Alan, the Champion — Chapter 14 — The Ceremony
It became a ritual. Every Monday, for almost two years, in the same spot.
Before he was King, he was cannon fodder, a convict, a killer. At thirteen, he ran grown men.
It became a ceremony. It lasted almost two years.
Once a month, first Monday, those two climbed the Hill to get beat up by me. And I looked forward to it.
Let me tell you how it changed.
First month.
I thought it'd be quick. Two kids, half my age, no technique. It wasn't.
The two of them together were something else. Each one covering the other's hole, exactly like I'd seen in the park, only now turned on me. I took it seriously start to finish, and even so I walked out of that fight with a mark on my chin nobody had left me in years.
And something happened that caught me off guard.
It was fun.
I'd always fought for a reason. To survive, when I was fodder. To prove strength, when I was muscle. To dominate, later. Fighting always had a function. It never crossed my mind that a fight could just be... good. The way a pickup game of soccer is good. With those two it was like that from the very first time.
I didn't tell anybody. It's not the kind of thing the master of a district says out loud.
Third month.
The Kid had tamed the panther.
That wild style of his, putting his hands on the ground, started turning into something else — still low, still animal, but with purpose. He stopped just wanting to land something. He started choosing where to land it.
The green hair had learned to read my tells. Knew which way I was going from my back foot. He started calling my moves out loud before I threw them, just to piss me off, and the worst part is he got them right.