Past Life Hero, ch 4

Tom came back later with a handful of hundred-dollar bills and another six people in tow. Apparently, word was spreading of Max’s challenge. The newcomers wordlessly filed into the four side rooms to watch. Larry held up the money that Tom had handed him. "One thousand dollars right here."

"So who will I be fighting?" Max asked. Inside, he knew that there was no way Larry would personally fight.  There was too much at risk. If Max beat him, then this dojo would crumble, or at least take a huge reputation hit.  And after all, as long as he didn't fight Max, there was still plausible deniability. He and his students could say whatever they wanted. They could all say that Max was quaking in his boots and would have run away if Larry challenged him.

It turned out Max was right.

"You'll be fighting Brian, one of my three administrative students," Larry said and pointed at the other man with sparring equipment on. This was the man who had been working with Jefferson when Max first walked in.

Brian wasn't as big as Jefferson, but Max could immediately tell he was more dangerous. More skilled, maybe had less to prove.  The way he walked was panther-like, graceful, and he had a fantastic shape. He had the look of one a guy that served in the military until they decided it wasn't hardcore enough for them and then worked as a mercenary overseas for a while, making six figures a year to kill people for money. The dude had a very serious vibe to him.

Larry spread his hands. "Now, you can still choose to concede or even walk away if you want, Max," he said. "But if you do, all of our previous bets are null and void. I think that's reasonable, right?"

Max gave Larry a crooked smile. "Definitely reasonable, but not necessary. I'm ready whenever."

"Okay, same rules as before," said Larry. "Once you touch gloves, it's all you guys."

Everybody backed up except for Max and Brian. He eyed the man again. They didn't touch gloves right away, just studied each other. And he could see surprise and growing awareness in the Brian’s eyes. He seemed to be realizing something about Max that he might not have expected. After all, sometimes killers can recognize each other. In spite of the earlier spar, Max could tell that Brian hadn't been taking him seriously after the man’s posture changed. It was a subtle thing, but he noticed and recognized it. Now they were both serious.

Max walked forward and held out a glove just like Jefferson had before. Brian moved up, tapped his gloves, and backed up a full step. All around us, the students watched with rapt attention.  A few frowned in confusion over Brian not immediately moving in for the kill.  Most, if not all of them doubtlessly hoped Max would get a bone broken or at least a face full of blood. He didn't entirely blame them.

But Brian was a real fighter. This wasn't someone he could take lightly. Max could tell Jefferson had been pretty good but had lacked much real-world experience. He was a big, well-trained man and probably hadn't encountered very many people in his entire life who he couldn't overpower only just with his physicality, much less martial arts. That might have been one reason why he’d been sparring with Brian in the first place. Without a training opponent who was better, it was hard to grow.

Max began to circle with Brian, both of them looking for openings, trying to get a read on the other. And he learned some more things about his opponent just in those few moments.

For one, this was definitely a man who conserved his energy. He was not a sport fighter at all. Brian was legitimately looking for an opening to exploit, maybe go all in. This being a one-on-one match, and modern MMA being what it was these days, Max had a feeling if Brian went on the attack, he’d likely try for some sort of submission play.

Max hoped so.

The problem with submission holds and going to the ground in general is that it worked best when fighting somebody in a ring where there are rules, or where the other person is untrained in grappling or doesn't expect it.  In the real world, trying to do Jujutsu versus someone with a weapon or versus more than one person at a time were great ways to lose.  Badly.

But there were always exceptions.  And if the submission fighter was fast enough, ruthless enough, or maybe softened up their opponent first, a submission hold could kill, much less win a spar.  This was a one on one spar, where grappling shined, and if Max was reading his opponent right, the man was an expert.  His every move betrayed confidence.

Brian threw a few experimental jabs at Max, pressuring him, carefully monitoring distance, keeping Max on the defensive.  Max wanted to counter, but he was wary.  For Brian to be this confident about trying for the grapple, the man was probably very skilled.  And grappling was one martial style in general where greater strength counted less, especially if the grappler was willing to take a few licks to get a submission hold in.

And Max couldn’t use his full strength or most lethal techniques.  He still wasn’t willing to kill anyone today in a job interview gone wrong.

Suddenly, Brian went for Max’s legs in a beautiful maneuver, one that when executed, covered his head with one arm to protect himself while dipping low, using his core strength.  Brian seemed to practically glide across the ground.

A few defense options against a takedown included a sprawl or counter strike.  Brian was fast enough to make sprawling difficult and was already defending himself from most ways he could be hit or kicked by his opponent. His guard was strong.  The move had been polished and perfected.

Max reacted in an unconventional way, almost impossible way that Brian could not have predicted.

He jumped straight up in the air, rotating his hips as he did so. His left leg evaded the grab as his right leg snapped a kick  Brian’s head, threading the needle, delivering the strike expertly through the tiny gap other man's defense.

