This is where I post my Punch-Out!! fanfic and OC's. I hope you read and enjoy. Comments and feedback are welcome, I just ask that everyone be respectful and kind.
This post also serves as my Table of Contents. I've seen this on other blogs and thought this is an awesome idea, so here's mine. This way, you've got easy access to my work in it's correct order. Thanks again, and enjoy.
Road to the Women's Circuit
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
An Origin Story
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
Challenge Accepted
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13
By Blood or By Choice
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
Dreaming After Midnight
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Author’s Note: This is a side story taking place between parts 7 and 8 of By Blood or By Choice.
Punchline
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Author’s Note: This is a side story taking place between parts 11 and 12 of By Blood or By Choice.
Learning on the Job
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14
Family Matters
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Author’s Note: This is a side story taking place immediately after the events of Learning on the Job.
Finding Your Place
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Ongoing
History of the WVBA
Part 1 | Part 2 | Ongoing
Author’s Note: This is a history of the WVBA that serves as background for my fanfic.
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The lights were dim and shadows played across the gym while the rings seemed to glow under the security lighting. Leather, old canvas, and lemon disinfectant perfumed the space, a pleasant mixture before sweat and hard work overwhelmed it. There was an air to the place, like the WVBA Academy Gym were a stage awaiting her players.
It was peaceful in its way. No barking coaches or clanking weights. Nothing to disturb the highly disciplined or the chronic insomniac, whichever staked their claim first.
The loud creak of the women’s locker room door broke the tranquil scene as the clock struck five in the morning. Cutie Hondo stepped into the gym dressed to work.
The low lights reflected off the metallic silver trim on her fitted black tee and compression leggings. A simple red headband kept her hair out of her face while she pulled the velcro tight straps of her white training gloves tight with her teeth.
Crossing the floor to her favorite heavy bag, Cutie moved with the practiced ease of someone that grew up in boxing gyms. In her mind, the bag trembled a little, fearing the beating it was about to take.
Cutie settled into a light bounce, eyes on target, and approached the bag as she would an opponent in the ring. Leather streaked toward the bag, landing with a satisfying smack, as much from speed as strength.
But, as fast as Cutie’s hands were, her mind was faster.
Her thoughts had been lingering on the Women’s Circuit Championships, the tournament the WVBA braintrust was setting to crown the league’s first female champion ever.
If Luna wins on Saturday, then I fight Niki next.
She sighed as a tight double jab landed flush on the bag at head height before she pivoted out to the right.
I don’t want to fight Niki in the quarters. I know she’d be fine with it, but…
She drove a pair of hard hooks where an opponent’s floating ribs would be, precise and hard.
She’s my best friend. My sessatakuma. We stay up late, watch Kamen Rider, and eat ice cream. She listens to me talk color theory and I listen to her talk code and we barely understand half of what the other’s talking about.
Cutie floated around the bag, her upper body darting in a series of bobs and weaves and feints.
She’s good and getting better. She’s got heart for days. She belongs. I want to fight her again, but I want it to mean something. To be for something.
Then… she stopped. It dawned on her. Not in a mean way. Not hurtful or spiteful. But, because in the mind of Cutie Hondo, it would be the ultimate moment of her art and their friendship.
I want to fight her for the title. I want to beat Niki… Nicole to become champion. Our drive and determination. The way we push each other. It would show how far we both have come.
“It would be beautiful.”
The thought found whispered words before Cutie realized she’d said them. She smiled and smacked her gloves together, finding her bounce and rhythm again.
“Sahara, I need you to win next Saturday.”
Even as her gloves resumed their patter against the bag, another voice broke the ambience of the room.
“That’s the plan.”
Cutie stopped, surprised, and looked toward the voice.
Sahara Sands, or Razor Sharp on fight nights, walked in, her bag over her shoulder, with an easy smile that said she owned the space. Her confidence wasn’t misplaced or overbearing. She was a young woman that understood her sport and her worth.
“Now, I had it figured,” Sahara started, “that I’d have the gym to myself for an hour or two, at least. What drags you outta the bed before the birds?”
She came to work, too. That was obvious from the bright orange sports bra, visible under her half zipped hoodie, and charcoal running shorts.
Cutie stopped the swaying heavy bag and smiled.
“The tournament’s coming up. And you know what they say. ‘Stay ready…”
“‘... ain’t gotta get ready,” they finished in unison.
“My girl.”
Razor offered a fist bump, then dropped her bag on the nearest bench and pulled her handwraps out of one pocket.
“Now, I gotta know,” Razor said, “why you wishin’ these hands on some poor, unfortunate influencer like that? She owe you money? Ban you from her Discord?”
Cutie tried, and failed, to stifle a laugh. “It’s nothing like that.”
She started lightly tapping the bag, finding her groove.
“Just that I might’ve seen the brackets for the title tournament a little early.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really. If Luna beats you, I fight Nicole in the first round.”
Sahara chuckled. Whether it was at the idea of Luna beating her or at the touch of regret in Cutie’s voice at the possibility, who could say.
“And that’s a problem? Not that I’m gonna lose, ya’ understand, but you’ve got Niki’s number. Hell, I’d put fifty on you stretchin’ her in two.”
That made Cutie hesitate for a moment. Not long, but long enough for someone with Sahara’s eyes to catch it.
“Hold up,” Sahara said softly. “That’s yo’ girl, ain’t it?”
Cutie stopped the bag and leaned her forehead against it.
“My best friend. Like a sister to me.”
“An’ you don’t wanna be her one an’ done.”
Sahara’s words were a statement, not a question.
“Our first fight was amazing, but it was a beginning. To fight again, so soon, with nothing at stake, nothing earned. It would feel… wasteful.”
The staccato smacks of leather against canvas resumed as Cutie went back to work. Sahara took a seat on the bench and started wrapping her hands.
“But, if we were on opposite ends of the bracket,” Cutie continued, “and we both made the finals, then…”
Cutie smiled as fired off a pair of body hooks and a straight right.
“People would see what I see. Niki Binary’s not a name on a roster, not a footnote on somebody’s bio, not some cute little novelty act. She’s real.”
A right hook thudded…
“She’s smart.”
… a left hook smacked….
“And she’s dangerous as they come.”
… and an overhand right cracked so loudly it echoed through the empty gym.
Cutie paused for a moment, her eyes distant, like she was looking through the bag at something beyond.
“Looking across the ring at her, for the title? Just the two of us, leveling up one match at a time until the finals, then pushing each other as far as we can go? That’s a picture worth painting.”
Sahara slapped her wrist, securing her first handwrap before rolling out her second. The sound drew Cutie’s eye and she saw the sly grin on Sahara’s face.
“I feel ya’, baby girl. I do. Ain’t gon’ happen, but I feel ya’.”
“Oh really?”
“Really. I got a tradition to uphold. Daddy was the first WVBA Champ and I’m gon’ be the first WVBA Women’s Champ. That means I’m sleepin’ you, or Niki, or both, when I see ya’ in the ring for real.”
Cutie stopped and leaned against the bag, now turning fully to face Sahara.
“You really believe that, don’t you? That you can knockout any girl you get in the ring with.”
Sahara held the fabric tight around her knuckles for a moment before looking Cutie in the eye.
“Nah, but it sounds good.”
They shared a laugh at that before both resuming their activities.
“But, yeah,” Sahara continued. “Yeah, I think I can beat any of you. You the same way. You hittin’ that bag right now thinkin’ if we squared up right now, you’d take me.”
Cutie paused again, but had no answer. Sahara was right. Every boxer thinks they can win. It’s just too dangerous not to and they both knew it.
Both resumed their tasks. One pounding away in fluid combinations, the other tugging fabric around her knuckles and wrist with practiced ease.
After a few minutes, Sahara broke the relative silence.
“Respect, girl.”
Cutie shot her a glance between flurries. “What?”
“Puttin’ in the work. An’ I mean real work. Ain’t nobody draggin’ they ass outta bed before sunrise ‘cause they here to cosplay, legacy or not.”
“True,” Cutie smiled, “but we both know people see our names, our corners, and come to their own conclusions.”
“Heard,” Sahara answered, pulling the last loop of her wraps snug. “People think just ‘cause I’m Mr. Sandman’s baby girl that I was born with gold-plated gloves.”
Sahara sighed, half a smile, half a wince sharing her face.
“They don’t see the work. Busted lips and ice baths. Bruised ribs and black eyes.”
Cutie’s left hook popped loudly against the heavy bag, making Sahara raise an eyebrow in respect and surprise.
“The long hours,” Cutie said. “Or the sleepless nights. They don’t hear the voices, their brothers, fathers, coaches, in their mind at all hours with the good and the bad.”
