After I nod in agreement, Odin continues. "If you think about it with a common sense, you realize the Champion life is actually great. You don't have to care about anything except your own improvement. As you said, there's no fighting for survival, a roof above your head, as much food as you can eat.
I'm a part of the very first generation of Champions. My very first tournamment was in the year 94, that one which got cancelled after one of the contestant lost his temper and killed his opponent. I saw it with these two eyes. It was a tragedy and it cancelled Neoclash for five years. After the INF system has been invented, I returned. And in 106, I became the Champion of Champions for the first time.
And guess what? I've never felt like my freedom or my pride is being smothered. It's actually the opposite. In Neoclash, we fight for honor. Because we want to. If someone feels like a trained monkey while fighting, they are destined to fail. Too bad they often end up as Outlaws, pain in the society's ass."
"Have you met many of such Castaways?"
"More than you can imagine. Their rebellious intentions, their fake wounded pride. Some of them went as far as killing their partners. During my carreer, I had three partners. None of them ever tried to enslave or degrade me. They all became my friends, with all equality and respect. If you see your partner as a slaver, there's no hope that your relationship can work. But I see that's not your problem. You have already adapted to your new life and after you become a better fighter, you have a bright future ahead."
"Thank you. If you don't mind... what's your real name? I understand you prefer calling each other with these... nicknames. But it seems too impersonal to me."
"Konstantin," he replies. "From the Northern territories. When I was drafted, I was young, inexperienced. But I immediately realized that this new life is a new chance. Fighting only for money and honor, not for survival. Horst, my first partner, taught me everything I needed to know. I spent over twenty years in Switzerland and we went through some brilliant victories together.
However, he died way too soon. An accident. I spent several years as a Ronin, a Champion without a partner. I ended in Visegradia where I joined forces with a woman named Šárka. We fell in love with each other and went through a short love story. She was carrying my child. But then... everything went wrong."
I can feel sadness in Konstantin's voice and eyes. A romantic bond between a Healthy and a Castaway seems strange to me, but it's clear he loved that woman. I don't want to pry anymore, but Konstantin continues by himself.
"Miscarriage," he says. "Both Šárka and our baby died. I had no idea what to do. I quit Neoclash for several years, travelling the whole Europe. I even briefly started drinking. I was broken, lost all reasons to live, but refused to give up for some reason. Then, in Britain, I finally met Blake who pulled me back together. I spent a few more years in the arena, then I retired. After that, we created this place. We knew it's illegal, but we thought the Champions need some safe haven, a place to fight just for the love of the game. And also, the beginners like you needed some place to train, where the veterans can share their experience with the young generation."
I lower my eyes. "I'm sorry about your loss."
"You don't need to be. Every end is a beginning to something new. This is, more or less, a motto of all Castaways. Our whole life revolves around ends and beginnings."
"Just a question. Do you tell this story to every new member of your community?"
Konstantin shakes his head. "I usually keep it to myself. You are an exception, Zoya. Something in your eyes tells me you can understand. Behind all the determination in them, I see sadness. Is that so?"
"You are observant," I admit. In return, I tell him everything about my past life. How I lost my parents, how my Tribe left me for dead, how I found and lost Isaiah. Odin patiently listens, just like I did when he spoke. Even though we're opposites in every possible way, we understand each other.
When I finish, Odin nods slowly. "You also had your share of pain. But now, as a Champion, you have to push it aside. You don't have to forget it completely. It's impossible, after all. But you mustn't let it define you. That's the difference between the strong and the weak, who took the wrong path." He stands up and smiles. "I think we had enough talking for now. Come again tomorrow. Your training will begin."
...
I pick up Ryan from the building and drive back home.
"Wow, that was a pretty rough mob," Ryan utters.
"They're actually nice," I say. "You just mustn't look and act like a wimp in front of them."
Ryan rolls his eyes and changes the subject. "What did Odin want from you?"
"He just needed to talk. He's a nice man and went through a lot. I think you couldn't get me a better mentor. My training starts tomorrow. I'm excited!"
"Does that mean I'll have to drive there again...?" Ryan groans.
"You can take a book with you."
When we arrive home, it's already dark. I take my obstacle course and have a dinner, then relax for the rest of the day. I have a feeling that the real effort starts tomorrow. I'd better be fresh.
I can hardly sleep, excited about the first session with Odin and the others. I promise myself I'll get so far to be a worthy opponent for him even if he uses his full power.
