Ma?l was by no means small, but the man glaring down on him was truly a giant, a hulking brute going by the name of Trevor. Ma?l stepped in at the last minute to replace Trevor’s opponent. Usually not a smart move, but the promoter was desperate enough to offer $4,000. Win or lose. A tidy sum for a regional show like this one and Ma?l was in no position to turn down free money.
Now that he faced Trevor, he was starting to reconsider. This could be a bad night. Trevor’s ink-covered skin stretched over bulging muscles and glistened under the cheap projector lights.
Juiced up and greased up, Ma?l thought. That wasn’t much of a surprise. Outside of the big leagues, wannabe fighters cheat all the time and no one cares. On the plus side, the grease job meant his opponent wasn’t confident in his grappling skills. Probably…
Ma?l’s musings came to a halt as the referee barked: “Obey my commands at all times, I want a good clean fight. Touch gloves and get back behind the line!”
The brute leaned forward and whispered:
“I am gonna fuck you up!”
He walked back to his corner without touching gloves. Ma?l grinned with relief. Seasoned fighters didn’t bother with verbal intimidation, or at least nothing that crude.
“Fight!”
The referee barely had the time to drop his hand. Trevor leaped across the cage. He was fast for a big guy, but Ma?l managed to circle out of the way just in time, ducking under a wicked right hand. Trevor chased after him, hoping to corner his opponent and force a brawl. Ma?l closed the distance and wrapped his arms around the giant. Trevor desperately tried to regain his balance, but it was too late, his weight was committed. Ma?l spun, loading the man over his hip.
For a brief instant, the giant floated in mid-air, then gravity claimed its prey.
Trevor landed flat on his back with a sickening crunch, his head bouncing on the hard canvas. Ma?l was already on top of him, driving his right knee deep into the rib cage. Trevor bucked violently, hopelessly trying to push Ma?l off with his tree-trunk arms. The move was powerful; he almost came free, but it left his arm exposed for a fraction of a second. Ma?l jumped on it, swinging his leg over Trevor’s face and yanking the arm straight back. The arm stretched, Trevor trashed, trying to pull it back.
It was too late for that. Ma?l pinched his knees tighter and threw his hips high up. The elbow ratcheted open, the arm overextending. Trevor yelped and tapped frantically.
The fight was over.
Ma?l released his opponent and helped him back to his feet, watching him carefully all the while. Not everyone dealt well with defeat.
To his credit, Trevor managed a smile as he was rubbing his arm. Seemed like a decent guy.
“Jesus, you’re one scary MOFO!” he said. Ma?l relaxed.
“Thanks, man.” Ma?l answered, wishing he could add a compliment of some kind. The fight had been far too one-sided, and he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a douchebag. He settled for a hug and exited the cage after getting his hand raised.
Dodging the gaggle of drunken MMA fans and fighting groupies waiting around the cage, Ma?l lost no time looking for the promoter. Getting paid could be a fight in itself.
“That was some fast work. Didn’t think you’d pull it off.”
“Well, I got lucky. He…”
“Look, man. You did good, but you have to make it last longer if you want to succeed in this business. Fans want to see a fight.”
“I’ll try to do better next time.”
He could have explained that winning fast didn’t mean he could have done it any way he wanted, but there was no point trash talking himself in front of a fight promoter.
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“You… Never mind. I have another opponent for you next month. Are you interested?”
“I’d love to, but I’m off to Japan tomorrow and I won’t return till August.”
“Hmm. Fine. Call me when you come back.”
“About my pay…”
It took a bit of back and forth and some waiting, but Ma?l managed to walk out with a wad of cash in his pocket. Surprisingly, the promoter didn’t try to get a last-minute discount. He made a mental note to contact him again the next time he was in town. Honest fight promoters weren’t a common breed.