“Everybody wants what we got, Cutie-pie. Legacy sounds good ‘til you realize it’s heavy as hell.”
They both knew the weighty expectations all too well. The fact that they were the only two women in the WVBA that knew what that weight felt like settled in and, for a moment, it was silent in the gym.
“So,” Sahara said. “You been watchin’ Luna’s stuff.”
Cutie wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her glove. “That wasn’t a question.”
Sahara smirked. “After seein’ you studyin’ tapes of King Hippo for your bro, I figure you got gameplans for every man, woman, and child on this campus.”
With that, Cutie shot her a wry smile. “If Zapasta had thrown the uppercut out of the clinch more often against your dad the one time they fought, he could’ve taken the decision.”
Sahara clapped back quickly, “Aw, hell nah!”
Cutie simply smiled and started tapping the bag lightly.
“Aight, then,” Sahara said with an amused look. “You been watchin’ Luna and so’ve I. Compare notes?”
“Sure,” Cutie answered, leaning against the bag and facing Sahara.
“She’s good. Better than people give her credit. They see three influencer fights and think she’s a novelty act. She’s not.”
“Ain’t gon’ hold you, been watchin’ her trainin’ streams on the treadmill. Girl can dance.”
“She can do more than dance. She picks up on patterns and tells like an experienced pro and adjusts. But, she starts slow, jabs and feints early, maybe some theatrics. Most people think she’s showing off, but she’s not.”
Sahara cracked an amused smile. “I seen that. She’s downloadin’ the competition when everybody thinks she’s just playin’.”
Cutie pushed off the bag, pulling one glove free. After grabbing her water bottle and taking a drink, she continued.
“Exactly. But, that kind of discipline’s her blessing and her curse. She’s a highly disciplined entertainer. She studies her craft and knows how to use it to hold a crowd.”
“But the crowd ain’t gon’ eat punches for her.”
“Exactly. What makes her entertaining, the loose guard, the big wind-ups, the ‘look-at-me’ footwork…”
“Gon’ get her slept if she tries it with me,” Sahara said with an edge to voice.
“Maybe,” Cutie said flatly.
Sahara studied her for a moment, then cocked an eyebrow. “You think I’m sellin’ ol’ girl short?”
“I think you talk a lot, big show for the cameras, rattle your opponents a little. I just haven’t figured out how much is a show and how much is you believing your own hype.”
“Damn!” Sahara’s head jerked like she’d taken a jab flush. “You comin’ in awful hot for a girl that was pitchin’ charter membership in the ‘Little Sisters’ Society’ yesterday.”
Cutie looked down for a moment, then back at Sahara.
“I value honesty and I give the same in return.”
Sahara nodded with a fresh smile, “Good. Ain’t got time for people that’s gon’ tell me what they think I wanna hear.”
Cutie returned the nod with a raise of her water bottle in salute, taking another drink and setting it back down.
“Not gon’ lie to you, girl,” Sahara said, eyes flickering around the gym. “A whole lot what folks see of me, the braggin’, the trash talk, an’ all that just wild ass shit I say to the press? All that’s ‘bout half an act.”
“Only half?”
Sahara laughed, “Aight, maybe sixty-forty. Point is, I know the game better than her. Before the fight, I gotta sell tickets and… if I happen to get in the other girl’s head, get her mad, even better.”
“You’re not getting in Luna’s head,” Cutie said
“Oh, I know! She takes it, makes content, and gives it right back,” Sahara smiled, standing up and starting to stretch. “S’alright, though. Makes it fun.”
Cutie nodded as she slipped her glove back on.
“Still,” Sahara said with a slight grunt of effort as she stretched, “doesn’t mean streamer girl’s not in trouble.”
Cutie raised an eyebrow to challenge that confident statement.
Sahara shrugged, “Look, I’m bigger, longer, and stronger. I’ve got more rounds and more fights. I pop her from range or drown her in the pocket. And when she catches me clean, ‘cause she can and probably will, I got the chin and the gas tank to handle it.”
Dropping into a lunge to stretch her legs, Sahara continued, “Girl’s got skills. Ain’t takin’ that away from her. But, styles make fights, and her style? Tailormade for me.”
Cutie turned back to the heavy bag, “Mistake.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re making a mistake in underestimating her.”
Sahara laughed a little in disbelief. “Cutie-pie, did you not hear me agree with everything you said? The girl can dance, she’s got the heart and the want, and she’s got instincts beyond her years. I’m just sayin’...”
A left hook slammed so hard into the bag that Sahara stopped cold.
“You’re just saying all the things I told myself before I fought Niki.”
Cutie’s voice was quiet, almost like she was ashamed.
Sahara noticed and held her tongue.
“On paper,” Cutie started, speaking between hard, rhythmic bursts on the bag, “I should have walked Niki. I’m too experienced. Too technical. Too fast. Too much.”
White gloves briefly became a blur, as if to illustrate her point, and Sahara’s eyes widened. She saw five punches land with force, heard eight, and the bag only moved once.
Cutie stopped the bag and leaned her forehead against it.
“I was supposed to hurt her early and put her to sleep. K.O. First round. Instead, she surprised me in the first and hurt me in the second. If that round was a little longer, she had me.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah,” Cutie turned back to Sahara. “That fight was closer than anybody except me and Niki know. She taught me something important. There’re no tomato cans in the WVBA. If they get signed here, they can make your night really bad, really fast, if you don’t show them the respect they’re due from bell to bell.”
Sahara reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of dark green training gloves.
“Tell ya’ what. Since you think I need to take our internet darling a little more serious,” Sahara said with a mischievous edge, “you wanna help?”
Cutie’s eyes widened a little. “What were you thinking?”
“It was thinkin’ I’m givin’ Luna Doll the respect she’s due, and I am.”
Sahara slipped one glove on, flexing her hand and checking the fit before pulling the velcro strap tight.
“But,” she continued, “you got a point. Maybe I’m takin’ her too light. So, maybe I go a few rounds with somebody that’s more Luna’s style. Get a feel.”
“And,” Cutie’s eyes now narrowed, “you think that’s me?”
“Yeah. Same style, different flavor, but close enough.”
“Really,” Cutie said with interest. “How so?”
“Aight,” Sahara answered, placing her mouthpiece in her waistband. “Both y’all like to read. Find the other girl’s rhythms, her patterns, then trap ‘er with ‘em. But, you upfront ‘bout it, look a girl in the eye and dare her to do somethin’ ‘bout it. Luna ain’t that slick.”
Cutie was resting her back against the heavy bag, studying Sahara as she pulled on and secured her other glove.
“Nah, that ain’t right,” Sahara said after pulling the strap tight with her teeth. “She’s slick, just not smooth like she thinks.”
“The theatrics hide it,” Cutie agreed. “She needs time to process and plan, more than an experienced fighter. Which, I’m guessing, is why you want to spar with me.”
Sahara’s smile answered for her. Cutie returned the smile, a hint of danger in her eyes.
“I ain’t got a good round since I got here,” Sahara said. “I’m starvin’, Cutie-pie. Everybody’s treatin’ me easy ‘cause my debut’s close. But I don’t need easy or cute or nothin’ like that. I need that work!”
“And I’m work, am I?” Cutie asked.
Sahara held gloved arms out wide and started backing toward the closest ring. “You here, ain’t you?”
The sounds of leather hitting a heavy bag were now replaced with the anxious tapping together of gloves and the expectant slides and bounces of feet.
Cutie’s smile grew a little wider, a familiar fire building inside her. She slid off a glove, found her mouthpiece and tucked it under the shoulder strap of her sports bra, then put her glove back on.
She followed. “Didn’t I just warn you about underestimating people? I’m not the nicest person before sunrise and coffee.”
“Oooh, so scared” Sahara waved her gloves at Cutie as she reached the ring. “You act like I’m askin’ ‘cause I want a warmup. I’m askin ‘cause you actually know how to swing.”
“Wow,” Cutie held one glove over her heart in mock offense, “Such a romantic.”
Cutie approached the ring with a laugh as Sahara stepped through the ropes. Her blood was flowing now as she watched Sahara start dancing around the ring, finding her rhythm, her feel.
“You sure about this, Baby Sands? I really don’t want to make Luna’s job easier by softening you up for her.”
“Okay,” Sahara said, smacking her gloves together, her smile growing almost dangerous. “First off, you callin’ me Baby Sands is disrespectful as hell and I’m here for it.”
Cutie nodded with a smile as she climbed in the ring.