The next day, I exercise, but just enough to not exhaust myself. My excitement has to be visible since Ryan keeps uttering remarks all day: Could you, for God's sake, stand still for a while? Do you have a goddamn nuclear generator in your ass? Jesus CHRIST, Zoya, I'm trying to focus.
Finally, as the clock finally strike four in the afternoon, Ryan finally admits it's time to go. I change into my sports outfit and wait next to Ryan's car until he gets ready. And that man has a nerve to tell me I take too long. After roughly twenty minutes, he finally appears.
I have to chuckle a bit at Ryan's effort to look casual. His usually sleek hair are messy and his usual formal outfit has been replaced by black jeans and dark blue hoodie with a SpaceX logo on it. He tries to look tough, but in the end, he looks exactly like what he is - a nerd trying to act badass.
"I'm trying, okay?" he utters.
"Better than nothing," I smirk.
We drive to Newcastle. Just out of boredom, I reach for the radio and turn it on. The speakers hidden all over the car start to blast fast, vigorous music that instantly fills my veins with energy. I start to nod my head to the rhythm, enjoying it with my every cell. It's aggressive and angry, but I like it.
Until Ryan reaches for the radio and turns it on. Then he looks at me with an expression of strong disapproval without saying a word.
"I was listening to it," I object.
"Listen to anything you want once you get your own car," Ryan utters. "But this is my car and such nonsenses aren't permitted here."
I sneer. "Do you have a list of reasons why do you hate this kind of music?"
"Yes. It has thirty-six items."
"Have you ever thought about being a bit... less uptight?" I ask him. "Maybe the people would, like, accept you better if you tried to be a bit more open."
"I don't wake up every day to please them. Changing yourself is too tiring."
"I demand my own pentop," I say. "That way, I can download any music I want and use earbuds to listen to it. And it has a million different uses, too. I think I deserve one, don't I?"
"Do you have an idea how much do these things cost, Zoya? A solid pentop doesn't go under three hundred royals and I already spent a fortune on you and your attire. You know what? Win a tournamment and use the prize money to buy a pentop."
"Okay. But until then, let me listen to a radio."
Ryan turns on the device with an annoyed grunt. "Fifteen minutes. Then I turn it off."
...
In the end, Ryan shows some mercy and keeps the radio playing until we arrive to our destination. When we park in front of the illegal arena and the music stops, Ryan lets out a theatrical sigh. "If this is not a sign of my love, then I don't know what is," he says.
I feel energized, overflowing with lifeforce. Exactly what I need right now. The effects of music are truly magical. Besides fast, angry tunes which seem to be trending right now, I've also heard softer, careless music, ballads about love, sad symphonies. All of them messed with my emotions in a different way. I tried to imagine the instruments used to make it, but I know my ideas are probably far from the truth.
How even can anyone (I'm looking at you, Ryan) despise such music?
I open the door; during yesterday, I got used to the authentic mixture of smells and noises. The place is even busier than yesterday. The crowd is gathered around the arena where are two Champions are engaged in a fight. The crowd cheers for them, divided into two groups according to their front-runner. Some of them are holding makeshift betting slips and banknotes.
Blackbolt is one of the fighters. His opponent is a tall, burly Champion with shaved head and tribal tattoos all over his shirtless torso. His weapon seems to be some kind of whip emerging from the wrist of his mechanical hand. He uses it to entangle Blackbolt's limbs and break his defense. His battle moves resemble a dance, fluently chaining kicks into impressive combinations.
The mechanical arm of Blackbolt has to be reinforced by some motors or hydraulic systems since his strategy is a lot more straightforward - to punch as hard as possible.
The fighting technique of Shaman, Blackbolt's opponent, is impressive and it seems he has an upper hand for the most of the fight. However, Blackbolt has an important advantage - one well-aimed punch executed with a right timing is enough to send Shaman to the floor. Shaman, after a while of struggling, strikes the floor several times with his palm, which is probably a sign he doesn't want to continue the fight.
"And we have a winner!" Blake Lawrence announces. "Blackbolt!"
The crowd claps as Blackbolt raises his arms and lets out a victorious battle cry. The he helps Shaman back on his feet and both fighters shake their hands.
For a while, the crowd is resolving their bets. Some of them end up happy since they won some money, the second half is less fortunate. Those who didn't bet on the result look satisfied; the fight offered a great show (and mainly much longer than my attempt to fight Odin).
