KAI REBORN (The Seven System)

KAI THE FALLEN 2 (Saturday Night)

July 23rd 2020

KAI 

"Kai, man, you don't have to do this."

Ricky stood in front of me, His janitor uniform was still on—he'd come straight from his shift at the gym to be here. That's the kind of friend he was. The kind who showed up even when he knew you were about to get destroyed.

"I know," I said quietly. 

"Then don't." He crouched down to my eye level. "Chen Wei is a monster. You saw what he did to Marcus. Marcus was actually good, and he still ended up in the hospital for two weeks. You're—"

"I'm what?" I looked up at him. "Weak? Pathetic? A punching bag with legs?"

"That's not what I meant." Ricky's face twisted with frustration. "I meant you're not ready for this. Nobody expects you to be ready for this. There's no shame in—"

"There's every shame in it." I stood up, cutting him off. "I already told Old Man Zhang I'd fight. The money's already promised. If I back out now, I'll never get another match. Never."

"So what? You can find other work. Real work that doesn't involve getting your brain turned into soup."

I almost laughed. "Real work? Like what? Another minimum wage job that fires me the second I have an asthma attack on shift? I've tried, Ricky. Nobody wants to hire someone who can barely breathe."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. We both knew I was right.

"Besides," I continued, softer now, "Mom needs this. The hospital called again yesterday. Four thousand by Monday or they kick her out. If I survive three rounds tonight, I get two thousand. That's half. It's something."

"And if you don't survive three rounds?"

"Then at least I tried," I said finally.

Ricky stared at me for a long moment, then sighed and pulled me into a rough hug. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah." I hugged him back. "I know."

A knock on the door made us pull apart. Old Man Zhang poked his head in, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Five minutes, kid. You ready?"

"Ready," I lied.

He grunted and disappeared. Through the thin walls, I could hear the crowd getting louder. They were chanting already.

"CHEN! CHEN! CHEN!"

Nobody was chanting my name. Nobody ever did.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out with shaking hands.

Danny: Bro we're here. Front row. You got this.

Ricky:(He must have texted while standing right next to me) If you die I'm killing you myself.

I managed a weak smile at that last one.

"Let's go," I said to Ricky.

The crowd barely glanced at me as I walked past. Why would they? I was just the appetizer before the real show. The guy who'd make Chen Wei look good.

I climbed into the ring, and the canvas felt sticky under my feet. Old blood, probably. The thought made my stomach turn.

Across the ring, Chen Wei stood in his corner, shadow boxing. Even from here, I could see the difference between us. He was six-foot-two of pure muscle, moving with the intimidating grace of a predator. I was five-foot-nine, skinny except for the muscle I'd managed to build from desperation, and my record was... well. It spoke for itself.

The ref—a bald guy named Tony who'd seen a thousand fights just like this one—called us to the center.

"You know the rules," Tony said flatly. "There are no rules. You signed the waiver. You fight until someone can't continue or someone gives up. Understood?"

We both nodded.

Tony looked at me with something like pity in his eyes. "You sure about this, kid?"

"Yeah," I whispered.

"Speak up. I need verbal confirmation."

"Yes," I said louder. "I'm sure."

"Your funeral." the ref stepped back. "Touch gloves if you want. Probably don't. Fight!"

Chen Wei didn't even offer his gloves. He just smiled—this cold, cruel smile that made my blood freeze—and retreated to his corner.

I looked for Maya in the crowd. Found her in the third row.

And my heart stopped.

She was wearing a t-shirt. Chen Wei's t-shirt. The one with his logo on it—a hammer wrapped in flames. The same shirt his actual fans wore. The same shirt I'd seen in his gym bag.

She was wearing his shirt.

Our eyes met. She had the decency to look away.

The bell rang.

Chen Wei came at me like a  train.

I barely got my guard up before his first jab snapped my head back. Then a hook to my ribs. Then another jab. Then—

Focus, I screamed at myself. Focus or you're dead.

I tried to circle away, but he cut off the ring like he'd done it a thousand times before. Because he had. This was easy for him. I was easy for him.

"Is that all you got?" Chen Wei's voice was casual, almost bored. "Maya said you'd at least try."

The words hit harder than his fists.

I swung wild—a desperate right hook that he slipped easily. His counter caught me at the temple. The world tilted. My vision blurred.

The shirt, I kept thinking. She's wearing his shirt.

Another combination. My nose exploded with pain. Blood poured down my face, into my mouth. I tried to breathe, but my lungs wouldn't cooperate. The wheezing started—that high-pitched whistle that meant I was in trouble.

"Aww, is the baby having trouble breathing?" Chen Wei circled me like a shark. "Should've brought your inhaler. Oh wait—"

He stomped on my foot, and when I buckled forward, his knee came up into my chest.

All the air left my lungs. I collapsed to the canvas, gasping, drowning in air that wouldn't come.

The crowd roared. They wanted blood. They were getting it.

"Get up," Tony said without much enthusiasm. He didn't bother counting. In underground fights, there was no count. You got up or you didn't.

I tried. God, I tried. My hands pressed against the sticky canvas, pushing. My legs shook. My chest burned like someone had poured gasoline in my lungs and lit a match.

Through the haze of pain, I saw Maya again. She was standing now, Chen Wei's shirt bright red against the dingy warehouse lights. And Chen—he'd walked to the edge of the ring closest to her, was flexing, showing off for her.

She was smiling.

Not at me. At him.

"CHEN! CHEN! CHEN!" the crowd chanted.

I made it to one knee. Then my feet. The world swayed, but I was standing.

Chen Wei turned back to me, and the boredom in his eyes had been replaced with something worse. Annoyance.

"You're tough, I'll give you that," he said. "But tough doesn't mean shit when you can't breathe."

He came at me again. This time I saw the punch coming—a straight right aimed at my chest, right where my asthma was worst. I tried to move, tried to block, but my body wouldn't respond fast enough.

His fist sank into my chest like a spear.

Everything stopped.