“Second,” Sahara continued, “it’s ‘damn, it’s early’ o’clock and we got this gym to ourselves for at least an hour. No crowd, no coaches, no one to talk trash at lunch ‘bout how bad I’mma beat yo’ ass for thinkin’ ‘bout doin’ Luna a solid.”
“Keep talking, Sands,” Cutie bounced in place, pulling her mouthpiece from the shoulder strap of her top. “I just don’t want to hear any crying when I tag you clean.”
“Deal,” Sahara answered, slipping her own mouthpiece out of her waistband. “Long as you don’t make any weird anime noises when I walk you into an uppercut.”
Cutie gasped with mock offense, “So rude! You wound me.”
“Not yet I ain’t,” Sahara laughed from her corner. “But we got time.”
They both chuckled at that, sliding their mouthpieces in place. Both shouldered a legacy, both knew the burden the other carried, and now, both stood in opposite corners.
They weren’t fully in the moment just yet, but they were getting there, beginning to buzz with all the delighted menace of two young boxers that recognized the real thing when they saw it.
No crowd. No coaches. No noise except their own.
“You gon’ ring the bell,” Sahara asked, “or should I?”
“Please,” Cutie smiled, thumping her gloves together, “allow me?”
Cutie slid her foot to the ring apron, tapping a round timer that was mounted there. A beep sounded. Ten seconds until the bell.
“Don’t go easy now, Cutie-pie,” Sahara said with a sly grin.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Razor,” Cutie answered, a twinkle in her eyes.
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Reina Adora has been known to "bend" the occasional rule, has her hapless opponent is finding out.
It's been 2 years on Tumblr for me. Wow! That's blows my mind. The PO community has been so encouraging and supportive to me in that time. I wouldn't be writing and drawing, much less sharing my work, if not for this community. Thanks and love to you all!
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The sounds of squealing brakes coming to a gentle stop filled the air as the S-Bahn slid into the station. With a gentle sigh, the train’s doors opened to a platform bathed in winter sunlight. It was a cool and clear day in Zossen, Germany. Pine and birch trees dotted the horizon. Tidy buildings with red roofs and evergreen shutters lined the streets with pedestrians and cyclists travelling alongside the occasional bus and car. And from a nearby stanchion, the trainstation’s clock struck 2 in the dot as the passengers disembarked.
“It’s like a model train set-up, but real.” Niki stepped out onto the platform, her duffel bag bouncing off her hip. She hugged her WVBA satin jacket a little tighter, smiling through the winter chill.
The tall figure of Von Kaiser stepped through next, bags in hand, and took a long, deep breath. “Ja. Zossen, I am home,” he said fondly. “Come now, let’s not block the doors.”
“Whaddup, Lunatics!” Luna was in full streamer mode, stepping out of the train with her phone attached to a compact handle, the camera light blinking red. “Can you believe it? Your girl’s in Germany… and not just because my VPN says so.”
Von Kaiser pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering low. “She is always recording something.”
“Not always,” Niki whispered back with amusement. “She did sleep on the plane. And there was breakfast this morning.”
“Only after she recorded all of our plates und made comments on our food choices,” Von Kaiser quietly protested.
Niki chuckled, “To be fair, Coach, corn flakes and pickled eggs is… a choice.”
“Our quest to drop Baby Sands has brought us to Zossen,” Luna continued without missing a beat, twirling in place and working around people and obstacles with practiced ease. “It’s like Berlin’s really chill cousin. And I mean, check the aesthetic! It’s like someone dropped a German UI on a JRPG mid-town. Ten outta ten. No notes. Will montage later.”
“I do not understand half of what she is saying,” Von Kaiser said as he led the way to the bus stop for the final leg of their journey.
Niki nudged her coach with her elbow and smiled, “I’ll translate later.”
Putting her footwork to use, Luna darted ahead to catch Niki at a flattering angle. “And, of course, what’s a quest without your party? We’ve got the WVBA’s resident wizardress of wi-fi and right hooks, Niki Binary!”
“Wizardress?” Niki laughed. “That’s not a word.”
Luna looked back over her shoulder with a smirk, “Is to. Check Wiktionary.”
“Mein Gott im Himmel,” Von Kaiser said under his breath.
“And you know,” Luna segued as she repositioned her camera’s view, “every quest needs a wise guide to lead the way, and for us, that’s the legendary German Steel Machine himself, Viktor Von Kaiser. Say ‘hi’, Coach!”
“Ach,” Von Kaiser was startled by the sudden presence of a camera in his face, “um… ja… like und subscribe…”
Niki and Luna both laughed, Niki grabbing hold of her coach to keep from stumbling. Luna wrapped up, “Aight, Lunatics, we’ll pick up in the gym and see where we’re gonna get ready for poor Baby Sands. Stay tuned!”
Luna tapped her screen, stopping the recording, and Niki fell to her knees in laughter.
“Like und subscribe,” Niki said in her best German accent, laughing even more.
Von Kaiser’s lips twitched in the smallest hint of a smile as he reached his hand down to Niki, “Glad I could bring joy und happiness to your day, Wenig Stahl.”
“I thought it was awesome,” Luna said, putting away her rig and her on-screen persona. “We’ll make a streamer out of you yet, Coach.”
“Please, no. I am not,” Von Kaiser made air quotes with his fingers, “a tech guy.”
Luna feigned shock, “No! Say it ain’t so!”
“It’s true,” Niki said, her laughing fit having subsided. “Vicky told me he didn’t have an email address until she made him get one for their gym.”
“That tracks,” Luna nodded. “By the way, why the detour? I mean, this is Berlin adjacent. I thought we were going to, like, big city Berlin. As in, currywurst and graffiti Berlin.”
The trio took the exit stairs to ground level, passing a few vending machines and a half occupied bike rack on their way to a wooden bus shelter covered in a variety of event posters.
“Zossen is part of Metropolregion Berlin-Brandenburg, Greater Berlin,” Von Kaiser explained, visibly more relaxed without the camera running. “When I first joined ze WVBA, they needed a city to introduce me from. No one in America knows Zossen. They think you have sneezed and say ‘bless you’. So, I was from Berlin.”
“Marketing,” Luna’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Makes sense. It’s like when I tell people I’m from Vancouver instead of Chilliwack. I told someone in the cafeteria the other day I was from Chilliwack and wound up with a tray full of chilli mac. That was rough.”
The hiss of air brakes announced the arrival of their bus. On the side, there was a large advertisement. It showed a heart formed by two steel boxing gloves in the upper corners and writing across the bottom reading “DAS STAHLHERZ JUGEND-BOXCAMP”. Behind the words were pictures of boys and girls of various ages, all in boxing poses, smiling wide for the camera.
“That’s so cool!” Luna’s face lit up like a pinball bonus light. “That’s the Steel Heart logo, isn’t it?”
“Ja,” Von Kaiser answered, a warm smile on his face. “This is for our youth camp. Every winter, we welcome kinder from across Europe. Sometimes farther. Some have boxed before. Some have never put on gloves. We teach both. Discipline, respect, honor, sportsmanship. Most find friends and a hobby to share. Some find passion and purpose.”
Luna sniffled a little, touched, “That’s amazing. I would love to help when I have time during my training… if that’s okay. I could cut together a hype reel. Something just for the kids, a way to relive the memories a little.”
He paused to consider as people exited the bus. “That is Viktoria’s decision to make. I will abide by whatever she says.”
“Yay!” Luna clapped her hands with excitement.
“So, umm,” Niki nervously started. “Why am I here? I mean, I know you said Vicky’s got a new coach that she wants to start handling the day-to-day. And you said the change of scenery might do me good, which I appreciate. But, you didn’t say anything about a camp going on.”
Von Kaiser gave Niki a warm smile. “Very astute, Wenig Stahl. Ja, ze camp is part of why I brought you,” he said as he shot a quick glance at Luna, “both of you. I believe ze kinder will bring you a new energy and focus on ze fundamentals. But also, it will be good for ze kinder to meet two active fighters, especially ze first woman to enter a WVBA ring as a boxer.”
Niki chuckled nervously. “Coach, I don’t know how impressed they’ll be by me. I mean, yeah, I’m was in that ring for our first women’s match, but… I don’t know that I’m… it’s just…”
“O-M-G! Niki, you took an L. Big deal,” Luna said, cutting her off in exasperation. “Everybody loses. It doesn’t change what you and Cutie did together.”
The last of the disembarking passengers stepped off the bus and Luna led the way onboard.
“Yeah, but,” Niki started, still looking a little meek as she took a seat.
“Listen, mein kind,” Von Kaiser said softly, sitting across the aisle from her, “Ze kinder will see what I see. You stood your ground. You did not quit, even when it hurt. You listened and you learned.” He paused a second and tapped his chest over his heart. “Ze heart and hard work. That is what ze kinder need to see, that a loss doesn’t end the story.”
