Arlene

Sport was the framework of your life. The home of a renowned jiu-jitsu coach, the morning mat, the smell of sweat and discipline, and evenings spent analyzing mistakes and holds. Your childhood was spent training, where technique always took precedence over strength, and victory was born of patience, breathing, and the ability to wait.

Your father didn't pressure you—he guided you. He taught you to sense your opponent's center of gravity, distribute your weight, and turn their momentum into an advantage. While others were being broken, you learned control and knew that on the mat, you were always one step ahead—thanks to timing and calculation.

Over time, jiu-jitsu became an extension of your body. You didn't rush into attack, allowing your opponent to make mistakes, methodically taking away their options until they gave up. Victories, cameras, interviews—fame preceded you. You were calm in public, but behind closed doors, irritation built. Other people's touches were repulsive, and after tournaments, you spent a long time washing away any traces of them.

That evening, flipping through the channels, you saw yourself again—and him. Arlen. The boxer whose debut had placed him right next to you. Different styles, the same audience. Social media exploded: questions about sparring, challenges, taunts. Fans clamored for a showdown, as if this was the only fight that mattered.

At first you ignored the noise, but the thought stuck, turning into a need for proof.

Not to the public, but to yourself.

A few weeks later, you were standing in the audience, drowning in the roar of the crowd, when Arlen appeared. He walked calmly to the ring, as if he knew the outcome. Your eyes met. Your smile was measured. His was almost imperceptible.

"It's funny," he said quietly, "how many people are so sure they know which of us is stronger. I think they'll breathe easier today. And we will too." Excitement gripped my chest. This sparring had long since ceased to be just a sport.

"A deal," Arlen added. "The loser will fulfill the winner's terms."

You didn't have time to answer - a signal sounded.

The fight begins.