The Cutie is a Boxer

CHAPTER 1

Remember when I told you, I armed a gun when I was seven? Well, I was never really fond of them. That must sound ironic to you! WHO is fond of these tickets to Hell. Now, let me answer that; a lot. But I always preferred sharing some punches, braking some ribs... It's called martial arts actually, yet we use it differently, so we baptized it differently as well. We named it street fighting.

You are probably imagining men covered in tattoos with dull eyes now, fisting and kicking like wild animals, and it is rather likely that you woud mock me if I said that fight clubs are the most civilized crimes of the Underworld; even though it's true. The fighters -mostly men- have to know of martial arts to climb up the Champion Chart, they have to know of strategies, know their weaknesses. It actually works like a business. There are the powerful men behind them all, who own the fighters. They get profit from them when they win, they lose money when they don't. It is all based upon bets. So these men always search for new talents, they won't to buy the best.

Of course, there are players that no sponsors want, the independent players; like me.

I wiped some sweat from my forehead with my gloves, bending my elbows the lowest I could. My arms trembled when I pushed back up. "Ninety!" I exclaimed, panting in exhaustion.

Dimitri badged on the armchair, peeking at me for moments before returning his glance to his book. Yes, he was indeed reading a book, the great trainer Dimitri Asimov was reading a damn book. "I asked for one hundred." He simply mentioned.

I groaned, tightening my whole body, before venturing into another push-up. He wasn't even looking, I could cheat. I would just go half-way for the next nine... piece of cake. The only problem is I didn't want to cheat.

My eyes snapped to where he was sitting, leisurely, reading his book like a normal person. He who could knock out his opponents in the blink of an eyes, was now relaxing of an armchair, enjoying some literature. Was it a western?

Finishing my push-ups I slumped on the floor turning on my back. "You know" I puffed "you're not like they say?"

He closed his book, a surprised expression plastered all over his face. "They?"

"Everyone."

He just nodded. The rumours wandering about him, didn't even seem to sparkle the slightest of curiosity. I shook my head, standing up on my sore feet. "Don't you want to know what they say?"

"Scarlett, no. I came here to teach you-"

"I didn't ask for your help... You just appeared out of nowhere and, bang! I'm your new trainer."

Dimitri's lips tugged on a small smile "You accepted me."

Jumping on the couch opposite him, I let the small frown I've been holding back show. "Yes, to teach me something new. I know how to do push-ups. And by the way, they don't even help that much."

He glanced at me once again, and opened his book, going on reading. "They actually do, Red. Every single thing is worth it."

*****

"Are you sure his name is Dylan?" I said, pacing up and down before the small stair leading to the ring.

Dimitri wore his professional expression. "It doesn't matter. He is just another opponent."

"We go in the same school, he will know!"

The bell rang and Dimitri gently pushed me up the ring. I dragged my feet up there, smiling at the cheering crowd. The young man opposite me had his back on me, talking about something with his coach or sponsor.

I caught my fire-red hair up on a ponytail, breathing in slowly. Even if it was him, it didn't matter. He was just a stupid kid playing with his life to have fun. It he told anyone about me, I'd tell about him. Everything will be destroyed, but still revenge is sweet.

The boy turned around, his blue eyes opening widely when he saw me. He looked like he wanted to crack up laughing, but at the same time interrogate me about being here. I granted him a smirk.

Lyn -a Japanese guy, who played referee- gave the signal and we took positions. No-one moved. The audience went silent. We were tge two legends I guess, or the surprise of the night.

Dylan attacked me, but I dodged his punch, delivering a kick which he easily avoided. I threw a punch and he followed, copying my movements. We indeed matched, our fighting skills were similar. Minutes later sweat was running down my forehead. The guy took a step to the right and I took the chance, clutching his arm and pulling him down, then jumping over him and siting on his back. Lyn counted to ten. The battle was over. I had won!