A few tears welled up in Niki’s eyes. “Yes, Coach. Thank you.”
“And besides,” Luna cut in, plopping down next to Niki, “you were awesome in the fight. I mean, you need to talk the stage hands ‘cause they did you dirty on the lighting, but in the ring? Girl, you were clean. Cutie’s no joke, but you adapted like a speedrunner with a new strat.”
Niki snorted, her anxiety subsiding. “Only you could make me catching a beatdown from my bestie sound like something out of a SummoningSalt video.”
“I’m telling you, girl, you’ll get that PB on any% KO soon enough.” Luna declared with a smile, then softened. “For real though, you got heart and it shows. Inspires a lotta people, me included. We stan the I.T. Girl in this house.”
“I appreciate that, you two.” Niki said with a soft smile. “I’ll make you proud, Coach.”
“Always have, Wenig Stahl,” Von Kaiser replied as the bus started moving.
Through the bus windows, Zossen unfurled before them. A bakery with steam coming through the cracks in its door. A playground dusted with snow. A cyclist riding by with his bright scarf fluttering behind.
Luna watched as she asked, “So, what’s this boxing camp like? Are we talking drills all morning and bratwurst for lunch? Or is this like Mortal Kombat for teenagers, but with gloves and headgear… and bratwurst for lunch?”
“Nein, no fights to ze death,” Von Kaiser shook his head warily. “Viktoria will have you helping when your own training permits. Ze kinder work on ze fundamentals first. Footwork, technique, balance. Then, drills, relays, and roadwork. At ze end of ze week is sparring. Ze most promising get to spar on a special camp finale card.”
“Sounds lit!” Luna said excitedly. “Maybe I can ref some at the finale? I accept bratwurst as payment.”
Niki looked at Luna, “What is it with the bratwurst?”
Luna turned back to Niki and Von Kaiser, “I’m hungry. And I love trying local street foods. You have no idea how hard it is for me to not get off this bus, walk to all seven bakeries we’ve passed, and buy everything that even looks like a pretzel.”
“Viktoria has a welcome dinner planned,” Von Kaiser chimed in. “Homemade. You will enjoy it. Be patient.”
A few minutes later, the bus came to its next stop. Behind the bus stop was an old brick building with the word “BOXEN” painted on the side, faded with age. Some of the plaster facade was cracked and had fallen loose. Old boxing posters lined the building in neat rows. They dated back decades. And near the doors was a well-maintained sign with two steel boxing gloves forming a heart. Stalherz Boxakademie, the Steel Heart Boxing Academy
Von Kaiser nodded with the most genuine smile Niki had ever seen on his face. She placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention. She met his smile and nodded.
“Eins, zwei, drei, vier… eins, zwei, drei, vier…”
The cadence met them as soon as the doors opened. A group of children jogged the perimeter of the large room, none of them older than ten by the looks of it, all shouting the count in unison. Soon, the sound faded into a cacophony along with the squeaks of boots across canvas, the rhythmic thumps of gloves hitting bags, and the snaps of jump ropes hitting the hardwood flooring.
Warmth spread from well spaced out radiators and the smell of disinfectant and old leather permeated the area. Three full size rings dominated the center of the gym, ropes frayed and faded, duct tape holding the canvases together in places.
It was like stepping into the past, the world boxing used to be.
“Whoa,” Niki breathed.
“This is so legit,” Luna whispered. She spun in place, taking in the whole space. “The posters, the equipment, the… the whole vibe. This place has seen things.”
“No tablets, no smart mirrors, no heart rate monitors,” Niki said with a slight tinge to her voice.
“And when did I need any of those things training you?” Von Kaiser asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Never, Coach,” Niki smiled sheepishly in return. “Point taken.”
With a satisfied nod, Von Kaiser said, “Come. I will show you ze gym.”
Niki and Luna flanked the old coach as he led the duo further into the facility. “Ze rings are ze center. Reminds everyone of ze goal, to compete. Ze east wall is for shadowboxing and hand weights.”
“Hence all the mirrors,” Niki chimed in.
“Ja,” Von Kaiser continued. “Ze west wall is for bag work. Heavy bags, speed bags. Double-end bags are at ze back and jumping rope is here, up front.”
“So cool,” Luna said. “It’s like a cutscene in some noir boxing game.”
Von Kaiser looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“It’s a good thing, Coach,” Luna smiled.
With a nod, he continued, “This way. I want to show you something special.”
Like the proud father he was, Von Kaiser led the girls to a wall display, spotlessly clean and dust-free. Six framed posters hung above simple wooden pedestals, each holding a display case, half of them covered in black cloth. The first poster was for the Brandenburg Cup, a prestigious amateur tournament. The display case below held numerous medals, including a Brandenburg gold medal.
“Ze first gold medal Viktoria ever won,” Von Kaiser smiled. “Ze Brandenburg Cup holds a special place for my family. And Viktoria performed so well there.”
Niki and Luna exchanged glances as they gazed at the collection of medals before moving to the next case. It held a championship belt. It read Deutscher Superleichtgewicht Boxmeister on its center plate and the poster above it showed Viktoria as the challenger for the title. English was printed small under the main text, “Challenger Vicky Von Kaiser versus Champion Freya Holtz - 8 Rounds for the German Super Lightweight Championship.”
Beside that was another poster with Viktoria pictured as challenger alongside another champion. It read, “10 Round Main Event - European Super Lightweight Title: Vicky Von Kaiser (German Champion) versus Axana Von Daele (European Champion).” The gleaming title belt rested in the case below.
“Wow,” Niki whispered. “I’ve seen pictures of Vicky with her belts, but I’ve never actually seen them.”
“It is good for ze kinder to see that hard work pays off,” Von Kaiser said.
“I couldn’t agree more,” a voice came from behind them, dry and affectionate.
Approaching the trio was a tall and fit woman in her late-20s, decked out in Steelheart branded sweats and a simple black sports bra. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled back in a slick ponytail and her gray eyes twinkled with unshed tears. The smile on her face was honest and joyful as she looked upon the trio.
“Hallo, papa,” she said, rushing into Von Kaiser’s open arms.
“Meine Mädchen,” he responded quietly, hugging the woman tightly.
After a moment, they released one another and he stood to her side, “Luna, allow me to introduce my daughter, Viktoria Von Kaiser.”
Luna stepped forward and extended her hand, “It’s an honor, ma’am. I’ve seen footage of all your fights. You were robbed against Manalo. The ref should’ve stopped that fight in the fifth.”
“Nice of you to say so,” Viktoria replied. “But, Tanya Manalo was World Champion for a reason. She was the better woman that night. Now…”
Viktoria turned her eyes toward Niki, “Little sister, your guard is still loose under pressure.”
Niki cocked her hip in frustration, “You eat a hook to the liver and right in the mouth and see if your guard is still solid.”
“It would have been,” Viktoria said flatly.
“Really?” Niki said as she stepped up to Viktoria, fists clenched, locking eyes with her. “Wanna find out?”
“Niki?!” Luna was shocked. “This is so-ooo not you.”
Suddenly, Viktoria and Niki burst out laughing and grabbed each other for a big sisterly hug.
“You did well against Hondo,” Viktoria said.
“I got knocked out,” Niki answered sheepishly as they separated.
“T.K.O.,” Viktoria chided. “There is a difference. You never quit. You watched, you learned, you adjusted. Next time, you will do better.”
Niki smiled, “You sound like your dad.”
Viktoria smiled back, “I learned well. And I’m glad you are here. The children have already been talking about meeting the first woman to fight in the WVBA ring.”
“Thank you, Vicky,” Niki blushed. “Happy to help. I just hope I can meet their expectations.”
With that, Viktoria walked over to the covered posters and pedestals, “Now, papa, a surprise.”
“I do not like surprises, mein kind,” Von Kaiser said, eyes narrowing.
“I know,” Viktoria replied. “This, however, is overdue.”
Pulling the cloths away revealed three new displays that matched Viktoria’s.
“Oh my God,” Niki’s hands went to her mouth.
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Luna whispered, walking close to the displays.
The cases on the pedestals held one belt each. Three WVBA Minor Circuit Championships, each with a slightly different design, gold shining like honey from their age. Above each one, on the wall, was a poster from the title bout that saw them claimed.
“Tournament Finals, Viktor Von Kaiser versus ‘Texas’ John McCoy,” Niki read aloud. “I remember watching that fight on YouTube as a kid.”
