Fighting Chance 10

Zain woke like somebody snatched the plug on a nightmare—eyes flying open, lungs gasping too fast, body already jerking upright before his ribs screamed at him to not be fucking stupid.

Whiteout.

Pain made static flash in front of his eyes like a busted big-back tv and he crashed back down with a half-growl, half-choke, teeth clenched so hard his jaw popped. His hand shot to his side, brain already yelling knife, blood, gone—but all he got was a rough wrap of bandages, tight and dry.

His hoodie? Gone. His shorts? Also gone. He was in boxers and nothing else.

“What the—yo.”

Not only were his clothes gone, but so was the alley. Where there used to be grimey cold disgustingly wet asphalt, instead were dry, almost dusty, wood floors. A wide open space, and not like his abandoned tenement building.

And definitely not a hospital either. He glanced around taking in high ceilings, and sunlight slashing in through blinds. Some sort of… dance studio setup only with no mirrors, for some reason.

He blinked in confusion at everything around him and his near nakedness only for his blinking eyes to freeze up, going wide a full two seconds later.

The chain.

His hand scrabbled around the mattress like a man hunting for his phone after a nap, heartbeat climbing fast. Where the hell is it—

Footsteps.

Zain froze, eyes whipping to the doorway, heart still racing and a new set of problems dropped in front of him.

Only for her to just step in like it wasn’t a big deal. She wore a loose white t-shirt, red sweatpants, and had a red streak in her dark hair catching the light. In one hand, she held a steaming mug, a flat look on her face as she stared him down. His brain whirred back up, heart moving a beat faster as he realized this was the same woman who’d body-bagged a whole Triad hit squad like she was checking off a grocery list.

“If you’re looking for your clothes, chill. They’re in the laundry, as messed up as they are, I figured you wouldn’t appreciate me tossing them.” she said calm as ever. “If you’re looking for that chain you were mumbling about in your sleep, that’s behind you.”

Her voice was way too chill, almost uncaringly bored, like she was some underpaid babysitter and not Japanese Kill Bill.

Zain twisted—slow, cautious, pain flaring in his side—and spotted the chain on a hook, coiled like it was mocking him. He exhaled sharp through his nose, his heartrate slowing down to normal as he caught sight of the thing, his familiar little Shen Gong Wu almost like a security blanket for his nerves.

“You were out a day, by the way,” she added, walking past him to set the mug down on an empty cabinet shelf. Tea, maybe, Or something else hot like coffee, he couldn’t really smell anything other than blood right now so he couldn’t really tell. “Didn’t take you to a hospital. Figured Triad might find you and send company.”

“Good call,” Zain grunted, easing upright with all the grace he could manage. So, basically none at all. His spine slapped up against the wall and another grunt almost spilled out of his lips but his grit teeth caught it anyway.

Everything ached. But nothing felt fatal. Silver linings.

She leaned against the wall. “So what, you mugged the wrong guy? Picked the wrong restaurant? Pissed on somebody’s car?”

He smirked at the last one. “Nah. I stole dude’s shoes. And beat the brakes off his boys.”

That got her. Zain could tell because her eyebrow shot up. “You jacked a Triad enforcer’s sneakers?”

“Size ten. Clean soles.” His smirk widened into a small grin. “I earned those.”

She shook her head like she was fighting a grin of her own. “You’re not just a dumb little thief. You’re a dumb little thief with a deathwish.“

Zain shrugged, then regretted it. “I try.”

“Clearly didn’t try hard enough.”

He wanted to hit back with something sharp, something cool—but his whole left side still felt like hot trash and a cab windshield.

“…I mean… yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, fair.”

She sucked her teeth, and shot him a look like he just broke her favorite phone. “Fair. Almost dies in that alley and he says fair. Bleeds all over my favorite tracksuit. The white one. And he says fair?”

Zain blinked slow, tilted his head like he was thinking. “For a badass kung fu lady, you really stay whining. You know that, right?”