Finally, the fuss about the fight ceases and Odin, towering high above the rest of the crowd, notices me. "Zoya," he says. "We've been expecting you. Blackbolt and Shaman showed you the true art of Neoclash battle which you'll also learn soon."
"Look, the Doc is trying to fit in," Blackbolt pats Ryan's back with a chuckle. There's nothing spiteful in his voice, but Ryan still looks like the Champion offended his honorable ancestors. He really has to learn how to take jokes. He will need it in this community.
"Why the long face, man?" Swiftwind approaches him with a smile. "We'll try to cheer you up with some good Neoclash. I'm still deciding who will I challenge. Wanna place some bets?"
Ryan melts a little - he never turns down a good Neoclash fight. The young female Champion starts to look around the crowd, seeking someone willing to fight her.
Even though I'd love to watch them, I have more important things to do. Odin gently grabs my shoulder and guides me to the back of the room. It is furnished like a professional gym with worn out, yet still functional workout machines. The most interesting is probably a humanoid figure made of black rubber standing on a low pedestal. I don't know what is it for and I'm willing to find out soon.
"I'm ready to share some of my knowledge with you," Odin says. "But I assume my fighting style is quite different from yours. I think I have a better person to teach you the basics."
I have to admit, I'm let down. I was looking forward to training with Konstantin. However, he's right. He's strong and sturdy, I'm small and agile. He has a massive bionic arm, I have my Valkyries.
I turn around to see another Champion walking towards me.
...
It's a woman, not very tall, but lean, with graceful movements. Her loose black shorts reveal almost identical model of artifical legs as I have. Her dark red tank top reveals strong, muscular arms and firm, flat midriff. She has short hair, black with bright red stripes, triangle-shaped face and sparkling brown eyes.
This is probably how a female Champion should look like. Strong, yet attractive and somehow elegant.
She offers me a hand and I shake it. "My name is Roxanna," she tells me with a slightly cracked voice. "Better known as Scarlet Sparrow, the Champion of Champions of 119. Call me as you wish, Odin says you prefer real names, but my friends usually call me Scarla."
She had to start at young age since she doesn't seem older than thirty-five. She has a pleasant, slightly impish smile and tattoos of flames around her wrists.
"I'm Zoya. Honored to meet you."
Scarla crouches and takes a look at my legs. "Valkyries, Stormwalker E-331, if I got it right. What a nice proths for a beginner. I had to achieve my first victory with a cheap pair of Maelstorms and then bought Valkyries E-300 from the prize money. Do you know how to handle them?"
"I practiced really hard, so I guess I do," I reply hesitantly.
"Now tell me, Zoya," Scarla says. "What do you think is the most important for our fighting style?"
"Speed," I burst out immediately.
"Try again."
I hesitate a bit. "Agility?"
"Balance!" Scarla barks. "All the speed and agility means shit when you trip over your own feet. I won most of my fights because of perfect balance. We have to be like a willow twig. Can bend, but never breaks. When fighting larger and stronger opponents, our only chance is to seek solutions that seem impossible at first. You have to make the whole arena, even your opponent, a good place to launch an attack from."
"Okay. I think I get it," I say.
"No, you certainly don't," Scarla says. "Only practice can teach you. That's why I made this," she points at two metal poles about five meters apart from each other with a rope stretched between them. "It's my favorite training spot. Your task is simple, Zoya. Try to jump on the rope and stand on it as long as you can. It will help me judge how hopeless you are."
I approach the rope with confidence. Balance training is a part of my obstacle course. I jump up and land on the rope. It takes me a few seconds to stabilize after the impact. Once I do, I stand there with outstretched arms in a T-like pose. The rope is more unstable than I'm used to, but I manage to stand straight for several minutes. I smile, hoping I impressed Scarla enough. Finally, my knees start to get wobbly and the shaking spreads to the rope. I finally fall down on my feet and look at Scarla in anticipation.
The female Champion gives me a condescending smile. "Bad. So bad. Just as I expected."
My face turns red. "What? What else do you want?"
"This," Scarla says and casually jumps on the rope. Not trying to balance herself using her arms, she touches the rope only with tips of her feet. She does a perfect backflip, landing firmly on the rope, not staggering even a little. Then she procceeds to exhibit a series of both simple and complex kicks and attacks, including jumping and spin kicks. She's balanced even when standing on only one leg. There seems to be no difference between solid ground and the rope for her.