“Texas Mac, we called him,” Von Kaiser reminisced. “Stubborn man. Never liked him, but you had to respect him. He hit like a horse, even if he acted like one’s…”
“Papa,” Viktoria chided. “Not in front of the children.” Von Kaiser glanced back at his daughter with a slightly mischievous smirk.
Luna stepped up to the other two, “And these are the two you won from Piston Hurricane, right? That’s so badass! I never imagined I’d be this close to a real WVBA belt, ever. It’s like getting a Lightbringer in FF VI.”
“Eff eff six?” Von Kaiser asked, confused.
“Final Fantasy VI,” Niki whispered to him. “It’s a game.”
“Ah,” he replied, then looked back at Luna, “To answer ze question, I defeated Hurricane for both of these, but only won one from him. Ze first was a tournament. Common when ze champion moved up a circuit. Ze second, Hurricane was champion going in. He defeated me in ze rematch, ze last of our three fights.”
“Hey, Niki, check this out,” Luna pointed into the first case. “Look at the detail, the etching. You never see this stuff on TV. Look, they were using the snake motif for the Minor Circuit back in the day, too.”
For a moment, Von Kaiser watched his protégé and her friend in silence as they spoke in hushed, reverent tones over his old trophies. Viktoria walked to stand by her father’s side and put an arm around his waist.
“They were in storage,” Von Kaiser said quietly. “You should have left them there. My glory was long ago. I am not arrogant and do not want to…”
“It’s not for you, papa,” Viktoria said with kindness in her voice. “Like you said, let the children see what comes with hard work.”
“And besides,” Niki chimed in, “it’s not a bad thing to get your flowers every once in a while.”
Luna spoke up, too, “And it braggin’ if you ain’t laggin’.”
Von Kaiser shot a look at Luna, brow furrowed.
“What I said was,” Luna sighed, “you’re not being arrogant by simply displaying your hard-earned accomplishments.”
“Why didn’t you just say so,” Von Kaiser muttered.
“She did,” Niki chuckled, “just not in English.”
“Well,” Viktoria smiled. “Let me show you to the locker room so you can change. I have regimens planned for both of you. Luna, I hope your regular coach won’t mind, but I’ve set up a strategy for your debut against Razor.”
Luna got silent for a moment, “I… uh… my coach dipped.”
“What?” Niki asked as Von Kaiser’s eyes went wide. “Why?”
“We talked last week.” Luna looked vulnerable and spoke quietly. “He thinks I made a mistake by joining the WVBA, that a streamer has no business in the ring with ‘real boxers’. I didn’t say anything ‘cause I didn’t want you guys to think I was tryin’ to bum a free ride or snipe your coach.”
Viktoria stepped over to Luna and rested a hand on her shoulder, “Are you willing to work? Hard?”
Luna’s eyes narrowed, “Girl, I’ve never been handed a thing I didn’t bust my ass for.”
“Good,” Viktoria replied. “I will work you hard this week. I see to it that you are ready for, what do you call her…”
“Baby Sands?” Luna smiled.
“Yes,” Viktoria smiled back, “Baby Sands. And I will handle your corner on the night. Agreed?”
All eyes went to Luna, who took a deep breath to consider. “Why, though? We never met before. You don’t know me. It ain’t like there’s an upside for you. So, why?”
“Because you are here,” Von Kaiser said with a gravitas as if that were an explanation.
“Thank you, mysterious quest giver,” Luna answered with more than a little sass.
Niki joined Viktoria by Luna’s side, “You asked to come because you know you need to improve. Because you wanted to work with Vicky.”
“And I trust my father’s judgement,” Viktoria added. “He would not have brought you here if he didn’t see dedication and potential.”
Luna took a moment. No one spoke. She looked around the gym. The aura. The atmosphere. There was a vibe that just felt…
“I’m in,” Luna said, extending her fist to Viktoria. “Long as I still get to help the kiddies and you show me the most bomb bratwurst in Zossen.”
Von Kaiser shook his head as his daughter laughed.
Viktoria bumped fists Luna, “Done. And I know this great place, Beck’s Corner. Best food in the town.”
“Nice,” Luna smiled brightly. “By the way, can I stream our workouts and record some stuff for my channel?”
“Mein Gott im Himmel,” Von Kaiser shook his head as the girls continued chatting on their way to the locker room. Then, he surveyed the room and all the sweat and hard work being put in. He couldn’t help but be proud.
“Home.”
Viktoria "Vicky" Von Kaiser is an OC belonging to @behind-the-mak and is used with permission.
It was late Thursday afternoon and the WVBA Infirmary was alive with activity. The final step in orientation and first day registration for this group of Academy hopefuls was their physicals. For the would-be WVBA boxers, it was what made this real, their official stamp of approval to move on. For the medical staff, it was all hands on deck.
The rookies sat in rows of folding chairs brought in from the Omni earlier in the morning. Most were fresh-faced and green. Some sported battle scars from past experiences. But, they all held clipboards full of paperwork in various stages of completion.
Nurses and doctors moved this way and that, calling back the next person in line, and all while handling the normal business of the day.
From one of the examination rooms stepped a massive man, easily six-and-a-half feet tall, but lean for his height, around 240 by visual reckoning. He was bald with a thick mustache and holding his stomach with a pained expression.
“Spasibo, Nurse Bona,” the tall man said with a thick Russian accent. “It will be quite difficult to give up my favorite drink, da? But, I will follow Doctor Wakada’s orders.”
The nurse that followed him out of the room was physically impressive herself. Close to six feet tall with a muscular build not completely hidden by her teal scrubs, her complexion and features were distinctly Mediterranean. She reviewed her clipboard briefly before placing a reassuring hand on the big man’s shoulder.
“Good, Mister Popinski,” Nurse Bona said warmly, a hint of an Italian accent coloring otherwise perfect English. “Perhaps you could switch to clear sodas, like Sprite or 7-Up?”
“Maybe,” Popinski relented, “but, it is not the same.”
“Still,” the nurse replied, “it’s better than gallstones, yes?”
“Da!” the big Russian answered emphatically. “Thank you, Nurse Bona. I will come back if there are any flare ups.”
As Nurse Bona wrapped up with her patient, Rian Rossi and Narcis Prince sat along the wall next to one another, chatting casually, a quick friendship forming since they first met that morning. Rian was checking an email on his phone and nodding while Narcis surveyed the waiting room and its many occupants.
“Looks like our flat is on the fifth floor,” Rian said with his faint Irish lilt. “Ah, floor plan, let’s see… that’s a tiny kitchen. Well, as long as the icebox keeps the beer cold.”
“May I?” Narcis asked, gesturing to Rian’s phone.
Rian handed his phone over and Narcis surveyed the floor plan.
“Small, yes, but not unmanageable,” the posh Brit said.
“You cook?” Rian asked with a slight surprise. “I would’ve thought you had people for that.”
“Mother insisted I be capable,” Narcis smirked. “I’m no Gordon Ramsay, but I daresay I can assemble a fair plate. Saved me from a few years of pot noodles and takeaways.”
“I rather like a good pot noodle,” Rian grinned. “Still, I’ll handle the pasta and pizzas and you can handle whatever fancy green you posh types favor.”
Narcis’s mouth twitched, “Kale has a dreadfully undeserved reputation, I’ll have you know.” He smoothed his tie before changing the subject. “Still, it is a wonder we’ve been paired as flatmates. Do you think they paired us up regionally or simply drew lots?”
Their conversation was briefly interrupted by Nurse Bona calling for the next physical. “Roxanne Delgado?”
“Right here, chica!” A wiry Latina sprang to her feet. She was a couple of rows over, wired earbuds dangling around her neck and throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. The chatter dipped for a heartbeat as she sashayed after the nurse, hips swaying to a beat that only she could hear.
“Energetic one, isn’t she?” Rian chuckled before shaking his head and trying to regain his thoughts. “You asked about how we got put together, right? Don’t really know, but I look at the bright side. You’re not Aran Ryan. You speak in full sentences and seem civilized.”
“High praise indeed,” Narcis leaned back, eyes scanning the room. “First day nearly done. How’s it feel?”
“Tired, but that’s good,” Rian said with a shrug. “I’m just ready to start some proper training once they’ve checked all the boxes for us. You?”
“Same,” Narcis replied, “but curious, mostly. I’ve found most athletics come naturally to me. A gift, I suppose. But, I want to test myself, see how far that natural aptitude can take me when paired with structured discipline.”
Rian nodded his approval, “Aye, no resting on the laurels. Same here, mate. Uncle Gio was a top contender in the early days of the league. I want to honor that, but I’ll not ride his name. The family says it’s stubborn, but I’ll have nobody saying the only reason I’m here is I’m Pete Zapasta’s nephew.”