She stepped forward without missing a beat. “I can knock you out again if you can’t stand my whining, how’s that sound?”

He raised his hands, palms up, in full peace mode, ignoring the pain from the sudden motion as best he could and doing his best not to wince as his body twinged at the feeling of him doing anything that wasn’t staying still. He knew he was in no mood to fight and honestly, couldn’t find it in him to fight someone that did this much for him. “Hey. I ain’t say nothin’. I’m chillin’.”

The woman shook her head, annoyance bleeding off her and tension leaving the room as she folded her arms over her chest and looked back at him. “Colleen,” she said finally. “Colleen Wing.”

That cracked something. Zain tried not to laugh, but it came out anyway—a sharp, rattling cough that made his ribs scream. “Whaaaat? That your real name? Coleeeen? You gotta be joking right now, c’mon,” he said the last syllable with a snort that almost buried it. “You sound like an old lady or a librarian or a second grade substitute teacher.”

She didn’t flinch, just stared. If anything, that was even worse than if she got angry.

Zain cleared his throat, grinning like it didn’t still hurt to breathe. “Ms. Colleen gonna hit you with overdue fines and a roundhouse.”

Now that got a blink. She almost smiled for a secon. Almost. Then it was gone.

He shifted upright, bracing against the wall with one hand. Everything still ached, but he could sit. He could joke. He could front like he wasn’t still kinda dying inside. “So what is this? Some kind of budget ballet studio?”

Colleen actually choked, the young woman looking more offended than anything he could have said about her name in a million years. “B-ballet?” she sputtered, the word coming out the way his voice did sometimes. “This is a dojo. Chikara Dojo. I own it.”

Zain gave her a slow once-over, raising an eyebrow of his own as he realized that despite his jokes, Colleeen didn’t look like she was that much older than him. Fresh out of high-school maybe, or fresh into college, like orientation day fresh, pretty much. “You look like you still need permission slips signed.”

“You look like you should be bleeding out behind a restaurant,” she snapped back.

He nodded slowly at that one, silent for a few seconds as he let it hang in the air, unable to actually deny it. “…aight, fair hit. Fair hit.”

The dojo-owner let out a low breath. “Suicidal brat. I'm stuck with a suicidal brat with a smart mouth.”

“I have layers, like an onion.”

She shot him a glare. “Did you just quote Shrek at me?”

“No,” he lied.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t press. “Soup’s on the stove. I’ll bring it over to you in a bit but you should get back to sleep. All in all, you need some serious bed rest. Don’t try to play tough. You took real damage yesterday.”

Zain immediately frowned, disliking that idea of having to stay in one place, having to rest up, no matter how hurt he was. He hated that. The stillness. The way rest meant space to think. To feel. He looked away, jaw flexing. And then—a pull in his chest, the exact same one he felt in the alley before he blinked out and woke up here.

He didn’t exactly understand it. He also didn’t question it either.

He raised his hand like he was calling for an answer in class, fighting past the pain he was feeling already from pushing his body like this. “Healing.”

The world cracked open. Not literally, but it felt like it anyway as light dropped from above like a stage cue, soft and gold and way too real, even as it came from nowhere. Soft warmth bled through his body and a low gasp left his lips as the pressure on his ribs eased. Pain dialed down like someone was spinning a knob.

Thirty seconds ago he felt like a corpse. Now?

Eighty percent dead, tops.

A gasp cut through all his good warmth and slow healing, making Zain blink slowly as he remembered he wasn’t alone in the dojo. Colleen stood there, completely frozen, wide-eyed and mouth open, eyes bouncing from him to the glow lancing down from no visible source in her dojo.

Zain looked up at her, grinning lazy as his body started working again. “Name’s Zain, by the way.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

An hour later, they sat in the dojo’s old-looking kitchen with its worn countertops and humming white refrigerator. Afternoon light filtered through a small window above the sink, casting long shadows across the wooden table where they ate thick beef stew from a can and tore chunks from a loaf of crusty bread.

