Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

44| Round one

The back rooms of Box Inc are made for the elite. I sit in front of the vanity table, half staring at myself in the mirror and half taking in the rest of the room. It's large and airy, equipped with a yoga mat, sound system, and state-of-the-art water machine containing freshly sliced fruit. If I weren't so damn anxious, I might actually enjoy it.

I return to my reflection, where the LED bulbs surrounding the mirror light up every line of terror on my face. It's all too real now, the anticipation I'm feeling like nothing I've felt before, which is why I feel like death. I dab at my forehead, erasing the beads of sweat beginning to form, but they're replaced by several more.

Hayden leans casually on the wall beside me, watching my antics with amusement. He's done this before – hundreds of times if the rumors or true – which means he's probably used to this gut-wrenching feeling before a fight, and yet so far, he's given me very few ways to combat it.

"That's because you can't," he says when I bring this up. "That nervousness you feel right now leads to adrenaline, which will stop you from getting tired during your fight. Trust the process."

He says it like it's easy, but all I can think about is how badly this morning's breakfast keeps trying to appear. "Three rounds, right?" I almost say to myself. "I can do that."

"Right," Hayden says and checks his watch. "You've got a few minutes left."

The confidence I'd manage to muster plummets. I focus on the mirror, willing myself to look confident and ready, but all I see before me is a scared, tiny girl. Without thinking, I meet Hayden's gaze in the mirror's reflection and say, "I wish Coach were here."

His eyes soften, taking on a heaviness that weighs on his shoulders. "So do I, but–" he suddenly pauses, clenching his jaw like he's fighting back emotion, "he'd be proud either way. Remember that."

I feel myself nod, because even though I sometimes forget, I know he would. To Coach, all that mattered was trying your best, which is what I intend to do.

"When you get out there," Hayden says, "don't look at the faces around the ring. It'll sidetrack you. Just focus on Katarina, nothing else."

"Don't get sidetracked," I say as the bile rises, "got it."

He smirks a little and gets to his feet. "Alright, give me your hands. I'll put your gloves on."

I hold out my hands, allowing him to slip on my gloves while I focus on breathing. It's almost therapeutic how they conform to my hands like they were made for me. I rise to my feet, giving myself one last look in the mirror. Now that I'm standing, I don't look so afraid anymore. I straighten my shoulders, holding up my fists like I'm ready to fight, and that's when I see it – a glimmer in my eye, a look so fleeting if I blinked, I'd have missed it.

Fire.

Right on time, some burly, bald guy with perpetually furrowed brows ominously tells us it's time. I almost have a heart attack, wanting to bolt through the closest window, but Hayden drags me through the door.

Show time.

The second I step into the gym, the hairs on my arms stand up. The room is dark, the only light coming from the two fluorescent bulbs over the gym, acting as a spotlight. I swallow hard, taking in the shadowed silhouettes of the several hundred bodies crammed around the ring, talking and buzzing with excitement.

I suck in a breath, but the air is so thick and heavy with swear that it catches in my throat. I turn around, ready to return to the safety of my room, but it's too late.

The ref calls my name.

As I enter the ring, the sound of the crowd hits me like a wave. The noise is loud, the energy electric, but not in a way that motivates me. If anything, it's the opposite.

Breath held, I make my way to my corner, followed by who I think is Hayden, but the lights are so bright it's hard to tell. All I can do is shield my eyes and try to stop them from watering.

Seconds later, Katarina joins me on the opposite side with her coach. She looks the same as before, only fiercer. Her dark hair is scraped into a single French plait, and her eyes are filled with an arrogance that only irritates me. I mirror her stance, no longer weighed down by fear but ready to punch that sneer off.

While the ref spends the next few minutes riling the crowd up, I take a deep breath, trying to center myself amid the chaos. The air is thick with tension, and I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, urging me forward.

I thought standing here would feel familiar, like sparring with Nico, but I was wrong. This ring is small, the ropes taut and unforgiving, a reminder that I'm not on home turf, and this fight is anyone's game; I can't let her get the best of me. Ignoring her smirk, I focus on the canvas underfoot, how my gloves mold my hands, and who I'm fighting for.

Hayden stands at the ring's edge, shouting instructions and encouragement. I block out the crowd's noise and focus on his voice, taking his advice and drawing strength from his support. You can do this, Cassie, he says. It's the last thing I hear before the bell rings.

Three minutes, I think, as we circle each other. I can do this.

I hold back a moment, my hands held high as I work out her style. I can already tell her footwork is good by the lightness of her feet, but I'm undeterred. I inch closer, preparing to land a blow to her cheek when she comes at me with a flurry of jabs. I dodge and weave, trying to stay one step ahead, but she's fast and agile, her blows landing on my arms and shoulders like raining bullets.

Shit.

Quick as a flash, I slip behind her, desperate to get out of her grip, but she's hot on my tail, blocking my jabs with ease. Everything about her is sleek and efficient, controlled in a way that reminds me of Hayden.

As we continue around the ring, I catch glimpses of the people in the crowd, their faces twisted in excitement and fear. I don't know where my family sits, but the thought of them staring up at me only fuels my anxiety, sending me over the edge.

Katarina surges forward, using the distraction to jab me in the jaw. I retreat at the last second, allowing it to graze me without causing much damage before I deliver a quick uppercut that catches her off guard. She stumbles back, her eyes widening in surprise.

I seize the opportunity, launching a series of jabs and hooks that drive her against the ropes. She bounces back quickly, slipping away before circling me again. The sweat on my forehead stings my eyes, and I can feel the burn in my muscles as I try to find a kink in her defense, but there is none.

This girl came to win.

The timer on the wall reads one minute to go. The ring is already slick with sweat, making keeping my footing difficult. I feel the burn in my legs as I pivot and lunge, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

We're locked in a brutal dance of punches, dodges, and feints. The sound of our gloves hitting flesh echoes through the arena, drowning out the crowd's cheers. I keep looking at the faces, sidetracked by the noise and excitement, and that, I realize, will be my downfall.

Forty seconds to go, and I've barely landed a hit. Katarina dances around me, light on her feet as she hits me with a combo, finally drawing blood. I taste it before I feel it, a sharp metallic taste that seeps into my tongue before trickling down my lip.

Her next jab hits harder, exploding through my face with a flurry of heat that sends me flying back. I grab my cheek, feeling the way it pulses beneath my palm, but I barely have time to recover. She inches closer, giving me just enough time to slip past her and raise my hands again.

I grit my teeth and push forward, throwing a combination of punches that catch her off guard. She stumbles, and I take the opportunity to land a hard right hook to her jaw, hoping it'll take her down,

It doesn't.

The last ten seconds are a blur of fists and sweat. I dodge and weave, determined to outrun Katarina before the buzzer, and I do, but it's little consolation. As the sound vibrates through the cheering crowd, I realize I was right.

I'm not ready.