“Well said, Rossi,” Narcis smiled softly. “Commendable. Legacy can be quite the double-edged sword…”
Before Narcis could finish, a resounding thud followed by a dramatic sigh came from beside him. A young blonde woman had plopped into the chair next to him. She dropped her paperwork and purse into her lap and looked at Narcis and Rian almost expectantly.
“Miss… um,” Rian struggled to recall.
“Lords, wasn’t it?” Narcis chimed in. “Tiffany Lords, I believe.”
She moaned as she rolled her eyes toward them. “Ugh! I can’t believe this. Can you believe this?”
“Believe what exactly,” Narcis asked, Rian shooting him a piercing look as he did.
“So first, they deny my request for a single room,” Tiffany said indignantly. “But then, they stick me with her for roommate.”
“Who, pray tell?” Narcis again asked, smirking with some satisfaction at Rian’s annoyance.
“Her!” Tiffany jerked her thumb toward the examination room Roxanne had entered. “They stuck Rox-anne. She’s been trying to cozy up to me ever since they told us, too. I mean, she hums off-key, she never stops moving, and she walks with this silly wiggle like she’s always on stage.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll…” Rian said, trying to end the conversation.
“Oooooh, and then,” Tiffany ignored him. “Then, when I told her I boxed in high school, she said it was ‘cute.’ I was the boxing and cheer captain at Pacific. I’ve been knockin’ chicks out since I was 14 and now I’ve got to deal with this step-class spice girl that thinks she can box.”
Narcis, sensing his new friend’s dwindling patience, tried to interrupt, “Well, Miss Lords, might I recommend…”
“I can already feel the vibe, y’know?” Tiffany continued obviously. “Like, she probably thinks dance choreography is footwork. As if. I swear, the first time she interrupts my beauty sleep with her dancing or whatever… POW! Groovy Knuckle, on the spot, no questions asked.”
Tiffany slouched in her chair, crossed her arms in a huff, and thrust her lower lip out in a pout.
Narcis and Rian shared a look of half-amusement, half not-quite sympathy. Rian shrugged and started to reply when the infirmary door banged open.
All eyes darted toward the door as in walked the tall, lean frame of The Sandman. He was wearing simple training sweats, but his swagger was that of a king waiting for his crown.
“Yo! Where’s Doc Wakada?” The Sandman boomed as he looked around the crowded room dismissively. “Gotta pre-fight to knock out ‘fore I do the same to Donnie Flamenco this weekend.”
A young nurse at the reception desk, Kara according to her name tag, looked up at The Sandman, her voice soft and a little meek. “Um, Mister Sands, your appointment is tomorrow morn…”
The Sandman’s gaze fell like a guillotine on the shy nurse, “Do I look like I need an appointment? Let me holla at the Doc an’ get this over with.”
As the reception nurse and The Sandman continued, Rian and Narcis exchanged glances.
“Quite the piece of work,” Narcis whispered with a cocked eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d say ‘rude piece of shite’,” Rian responded, “but, aye, we’re on the same page.”
Narcis smirked, “Very well, then. Would you like the honors or shall I?”
Tiffany leaned over, having heard the exchange, “Wait a minute. Are you two serious? You know that’s Andre Sands, right? Son of Mister Sandman. Number two in the Major Circuit. Undefeated in the WVBA.”
“That doesn’t excuse such crass behavior,” Narcis replied with a glance to Rian.
“Aye,” Rian agreed. “I’ll take this one. Would be a shame to wrinkle your suit.”
“Much obliged, mate.” Narcis said, settling back in his seat as Rian stood and removed his denim jacket.
Tiffany’s eyes darted between Rian, Narcis, and The Sandman in disbelief. “Like, is he really… are you really gonna… what the f…”
“Language, Miss Lords,” Narcis chided with a smirk. “Truthfully, I doubt it will come to blows. But if it does, smart money always bets Irish.”
Rian approached the reception desk amidst murmurs and whispers while The Sandman continued his demands with increasing frustration.
“Look, sweetheart,” The Sandman smiled, resting his hands on the desk and leaning forward to tower over the young woman, “I’m The Sandman. I don’t need no appointments. When I show up and ask to see somebody, then that’s when I gots an appointment.”
He stood up straight and gestured widely to the room, “Now you bump all these future tomato cans to the back of the line and let the doc know I’m here before I lose patience and start makin’ you some.”
Kara shrank back in her chair, stammering. “I-I-I’m s-sorry, b-but I-I-I…”
The Sandman’s hand slammed into the desk, hard. “I don’t care if you…”
“Ahem.”
The quiet sound of a throat clearing made The Sandman stop, piquing his interest.
“Fair play, big man,” Rian said with an almost friendly tone. “You’re a contender. You got a big fight this week. You’re busy. So’s the lady. How’s about you be a gent an’ let the lady do her job, yeah?”
The Sandman spun on his heels, now face-to-face with the scruffy Italian-Irishman. Rian was just a hair shorter, but he made up for it in mass, maybe a good ten pounds. That didn’t stop The Sandman from looking down on Rian, trying to overshadow and intimidate.
Rian, for his part, stood firm. There was no hint of fear or retreat in those green eyes. There was only a steadiness of a man that had seen his fair share of bar fights across at least two countries and was looking to add a third.
“He’s gonna die,” Tiffany’s manicured hand went to her mouth. “Cause of death, terminal stupidity.”
Narcis, on the other hand, looked completely unconcerned. “Your concern is sweet, but misplaced, Miss Lords. I suspect our new acquaintance is quite capable. And besides, in the realm of donnybrooks, one learns to always bet on green.”
“You lost, little man?” The Sandman asked while giving Rian a mocking appraisal. “Grown-folk are handlin’ business here.”
He glared down at Rian, though the latter was unimpressed. Neither Andre Sands’s bravado nor the two inch height difference bothered Rian at all.
“Maybe.” Rian replied, standing his ground. “But last I checked, grown-folk still waited their turn. Cuttin’ the queue sends a bad message, makes the rest of us look small. Can’t be havin’ that.”
The chuckle that came from The Sandman was a low, threatening sound. “You got guts, Braveheart. Tell you what, why don’t I sign you an autograph and you take a seat?”
“Uh huh,” Rian said, shaking his head. “First off, I’m half Irish. Braveheart is Scottish, but I’ll let that slide. Meantime, how’s about you sit your arse down an’ wait your turn like everybody else?”
A nervous buzz went through the room. Tiffany looked beside herself at Narcis who, for his part, was studying Andre “The Sandman” Sands and his every move.
“You got any idea who I am?” The Sandman’s gaze narrowed as he took a step back, giving himself room.
Rian’s smile turned mischievous. “Any idea if I care?”
The Sandman’s eyes went wide with anger, “Boy, you should. I’m main-event money, a nightmare none of you bunch of punkass rookies wanna meet in the ring!”
His voice rose as many in the room shrank back in their chairs. Many, but not all. Not Rian Rossi.
“If I wanna jump the line,” The Sandman continued, “then I jump. Now, get outta my face and let me get back to my business. Last warning.”
“Or what?” Rian folded his arms. “You’ll swing on me two days before a title eliminator? I’m sure that’ll go over well. Aye, I can see the headlines now: Contender belts rookie in doctor’s office; Forfeits bout due to suspension.”
The Sandman was practically vibrating with anger, but Rian pressed on.
“Still, if you wanna go,” Rian began rolling up his sleeves. The rest didn’t need to be said.
“Let’s see you back up all that shit you talkin’.” The Sandman’s fists flexed as he moved toward Rian. But then, he suddenly stopped.
Narcis stood, the message clear. The Sandman saw him out of the corner of his eye as the young Brit slid off his suit jacket with effortless grace.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, his posh accent now cold and calm. “Should you feel compelled to lash out at my flatmate, I would at least suggest Marquis of Queensbury rules and a proper ring. Hallway scuffles are dreadfully passé.”
The Sandman’s gaze shot from Rian, to Narcis, and back again. But before things could further escalate, a woman’s voice cut through with authority.
“Basta!”
Nurse Bona came out of the examination room, clipboard in hand. Her eyes blazed with the fury of a woman that had seen enough foolishness for one day.
“Signor Sands,” she said to The Sandman, her tone brooking no argument, “you will sit down. Now. You will received your physical when your name is called and not a moment before.”
“Woman,” The Sandman started, “do you…”
“I did not stutter, Signor Sands.” Cura’s stare was unflinching. “The doctor will not be rushed and my nurses will not be harassed. Sit or leave. I don’t care which.”
Tension hung in the air for a moment. Then, The Sandman walked past Rian to an empty chair. As he passed the Irish-Italian, he whispered low, “Your punk ass is mine.”