Ma?l called a cab and headed straight back to the hotel. A few years ago, he would have gone out and partied away with his cash stuffed in his back pocket. Winning a fistfight was a great way to score—to get scored on, rather—but he was now wiser and valued a good night’s sleep at least as much as a romp in the sack with some inebriated party girl.
He was getting wise indeed—or old. Probably the latter.
His room was on the nicer side and after a quick shower, he hopped in bed and turned on the TV. The place even had Netflix! He picked a series he had been following for a bit, a silly anime about a dude thrown in a fantasy world—Isekaied, as it’s called in Japan.
So much for wisdom, he reflected, chuckling to himself. He could have gotten himself a real girl. Instead, he was lying alone on his bed watching some dumb-ass character being pursued by a throng of alluring women of all colors and races.
Maybe I should go out, he mused. It was too late though—his win was already old news, and none of the groupies would recognize him anyway, not with his shirt on. He’d just be another guy in the crowd, alone as usual.
He was a martial artist, not a pickup artist.
He wasn’t even bad looking. Kind of the opposite, actually, but chatting up ladies in a bar over the loudspeakers was a skill he never mastered. And to cap it off, he danced as others fought, in bursts of violent, explosive movements, alone against the crowd. Occasionally, people circled and cheered but he felt more like a safari beast, the kind tourists gawk at. Those were his good days. On bad days, he stayed awkwardly on the sidelines sipping on a soda, unable to muster the courage to approach anyone.
“Be yourself,” the dating experts said, “you got to be yourself. It’s always best to be yourself.”
What does “be yourself” even mean? Like I haven’t tried already! Guess what, if I was being myself, I wouldn’t be in a bar chatting up strangers in the first place, I’d be in a coffee shop with a book, hiking a mountain or programming a computer… alone. You just don’t meet single ladies on mountain tops!
After decades of “being himself,” he had come to the inescapable conclusion he would probably never find anyone that way.
Growing up, he had been a loner, a small chubby kid who spent most of his time reading. He was picked on occasionally, as one such as himself was wont to be. As he got older and reached physical maturity, people wisely stopped picking on him, but that didn’t make him any less of a loner.
He turned his glance back to the screen where the designated hero was being fawned upon by yet another delightful creature with an impossibly slender figure and generous attributes. A far better deal than whatever awaited him at the local club, so he watched for a couple hours before falling asleep.
Why couldn’t he be Isekaied?
He woke up in a fluffy bed staring at a white ceiling with cornices. The walls were light beige and one of them held the painting of a landscape, a lush forest with a wild mountain in the background. Where the— A harsh sunlight streamed in from the window. He glanced around the unfamiliar surroundings for half a second. Oh, right. Hotel room. He should have guessed. No naked beauties at his side. Clearly still in my home universe, he thought with a grin as he sprawled over the side to grab his laptop. No sense getting up just yet.
He pulled up a travel website and spent an hour looking for the cheapest ticket to Japan. A direct flight only took about 6 hours or so, landing in the evening, but his wallet convinced him a 22-hour-long jaunt through Sri Lanka and Macao for half price was the better deal. He checked the time. Boarding was about three hours away. He could make it, barely. He booked the flight and scrambled out. His bag was still packed from the previous night and grabbing his stuff only took about a minute, including a handful of seconds to splash his face with water and wipe his body down with the bath towel. After a last glance around the room to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything, he rushed out.
Hailing a cab was a simple affair in Bangkok. He glanced at his watch. Traffic was horrendous, as usual, but he had done the trip to “Suvanampum” airport so often he knew he would catch his flight. Sure enough, he made it to the check-in counter with several whole minutes to spare, after sprinting across the hall while expertly dodging the hordes of tourists wandering about.
He stood in front of the counter lady, sweat on his brow and his heart still pounding loudly as she inspected his passport and flight details—one character at a time. Time worked differently when you were full of adrenaline and she seemed to move in slow motion. Finally collecting his boarding passes, he headed to the bathroom to clean up a bit before the security check.
Japan, here I come!