Zain wore one of Colleen’s oversized t-shirts with Naruto emblazoned across the front, still in just his boxers otherwise. His wounds had healed completely after half an hour under the mysterious golden light, leaving not even a scar where the knife had pierced his side.

Across from him, Colleen sat in a pink Sailor Moon shirt and black dolphin shorts, her hair tied up in a messy bun—a stark contrast to the efficient fighter who’d dispatched seven Triad enforcers without breaking a sweat. She kept staring at his healed, bruise-free and bandage-less body with naked incredulity.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said, setting down her spoon. “You fell from the sky a couple months ago and somehow didn’t die?”

Zain nodded as he shoveled another spoonful of stew into his mouth. “Mmm-mppff,” he answered in the affirmative, cheeks bulging.

“You then fought a bunch of Russian traffickers, a bunch of street kids, and saw a Triad murder?”

He took a bite of bread and chewed while nodding, crumbs falling onto the borrowed shirt.

“You found out you don’t exist,” she continued, counting off on her fingers, “and in addition to your ability to not die from heights and being stronger than you should, you have a magical chain and the ability to heal yourself?”

Zain swallowed and took a gulp of lemonade from his red plastic cup. “Mmm-hmm.”

“And since then you’ve basically been robbing criminals for money? Including the Triad… who you saw murder people?”

He paused, lowering his cup. “A person, yes.”

Colleen stared at him for a long moment, head tilted to the side. “…Kid, you sure you’re not insane?” Her tone was half-joking, but genuine concern lurked beneath the words as she studied him with new wariness.

Zain shot her a flat look. “You saw the gold spotlight too.”

“Not what I meant,” she sighed, dragging a hand down her face.

He shrugged and went back to eating, scraping the bottom of his bowl for the last bits of stew.

Colleen shook her head, pushing away from the table. “Get some rest. I’m gonna sleep this whole thing off.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Zain already had his hoodie halfway over his head before the sun finished rising. Sure, it was ripped and torn, but he was used to that, and he could make it last till he went to the store and bought a bunch of new ones anyway, not like he was broke anyway. Chain tucked tight under his shirt like a secret, he also decided to keep the Naruto shirt Colleen had given him.

She wouldn’t mind, right? Right.

He rolled his shoulders out once, cracked his neck twice. Not even stiff in the slightest, which was kinda crazy with how fucked up he knew he had been yesterday evening. Those Triad guys hadn’t gone soft in the slightest but that “Healing Spotlight” or whatever it was had fixed him up good.

Real good.

Zain didn’t pack because there was nothing to pack. Just the same jeans, same new but already fucked up kicks, same everything.

He didn’t move quiet and didn’t try. The sun had barely even come up and he hadn’t heard anything so he figured Colleen still had to be asleep. So, he just kept moving.

Because that’s what mattered. Movement. Not laying around here like he was some hospital patient, no matter how much the lady thought he needed it. Not playing guest in a dojo with a girl who stared like she saw too much.

So yeah. Time to dip.

He made his way toward the door and—damn. He froze where he stood because there she was. Already posted up with her arms crossed, Colleen Wing stood blocking the exit like she’d been waiting on him to try something.

Zain stopped short and shifted his weight. One foot behind the other, like he might sprint through her if he had to. “Aight,” he said, tone light, fake casual. “Appreciate the bed, the bandages, the… soup. You cool for that. For real.”

Colleen didn’t move, barely even blinking, the dojo owner just studying him like she was watching a dog start talking.

Zain swallowed a mouthful of spit. “Is it cause of the Naruto shirt? Cause I can give that back, if you want it for real.”

Now, she actually fully blinked, a few times honestly, her flat expression turning down a bit. “What?”

“Nothing.”

After a few more confused blinks, Colleen finally opened her mouth again. “I see potential,” she said, voice clipped, calm and flat. “In you.”