Rian simply smiled. Nurse Bona shot him a quick nod and went back to work while Rian moved back to his own seat.
“You’re nuts,” Tiffany scolded, “you know that right? You know what he coulda done to you?”
“Sure,” Rian chuckled as he picked up his denim jacket and put it back on. “Luckily, I tend to pick fight near hospitals. Makes the clean-up a sight easier.”
Tiffany shook her head in disbelief, then turned her attention to Narcis, “And you. What was that little speech all about? You think rules matter outside the ring?”
The faintest of smiles played on Narcis’s face, “Not at all, but that wasn’t the point. The brute needed to understand that anything untoward, should they come to blows, would be dealt with.”
“Meaning?” Tiffany asked.
“Meaning,” Rian spoke up, “Saville Row over here had my back.”
“Quite.” Narcis responded.
A nurse called the next patient, “Aaron Rian Rossi?”
“That’s me.” Rian called out as he stood. Then with a quick nod to his acquaintances, “If you’ll pardon me.”
Narcis nodded as Rian made his way to the examination room. Meanwhile, Tiffany finally relaxed and leaned back in her chair.
“Okay, you two might be pretty cool,” she said, shaking her head. “But, you’re definitely both crazy.”
“Nice of you to say so, my dear,” Narcis replied with a smirk. “Though, bear in mind, one that chooses to be punched soundly about the face and torso as a profession can be called entirely sane, now can they?”
Cura Bona is an OC belonging to @m4y4fun and is used with permission.
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Trays clicked and clacked like machine gun fire. Laughter and shouts echoed. The occasional plate breaking on the floor like a grenade scattering shrapnel. To say the WVBA Cafeteria during the peak lunchtime rush was akin to a battlefield would not be an understatement.
This Thursday was no exception. It was just a little past noon and there was scarcely an empty seat to be found. Support staff were in scattered pockets, either catching up or conducting business at working lunches. Boxers and coaches alike were scarfing down meals to keep their energy up for their afternoon workouts.
Amidst all of this chaos was Razor Sharp. Still dressed in her workout gear, an orange sports bra and green shorts, she surveyed the room, looking for an empty seat. Any empty seat.
As she weaved her way through the tables and patrons, she picked up bits and pieces of the scenes unfolding around her.
Von Kaiser was sitting at a corner table, soup on the table, looking over a bunch of paperwork with Niki Binary and Luna Doll. Razor made a quick mental note.
Studying with Von Kaiser, huh? This could be more fun than I thought.
Glass Joe and King Hippo were engaged in some conversation that had them both quite excited. Joe was quite animated as Hippo was in the process of demolishing a literal mountain of grilled chicken.
Skye Ivy and Star Mika seemed to be watching some cartoon on a tablet as they ate their lunches. Mika was pointing out something on screen as Skye nodded studiously.
The loudest table saw Aran Ryan holding court with a crew of rookies. While most of the newbies were joining in with Aran as he laughed a little too loud at his own jokes, two men, a young blonde that clearly had money and a blue-collar looking guy with reddish-brown hair were carrying on their own conversation, occasionally side-eyeing Aran and shaking their heads.
Jazzy Jamboree, the WVBA’s lead announcer, was sitting with Mr. Sandman. They both had laptops on the table, Razor catching a glimpse of voice over copy on her dad’s screen. He caught a glimpse of his baby girl, smiled, and shot her a quick wink.
Her legendary father would be ringside for her WVBA debut a week from Saturday, calling the action. It was a fact, and a pressure, that wasn’t lost on her.
After wading through tables and chairs, seemingly all of them full to capacity, Razor spotted an empty seat. Sitting alone at a table near the center of the cafeteria, decked out in a Kamen Rider Ryuki t-shirt and simple black leggings was Cutie Hondo.
She was studying a tablet on a stand in front of her on the table, scribbling notes with one hand and picking through her bento box with the other. Razor could see on the tablet King Hippo’s latest match. It had been an exhibition against the RBC’s Tank Thrasher. Thrasher, a former crocodile wrestler, gave it his all, easily faster than the sluggish Minor Circuit Champ, but he’d underestimated Hippo. It was a mistake that led to Thrasher on the canvas before long.
Cutie paused the video, her eyes narrowing. “He likes to load up a hook when he ducks. Leaves him open on one side. I bet nii-san can bait that and then…” Quickly, she started scribbling notes in Japanese on her pad.
“Yo, you mind if I sit here?” Razor’s voice was confident, but kind, as she drew Cutie’s attention. “Ain’t a single empty seat in here don’t smell like barbeque sauce and bruised egos.”
A quick laugh nearly made Cutie do a spit take. She smiled and gestured to the chair across from her. “You’re Razor Sharp? Right? Please, sit! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Appreciate that, but do me a favor?” Razor slid her tray down and pull out the chair, “Unless we set the throw hands soon, it’s Sahara.”
“Hai, Sahara it is.” Cutie giggled and took a sip of her tea. “Niki’s the same way. If she’s got her lanyard on, it’s Nicole. And she’s serious about it, too. She threatened to throw a cinnamon bun at me the last time I called her ‘Binary’ outside of the ring or the gym.”
Razor, or Sahara, stabbing her fork into her grilled chicken and chuckled. “Aight, seriously girl, how does anybody keep names straight ‘round here? Most of us got names that makes us sound like a toy commercial.”
“Right?” Cutie smiled in agreement, “I mean, I get merchandising and stuff, Cutie Hondo is a more marketable name than Kyoko Kobayashi, but man. It took me a month to remember everyone’s real name and ring name.”
Sahara took a few bites as Cutie continued on with her studies before Sahara’s curiosity got the better of her. “I saw you’re watchin’ King Hippo fights. Don’t really see whatcha gon’ learn from him that’s gonna help you. You two ain’t exactly the same style, ya’ know?”
“Oh, no. This isn’t for me,” Cutie rubbed her eyes for a moment. “I’m scouting to help my brother Koji. He’s got a title shot next week and I wanted to help. So, Coach ‘Cane asked me to look for holes in Hippo’s game.”
“Koji is Piston, right?” Sahara leaned forward, eyes focusing on the fight playing out on Cutie’s tablet.
Cutie nodded as she paused the video and scribbled another note, “Yep. Coach ‘Cane passed the name down to him. Nii-san puts a lot on himself, carrying Piston Hurricane’s name into the ring. But, he knows what it means and tries to live up to it.”
Sahara was silent for a moment as Cutie continued writing. “Hippo always looks so slow, but he’s not. He tries to catch you with a real sudden shot, short and strong, to stun you. Then, he can just lay in with power punches. Nii-san’s got to be careful. If he gets carried away…”
“He’ll get carried out,” Sahara nodded, finishing the thought, then her voice softened. “Really cool of you. Doing recon for your bro.”
Cutie looked down with a bashful smile. “He’s my brother… and I like helping. I can’t be in his corner during his fights anymore, being on the roster myself and all, but I still want to be there for him, you know?”
“I…” Sahara leaned back, fiddling with her fork. Her eyes searched the room absently, focused on nothing in particular. “I wish I did.”
An awkward moment passed, Sahara taking a deep, steadying breath as Cutie tried to read her expression.
Sahara exhaled and looked at Cutie with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Must be nice. Having your brother’s back. Knowing he’s got yours.”
Cutie blinked in confusion, Sahara’s change in tone obvious. “Sahara? Is there…”
“Don’t sweat it,” Sahara half-laughed. It was a humorless, sad sound. “Just some family drama. Nevermind it.”
“Sahara, um,” Cutie set down her pen, meeting Sahara’s eyes with a warm look. “If you need to talk, I’ve got some experience with brother problems?”
That caught Sahara off guard, “What the hell makes you think…”
A calm, friendly smile formed on Cutie’s face as she shrugged. “Lucky guess? Look. We’re the only two little sisters in the league. No judgement, but I know that vibe.”
Exhaling a deep breath, Sahara nodded slowly. “Aight, that checks out. But, girl, I don’t know you like that. This ain’t the kinda talk you have with a chick you just met.”
“Fair enough,” Cutie chuckled. “But, we’ve both got big brothers in the WVBA. Maybe we could form some sort of… I don’t know… support group? Book club? Biker gang?”
Sahara’s eyes narrowed. “How do you go from book club to…”
“I don’t know, but you get the idea,” Cutie waved dismissively.
Their table went quiet for another moment.
Sahara’s muttering broke the silence, “Yeah, I guess I do.”
The silence stretched for a few moments, both girls eating bits of their lunches. Eventually, Sahara glanced up, “You and, uh, Koji ever get into it?” Her tone was casual, the question was a probing one.
