would change…

“Val! Relax.” Coach’s words cut through. He placed the mitts higher and farther back. “Don’t tense up so much. Those are beginner problems, lass.”

“I am relaxed.”

He smacked her across the face.

“Ow, what was that for?!”

“You would’ve dodged if you were relaxed.”

She groaned. “I told you. I am relaxed.”

“Don’t rely so much on your eyes. It’s gotta be instinctual.”

“I know. You told me that a million times already.”

He swung the mitts again. She quickly rolled and dashed in for a counter, stopping her glove just inches away from his face.

“See?” she proudly exclaimed.

“Hit the mitts, not me!” He smacked her again. Twice this time.

“Ow!”

“Val, lass.” His voice calmed a little. “You’re not facing an old fart like me. You’re facing the champion.”

“I know.” She shook her head. Coach just didn’t seem to get it. “But I haven’t lost yet. I mean, how much better can he possibly be from Craggy?”

“You’re too overconfident. Too much ego, but”—he sighed—“maybe that’s for the better.” He raised his mitts again. “Slip, three, two, back, two.”

She executed the combo several more times.

“Keep your legs moving. Watch the gears turn.”

Val pivoted with each punch. She started to loosen up again. Her feet shifted across the gym floor in swift, elegant strides.

It wasn’t necessarily smooth, but there was a crisp rhythm to her footwork. She could tell just by watching other boxers. Nobody really felt like they were actually enjoying the movement of the sport itself. Almost like they were just performing out of necessity. To her, combos were an artwork—graceful and stylish. Each and every uppercut would rev up her excitement; a hook would make her feel like she was dancing with the flow of her own weight.

And truly, she loved every second of it.

…

A week before the fight, they had a press conference. Valkyrie and Coach arrived early, so they sat down and waited in silence. And after a few more minutes, Daddy Long Arms and his crew entered the stage from the left.

The champ’s arms dragged across the floor, occasionally sparking from all the friction. His fingers caught onto all the garbage that had littered the surface of the floor, but the first thing he did wasn’t clean his hands. Instead, he shamefully called her out—

“What do we have here? You’re just a toothpick!” He gave a wicked grin as his team roared out in laughter. “Just skin and bones!”

Valkyrie leaned back and rested her legs on top of the table. She wasn’t having any of it.

“And looky here! We got a fuckin’ crippled over here!” He sneered, pointing at Coach. There were a few snickers coming from the press. “Hey, why don’t we get ‘im a wheelchair? He’s havin’ a hard time standin’!”

“Shut the fuck up.” Val stood up. There were limits to insults thrown around during conferences. Attacks on Coach crossed the line.

“Lass,” Coach said. He shook his head. “Don’t. It’s fine.”

Her face crinkled as she sat back down. She was absolutely livid, but Coach was right. She should leave the anger for the fight.

“Oh?” This time, Long Arms walked over. His grin spread wider by the second. “I’m sorry, babe. You need poor, little grandpa over there to help you talk? I didn’t know I was fighting a bunch of fuckin’ kids. Now I feel bad.”

“Shut it, calamari.”

“What’s that now? Cala-what?” He turned to his manager. The room got quiet before he spun back around. “WHAT?! I’m a fuckin’ spider, bitch! I’m not a shittin’ octopus—”

“It’s squid, dumbass.” A few chuckles escaped from the crowd. Long Arms stood still, almost taken aback by her sudden aggressive demeanor. “Seriously, how stupid are you?” she continued. “You ever been to school? Know what one plus one is? I’ll give you a hint. It’s the number of brai—”

“Shut up! All of you fuckers!” He slammed his wobbly arms into the back of the wall. The concrete cracked around the edges of his hands. Then he glared dead in her eyes, leaning in ever so close. He whispered into her ear, “After I’m done with you, you'll be just another bloodstain on the canvas like the rest of ‘em fuckers. Don’t get cocky, bitch.”

“Oh,” she sneered, “I’m so scared.” She’d beat him up good. This conference was riling up her emotions, and she was all for it. She’d punch that fucking smile right off his face during the bout.

The rest of the conference went as expected. Long Arms took control of the situation and created more ruckus. He berated Coach for lack of fighting experience, swung at her when she wasn’t looking, and even broke one of the cameras the press were holding. But Val didn’t find it necessary to retaliate. Not yet. Just a little longer…

Just until the fight.