Zain frowned. “Okay?”

“I could train you.” She tilted her head slightly toward the mats. “Properly.”

That made him blink this time. Then he scoffed, the sound quickly bursting into a straighht-up laugh. “Listen, I been training. I like anime too but this is different. I don’t need a jonin sensei. You ain’t see me out there? I’m good.”

“Sure you are,” Colleen said. She sounded so dry she might’ve been serious. Or not. Hard to tell with her. “You’ve been what—winging it? Getting stabbed? Running half-dead through alleys?”

“Survived seven dudes and a knife to the ribs. Pretty sure that counts,” he shot back defensively.

“You think survival means you did something right?” Her question was almost hard, her voice edged differently than her usual flat tone.

“I think I’m still breathing.”

“Barely.”

He rolled his eyes and tried to edge past her as he took a few more steps toward the door again. She didn’t budge. “You’re fast. Strong. But your instincts suck.”

That jab landed and he couldn’t help but scowl. “I been surviving fine.”

“Have you?” She tilted her head. One eyebrow raised, like she already knew the answer.

He opened his mouth, only to close it a half-second later. Then, “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

Colleen nodded once.

Then she moved.

No tell. No twitch. No warning. Just—gone.

One second she was in chill mode, the next she was a blur and his leg flew sideways.

Zain didn’t even see the leg sweep until both of his feet weren’t touching the ground and air left his lungs before he could curse. Her hands hit his arm and shoulder like magnets snapping into place and slammed him down flat, the mat slamming up into his spine as he just tried to process how he got Fresh Princed.

His eyes popped wide and a hard gasp left his throat. All air was gone and his thoughts were scattered all over the place. His body said roll but he couldn’t.

Her knee pressed down on his chest, just light enough to keep him down, just hard enough to warn him that she could press much harder. One hand had his wrist twisted in a lock that didn’t hurt—but screamed checkmate. The other hand his second arm trapped in a way that he knew he couldn’t get out of even if he broke his arm somehow.

Zain stared up at her, breathing fast. She looked calm, not even smug.

“Okay. Damn,” Zain wheezed. “That how you get your sick kicks? Beatin’ up lil kids.”

Colleen leaned in close, not even looking like she was at all close to gloating.

“You’re strong, sure,” she started, voice low and even. “You’re definitely quick too.” Her expression didn’t change. Just the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“But you’re also as stupid as they come.”

She let go and stepped back smooth, like she hadn’t just folded him like a beach chair. Zain just lay there for a sec, chest rising like a fish on the dock, ribs all twitchy and stubborn while his brain caught up to his pride getting folded in half along with the rest of him.

Sure, he knew she could have put him down. From what he saw from those guys who ganged up on him, that was pretty much a sure fact.

He just thought he had more of a fighting chance about it. His ego burned, sure, but it wasn’t a bad burn.

She offered her hand to him, not cocky or smug about it, in the kind of way that made you feel like a proud dickhead for hesitating.

“That magic chain?” she spoke up as she looked down at him. “That healing beam or whatever the hell? It’s not enough. You get that, right? You might be one of those Miracles, but Captain America was a Miracle too and even he needed training.” She was watching his face with every word that left her lips, making sure he understood. “Luck’s gonna run out. Real soon if you keep thinking instinct means invincible. Especially not against people who’ve got the training to drop people twice as skilled as you.”

He didn’t bite right away. But he also wasn’t gonna roll around on the floor like a bug while she made more points. So he grunted something that wasn’t quite a curse and grabbed it.

She pulled him up easy. His shoulder popped from the angle, but he quickly found himself upright anyway. “I ain’t dumb,” he muttered, rubbing at his wrist like that’d fix the sting. “Just ain’t trained. Yet.”

Her mouth twitched into a smile that barely existed, but either way, she snorted. “First smart thing you’ve said.”

Didn’t sting any less, but he let it land.