Cutie’s genuine laughter startled a few neighboring tables. “Gomen! Gomen!” She quickly apologized and nodded in the direction of those she’d disturbed before looking back to Sahara. “God, yes. All siblings do! We’ve yelled and argued and fought. One time, he hid my Kamen Rider Black CD and I didn’t talk to him for a month! But… but, we always pull it back, talk it out, and that’s that.”
Sahara’s gaze went distant. She looked like a weight had settled on her shoulders as she slumped in her chair ever so slightly.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Cutie’s eyes brightened, a mischievous smirk slowly forming.
“Alright,” Cutie nodded, “I’ll tell you about the biggest, dumbest fight I ever had with Piston if you tell me what’s going on with you and Sand…”
Sahara’s hand slammed into the table with a resounding bang. Cutie’s tablet fell flat, plates and silverware rattled, and every eye in the cafeteria turned their way.
“That ain’t his name!” Sahara’s body was drawn tighter than a kite string in a hurricane.Her eyes flashed, sharp and raw. And everyone that looked toward them slowly looked away.
Cutie’s eyes went wide at the sudden shift, but Sahara held up an apologetic hand, “Yo, we’re good. That ain’t on you. I just… Andre ain’t earned that name. Sandman is our dad.”
“I understand,” Cutie nodded, her voice quiet, “Andre it is. I’m sorry I…”
“Nothin’ to apologize for,” Sahara straightened her now disheveled tray. “But… that deal… still stand?”
“Of course, it does.” Cutie smiled warmly.
It took a moment. A long moment. “Ya know,” Sahara finally allowed the slightest of smiles, “I might be down with talkin’ to another little sister ‘round here.”
Star Mike is an OC belonging to @cyrah-is-cool101 and is used with permission.
Jazzy Jamboree is an OC belonging to @sukipershipper and is used with permission.
Really? This is my first day solo. What the hell did I do to make Madeline mad at me?
Joy Pesca, the fresh faced new receptionist at the front desk, looked over the sea of humanity… okay, more like twenty-five, maybe thirty people… that occupied the lobby of the WVBA Offices. It was orientation and check-in day for a new group of hopefuls and recruits and Joy was all by her lonesome.
The scents of fresh-brewed coffee and ambition mingled in the air as the young men and women gathered in various places throughout the room. Some nervously checked and rechecked the contents of their duffel bags while others carried on small conversations with their fellows. There were those that looked as nervous as a cat in a room of rocking chairs and those that carried an air of confidence as though they were destined to be champions.
“Lords?” Joy called the next name on her list. “Tiffany Lords?”
A bubbly young blonde, a patriotic one if her attire was any indication, jumped out of a chair, arm raised, “That’s me!”
“If you’ll please come up to the desk Miss Lords? I’ve got some paperwork to go over with you.” Joy tapped away at her keyboard as Tiffany approached with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Tiffany leaned over the desk, waving Joy over as if she were wanting to share a state secret, “Psst. Can I ask a question?”
“Sure.” Joy looked slightly confused. “Why are we whispering?”
Completely ignoring Joy’s question, Tiffany held a hand to the side of her mouth as if to shield it from lip readers that may be watching. “Um, I know I’ve got a lot of registration stuff to do, but I haven’t been in a good fight since I graduated and I was wondering… when do I actually get to, like, punch people in the face?”
“Excuse me?!” Joy’s shocked voice drew plenty of eyes as Tiffany tried to hurriedly quiet her down. But, it didn’t draw everyone’s attention.
Off to one side were two young men. Both were striking, but each in their own way.
A rugged man with a slightly olive complexion, maybe in his early 20s, stood watching bouts on one of the lobby’s many monitors. His auburn hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and he looked like he was about four days overdue for shave. A faded green polo shirt and black denim jeans, along with a well worn and patch adorned denim jacket, gave him the distinct appearance of a man long accustomed to grit and hard work.
Seated nearby on a small couch was a clean shaven blonde man, late teens by the looks of him, and he was the very picture of refinement. He wore a tailored three-piece suit, navy with faint gold pinstripes, and a crisp white dress shirt, all neatly pressed. This was complemented with a navy necktie done up with the sharpest Windsor knot these offices had ever seen, a cream pocket square, a small but ornate purple lapel pin, and black dress shoes shined to a mirror like finish. Everything about this man screamed luxury and class.
The blond man scanned the room with keen interest until his eyes fell on a particular patch on the rugged man’s denim jacket. A faint smile, perhaps a bit hopeful, played on the blonde’s face.
“Shamrock Rovers?” The auburn haired man turned to the smartly dressed blonde with the posh London accent, “I say, I wasn’t expecting someone to advertise their poor taste in football clubs this far from home.”
There wasn’t an immediate answer, but instead the more rugged man let out a low chuckle as he rubbed his stubble thoughtfully, his voice carrying a faint Irish accent. “Aye. Well, at least we know what a proper team looks like. You lot need half the country’s payroll to put together a team that can’t score.”
The blonde rose from his seat. “Ah, a sharp tongue to match the rough exterior. Excellent.” That quick witted response earned a genuine smile and an extended hand. “Narcis. Narcis Prince”
“Rian Rossi,” the Irishman took the offered hand with a firm, but friendly, grip and a small nod.
“Rian,” Narcis repeated, tilting his head slightly, as if studying the man. “I see a bit of the Mediterranean and hear a bit of Dublin.”
“Whitehall, actually,” Rian stuffed his left hand into his jacket pocket. “Born and raised. My family still has a place near Ballymun. And you?”
Narcis smoothed about his suit coat from where he had been sitting. “Mayfair. A bit posh, I know.”
“Ya do have that air about ya,” Rian smirked.
“Well practiced, I assure you,” Narcis nodded with a hint of self-satisfaction.
“What do you mean roommate?!” All eyes turned toward the loud voice at the front desk, only to see Tiffany turn to the room, flush with embarrassment, “Sorry…”
As the buzz in the lobby resumed, Rian leaned against the wall to resume his conversation. “Gotta say, didn’t expect to see a posh London boy here. How’d that come about?”
“I think it’s in the blood,” Narcis conceded. “According to my mum, my father was a boxer and a might rough around the edges. I suppose that’s why I took a bit more a liking to fisticuffs and society dinners.” With a glance Rian’s way, Narcis noted his relaxed but ready posture, “And you? Must say, you have the look of a man that’s seen a good row before.”
Rian shrugged. “Me uncle taught me. Giovanni Rossi. Used to fight under the name Pete Zapasta back in the day.”
“I’ve heard of him. Tough man,” Narcis nodded.
“He wanted me to learn to take care o’ meself. So did the ‘rents, so they sent me to Napoli for summers with him when I was a wee lad.” Rossi’s voice warmed with happy memories, “Helped me learn about me Italian side, too. But, I decided to make it with me own name. Never been the kind to take a free ride.”
“Ah.” There was a hint of intrigue in Narcis’s tone. “A man of principles. I respect that.”
“Aaron Rian Rossi?” Joy’s voice rang through the lobby as Tiffany walked toward the infirmary for the next part of her check-in.
“That’s me.” Rian extended his hand to Narcis, “I look forward to seein’ ya around. Even if yer a rubbish Chelsea fan.”
Narcis couldn’t hide his mild surprise as he shook Rian’s hand, “Never mentioned a favored Chelsea.”
Rian smirked as he moved to the desk, “Nah, but yer clothes did.”
Narcis took his seat and shook his head in amusement as Rian made his way to the lobby desk. Just before he got there, a boisterous voice, thick with Irish attitude, called out from the direction of the cafeteria.
“Oi! Who the hell’s shoutin’ me name this e’rly in the feckin’ morn?” Aran Ryan, dressed in a tank top proudly proclaiming himself ‘Yer Mum’s Fav Irish Psycho’, walked briskly toward the desk, wiping the sleep from his eyes, “Joy! What is it? Ohh! Fresh meat day! Wantin’ me ta give some wise words ta the newest crop o’ victims?”
Rian stood at the desk in front of Joy, seemingly the only person that fully expected this. “And this,” he gestured to Aran, “is why I prefer Rian.”
“I said Aaron Rian Rossi,” Joy looked at Aaron with obvious frustration. “And they don’t need any words from you. Wise or otherwise.”
Though it took a second, Aran finally realized the confusion. He slapped Rian hard on the shoulder and smiled mischievously, “Oh laddie, yer feckin’ luck havin’ the same name as me. This could be fun!”
Rian and Joy stared at Aran as he headed back toward the cafeteria, cackling as he did. After a long moment of silence, Joy turned back to Rian. “My condolences.”
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