Brian rocked back, momentarily off balance as Max touched down again. Then Max followed up with a lightning quick step over side kick with all of his weight behind it. His heel drilled past Brian’s hasty guard straight into his chest. It could have been a crushing strike to the throat, but Max turned it into a pushing hammer blow instead.

The other man was knocked backwards like he'd been hit by a giant baseball bat. He rolled with the impact, at least partially controlled.  Max’s respect for his opponent went up immensely when Brian shakily got to his feet, blood streaming down the front of his face onto his gi, and offered a respectful salute.

Brian was woozy, unstable as he held the salute.  He could have a concussion and likely knew it.

After the fight had actually begun, it had been over in seconds. And Brian might be able to fight more, technically, but not well.  If he was as dizzy as he looked, versus someone stronger, faster, and more skilled than he was, he’d just be running into a meat grinder.  Max had proven in one exchange that he was in a different league.  Others in the gym might believe he’d just been lucky.  Brian obviously knew better.  If he’d been less seasoned, or less mature, maybe he’d run in again. It was good that he seemed to know there was no point.

Deep down Max had to admit he had been showing off a little bit. He felt a tiny bit guilty about that, but not much. I might have hurt some people's pride, but he hadn't killed anyone.

Time to see if Brian was as rational and lucid as Max suspected.

“Do you concede?” Max asked.

“I do.”

Good, he thought.  Max hadn’t been imagining it. He could clearly see the recognition in Brian’s eyes now that if the other man continued, he’d get destroyed.  There was additional understanding there, too. The seasoned fighter knew that Max had been holding back, barely trying but still had hit like a freight train.

Most people on earth would never fight someone who could casually rip them apart, like trying to box a gorilla.

Some of the other students were gasping and didn’t understand what they’d seen.  Maybe they were confused why Brian hadn’t kept trying.  But the more seasoned students just looked stunned.  Maybe they’d thought earlier that he got lucky with Jefferson, but this was twice in a row, and Max had just displayed physicality that most people in the world could never match–especially agility and speed.  They likely wondered whether Max had trained Taekwondo in Korea and was an Olympic level athlete or something.

The more experienced and skilled the martial artist, the more they’d comprehend how extraordinary the exchange they’d just witnessed was.  What Max had just done would not have been possible without great strength, training, timing, and perfect coordination.

And he’d barely shown them all he was capable of so far.  Even though he’d knocked Brian on his ass with kicks, he’d knocked Jefferson out with his fist.  Brian and the other higher level fighters in the dojo had to have noticed that as well.

As Max walked towards Larry and took the money out of the open-mouthed man's hand, he felt the satisfaction of having finally gotten some extra cash. Too bad he couldn’t just be an underground prize fighter for a few years, but that seemed like a great way to eventually get a criminal record…unless he wanted to show off his superhuman strength and speed to the world with boxing or something.  And that would be dumb.

Max bowed towards Larry and then bowed towards everybody else.  He said, "Larry, actually I don't think I want to teach here. It seems that maybe I won't be liked or accepted very much." And with that, before anybody else could react, he left through the double doors, went outside, and speed-walked to the parking garage and his economical car.

The whole time he wondered if he was going to be pursued. Luckily, nobody followed. He wasn’t worried, just didn’t want any more complications.  His adrenaline was high as he drove away, and he gave a shaky laugh. What he’d just done had been stupid, too flashy and dramatic in multiple ways, but he had to admit it'd been a long time since he felt this alive.

Max got home, and the first thing he saw were the bills on the counter. His heart dropped. All of the good feelings he'd had from beating up a couple of guys at the dojo washed away after being doused with a bucket of cold, hard reality.

His experience in the dojo had been a little bit of a wakeup call. Even though he wss strongrr and faster than probably any other human on hearth, he felt…rusty.  He decided that he didn't have anything better to do at this time so he should start working out.

The fact that he was still in good shape from taking in tiny sips of mana over his entire life meant that he could work out very easily without getting sore. While the little bits of mana in his body weren't much, they were enough to heal his muscles much quicker than an average person could. There was really no reason for him not to exercise, especially since he hadn't completely given up on his idea of a martial arts side hustle.

That night before bed, Jake moved his body. He ran, he did basic exercises like pushups and sit-ups in his kitchen, and he went to his apartment's gym for the first time. It really wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. And theoretically, he was technically paying to use the facilities, so he might as well.

These were all things he told himself as he mechanically lifted weights. He didn't feel too guilty about how much faster his body improved than anyone else's. If all the gym rats that he'd known in college could see him now and actually understood how fast he was getting gains just by using the machines for a few sets, they'd be green with envy.

But Max had gone through hell, literally, to have the ability to do this, and he'd never taken advantage of it before. When he was in high school, he briefly thought about using his mana control ability to have an unfair advantage in sports but had rejected it. It wasn't ethical, and Max knew he had some personality flaws, but being a douchebag bully was not one of them.