The weeks begin to pass more quickly, as I fall into a routine. Class, train, study, sleep. Repeat. I’m in a funk and can’t seem to shake it. While I’m excelling in my classes, the sessions with Anya are becoming increasingly frustrating for both of us. It’s clear she’s not happy with my progress. Our conversations are superficial at best, and I still can’t seem to let my guard down with her or anyone else here. I haven’t spoken with Aldo in a couple of weeks. I know he’s busy with his obligations to the Council and don’t want to bother him. It makes for a lonely existence.
The only bright spot in my schedule is my MMA class. I do my best to ignore Nikolai, and it seems to be working so far. We’ve been learning Taekwondo moves, and Garcia has promised that this week we’ll get back to sparring. It’s only the promise of physical combat that has me smiling today. I welcome the opportunity to expel some energy and am bored with practicing the maneuvers. I want to hit something already.
“Cha-ryeot!” Garcia barks, calling for attention. Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to realize that Garcia will never do anything halfway. He insists that we learn not only the moves but also the correct Korean commands and decorum for the practice of Taekwondo. Fortunately, he continues in English. “As promised, we’ll be sparring today. Pair off. Each of you needs a partner for today’s exercise.”
I glance around and realize that my classmates are partnering up with ease. I’m the only one who hasn’t bothered to make friends within the class. I’ve been too focused on the material. And, it probably doesn’t help that Marcus and I threw down so violently on the first day.
“Since we have an odd number of students, you and I will be working together today,” Nikolai informs me, approaching confidently.
“Lucky me.”
“I think we both know that luck has nothing to do with it. None of your classmates want to work with you,” he says simply. “Not after that showing with Marcus.” A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth and I glare at him in return.
“They’re not gutsy enough to challenge you,” he whispers in my ear conspiratorially, his words blending in with the other sounds of the training center. His breath is sweet and hot against my cheek causing my stomach to churn nervously. My pulse quickens, and I tell myself it’s just adrenaline preparing me for the impending fight.
“So, I’m being punished for being proficient?” I ask sweeping my hair into a messy ponytail as I eye him skeptically.
“And here I thought you’d consider our partnership an opportunity. You won’t get better by sparring with opponents you can easily defeat,” he points out. Apparently he’s unfazed by my total lack of interest in being his partner. “I’m the best match for you. Unless you can’t handle it?”
I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me, and I refuse to fall for the bait. He’s right. If I want to be the best, I’ve got to defeat the best. I haven’t seen him fight yet, but his position as Garcia’s assistant speaks volumes.
“Jun-bi?” I challenge him.
“I’m always ready,” he replies bowing.
I don’t dare take my eyes off of him, as I move into a fighting stance. I force the sounds and movements of my classmates from my mind. Right now it’s just Nikolai and I on the mat. While I haven’t assessed his skill level, I know it surpasses my own and that I must be alert. I don’t have to wait long for him to break the tension. Nikolai goes on the attack immediately.
He’s on me in a flash, swinging his left arm in a hammer fist blow intended for the right side of my head. I get my arms up to block the attack but leave my midsection exposed. Nikolai anticipates the lack of protection and counters with his left hand delivering a palm heel to my solar plexus. I’m thrown to the ground by the force of the blow and slide off the edge of the mat pathetically. Any butterflies I’d felt moments before have vanished. The nerves in my abdomen now burn painfully from the force of the blow, but I can’t quit despite having made such a stupid beginners mistake. As I scramble to my feet, I am even more certain that the attack was premeditated and that he’ll favor his right hand.
“Ready to surrender?”
“Never.” I probably don’t stand a chance of beating him, but I’ll go down swinging.
This time I attack first with a flurry of closed fist punches that end with a spinning hook kick. He blocks all of my advances easily and delivers a knife hand blow to my lower back, again dropping me to the ground. I roll quickly from his reach, anticipating a downward kick which meets only the mat in the absence of my body.
He’s extremely fast and agile which causes me to miss often. It’s also becoming obvious that even when I do manage to land a blow, the damage I’m inflicting on his rock hard body is minimal in comparison to what he’s dishing out. I remember my training with Viktor and tell myself that this is no different. Except maybe it is. I’m certain Viktor never wanted to hurt me. I’m less sure about Nikolai’s intentions.
I jump to my feet again playing defense. I just need to stay calm and let my training guide me as it did on the first day of class.
“I thought you were going to teach me something new?” I taunt him, circling slowly.
“There are many things I could teach you, if only you weren’t so stubborn,” he returns calmly. So much for goading him. He’s just as cool and collected as when we first stepped onto the mat.
“And here I thought stubbornness was one of my better qualities.”
I try another series of kicks alternated with hand attacks hoping that the moves will give me an edge. No such luck. I manage to land an elbow strike to his rib cage and several blows to his arms and torso, but I can’t get a clean shot to his head or any of the pressure points. The end result is that I find myself returning to the mat over and over again, the recipient of many well executed attacks by Nikolai.
The gym has gotten loud. There’s a lot of moaning and groaning mixed with the attack cries. I refuse to let Nikolai get the best of me. I’m starting to get a feel for his moves and manage to dodge his next assault. I catch him off guard and am able to hit him with a crescent kick which glances off of his head.
His head snaps back, and I can see the look of surprise on his face as he licks blood from his lip. He wasn’t expecting the move. It’s a minor victory. His face confirms what I’d suspected all along: he’s been holding back. And still he wiped the mat with me. We stand there staring at each other for a moment, assessing one another. The silence is broken only when Garcia calls the class back to attention.
“Good work today,” Nikolai commends me. I nod respectfully, and he returns dutifully to Garcia’s side.
I’m relieved when Garcia dismisses us. I’ll recover quickly, but right now my body is protesting the abuse it’s taken over the last hour. I head straight for the cooler and pour myself a glass of blood. It’s chilled, but I don’t care. Beggars can’t be choosers and I’m thirsty. The beating Nikolai gave me has left my body physically drained. I’ll have to be better prepared next week.