They didn’t even talk about him staying, but he could tell that was pretty much the deal. Chikara Dojo was gonna be his home away from home for at least a little bit, at least as long as it would take him to prove to Colleen he could walk out better than he came in.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Morning came fast and Colleen had him up at 5 AM, because she was absolutely fucking insane.

They started with breath work first.

He didn’t know why she called it breath work, as lame as that sounded, but she did.

All Zain knew was that it was boring as hell and his brain twitched every second of it, wanting to move, bounce, do something. He even tried to mimic her breathing—long, slow, like the whole world moved on rhythm instead of chaos. Long story shirt, he sucked at it.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said. “Stop and this time, I want you to start again, from the top.”

Zain followed her through stances next—wide, low, weirdly specific about exactly where his toes were supposed to be. Why get angry about me calling this place a dance studio if you’re gonna make me do something that feels like ballet anyway? Although, he doubted ballet teachers smacked you every time you shifted wrong.

“NO-! Again.”

Ankles, knees, hips—Colleen tweaking everything like she was tuning a stubborn radio. His balance held. She still poked.

“No, again. Slower this time. Feel where your weight’s going.”

It should’ve been boring. But it wasn’t. Something in him clicked after two tries. Then three.

Then he was doing it before she finished showing. His body kept catching up before his thoughts did. She raised a brow but didn’t say anything about it.

By noon, they were doing strikes. Elbow, palm, twist, reset. She kept the rhythm steady. He sped it up until she made him stop and slow again.

“You learn too fast and you’re gonna skip the part where your form keeps you from getting gutted.”

He rolled his eyes but he listened anyway.

Sparring happened by accident. She went to demonstrate something, he blocked on instinct, and next thing they were circling. Light hits. Mostly. She still caught him in the shoulder once and in the hip another time. Both spots were gonna bruise.

“Tighter core. Less tell. You’re broadcasting every move.”

He grunted and swung, only to whiff. He grit his teeth and tried again, ignoring the sweat that ran down his face and spine, doing his best to push the way his hoodie clung to him like plastic wrap out of his thoughts. Every hit she landed stung, which made no sense because anatomy and muscle wasn’t supposed to work like that when he knew he was at least as tough as a fully grown man but whatever.

Magic was real, and this was a comic book universe, so what did he know?

Zain landed a hit. Then another. She didn’t even try to dodge the third, just took it and nodded. That meant more than anything she could’ve said.

By sundown, his hoodie was soaked and his shirt might as well have not existed. He was swaying more than standing, legs buzzing like he’d done sprints uphill in sand. His knuckles were raw. Her jaw had a red mark.

“Better,” she said. Praise. Real praise.

He grinned, cocky through grit. “Told you I’m a fast learner.”

“You are,” she said, breathing light but not faking the sweat. “Still hit like a gorilla, though.”

Zain grinned, stupid wide. “Yeah? Bet.”

She called his bet and swept his legs.

Hard.

Zain slammed onto the mat like a bag of bricks, wind knocked clean out, vision skipping like a scratched DVD.

She stepped back. “But not good enough.”

He stayed down. Let the ache spread out and the win settle beneath it. Chest heaving, face tilted toward the ceiling, he coughed out, “Hate you. Hate you so much.”

Colleen laughed. Quiet. Real. Then held out her hand again.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

5K Words (100 DP)

ROLL: Model Student (100 CP) [Tsukihime] {Talent}: “If you find yourself regularly skipping class to go on nighttime hunts for vampires or just general adventure, then it pays to be a good student on paper if nothing else.

You’re a model student, soaking up what teachers say like a dry sponge and speed-reading your required studies in but an hour. You learn about twice as quickly as other top students, absorbing academic and mundane skills with very little trouble, even on a time crunch.

Supernatural teachings or things like complicated science take more time, but you’re still an excellent learner as long as you have a good teacher—whether an actual mentor or a very informative book.”

Dojo Points: 0