As her exhibition is over, she jumps down and lands next to me. "Once you can do this, you can consider yourself good. Fortunately, you have the best teacher," she smirks.
"God," I voice. "I... I can never do this."
"Not with this attitude," Scarla scolds me. "You're even lighter than me. You weigh almost nothing. Maybe it looks like a drawback now, but in fact, it's a great advantage if you learn how to use it."
"So I presume I'll have to work on that, right?"
"You hella do. Now let's get to work."
...
Scarla forces me to jump on the rope over and over again. During my second attempt, he grabs a wooden stick from the ground. I wonder what is it for. I find out as soon as I fall - the stick moves through the air and hits the back of my skull, not enough to injure me, but enough to cause some pain.
"Ouch!" I burst out. "What was this for?"
"Motivation," Scarla smirks.
"Motivation for what, to be exact?" I grumble while rubbing the hurt spot.
Scarla shrugs. "So you'll fall less, of course."
"Odin!" I look at my giant mentor. "Aren't you going to do anything about this?"
Konstantin also shrugs, trying to hold back laugh. "That's the way how she teaches. I have my method, she has hers. I'm not qualified to interfere."
With some grousing, I return to the rope. I hate to admit that the stick in Scarla's hand helps me focus. I try much harder when there's the constant threat above my head. After several falls, my head is all aching, but also my performance is better. Sometimes, on rare occasions, Scarla decides my performance was good enough and doesn't smack me. It's humiliating, but I can't deny its effectivity.
"Okay, that's enough for today," Odin joins in after roughly an hour. "Even the most perfect balance is nothing without some fighting skills. Follow me, Zoya."
"And I was having so much fun," Scarla smirks and drops the stick.
Odin guides me to that weird rubber figure I mentioned earlier. "This is a boxing bag of the future," he says. "You can train your combat moves on him. Go on and kick him as much as you can."
I focus and then hit the mannequin with the hardest roundhouse kick I'm capable of. My foot connects with his head and the dummy starts to sway on his pedestal. I smile in satisfaction. Then, the figure's hand ending with a rubber ball shoots forward and hits my face. I shriek in surprise and fall to the floor.
"Ouch!" I protest. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"This is the future part," Odin smirks.
I pull myself up again. "Is there anything in his room that doesn't want to hurt me somehow?"
Odin raises his eyebrow. "Will it be in the arena?"
Okay, that's a fair point. I face the training dummy once again.
"This dude fights back," Odin explains. "It automatically adapts to your skill level. That way, you don't have to only learn offense, but also defense." The Champion approaches the dummy and drives a devastating hook punch on the mannequin's head. The figure bends parallel to the ground and sways for a solid while. Then it counterattacks, much harder and faster than it did when I attacked it. Odin blocks the punches with his artifical arm, then fluently procceeds to an uppercut.
I notice a display on the mannequin's chest. Now it says: RANK: SSS
"Try it," he says.
This time, I try a front kick. My confidence suffers a painful blow when the display changes to RANK: F.
The dummy counterattacks, but this time, I'm ready. It takes a swing at me. I duck and the rubber fist flies above me. I quickly stand up and deiver several quick punches to his empty face. The display changes to RANK: D. It performs another attack; I avoid it by stepping aside. Then I thrust my knee into its belly.
Once I'm prepared, it's easy to avoid the figurine's counterattacks. After a short fight, the display changes again to RANK: C. That also means the figurine grows tougher, too. Its knocks me down with its first attack. I pant in exhaustion, but I'm proud of myself.
The display shows me the summary of my performance:
Highest rank: C
Upper body offense: 24%
Lower body offense: 56%
Defense by evasion: 63%
Defense by blocking: 0%
Elapsed time: 00:08:36
Average grade: 35,75
Score: 35,75 x 3 (D) = 107,25
"It's not as bad as you think," Odin says like he was reading my mind. "Even the best Champions have stronger and weaker sides. Nobody is genius enough to score 100% in all fields. For you, I suggest scoring the best marks in lower body and evasion. For the rest, about fifty percent is enough. For inspiration, I'll humbly show you what I'm capable of. AVIA, show highscore, Odin!"
The display shows:
Highest rank: SSS
Upper body offense: 100%
Lower body offense: 56%
Defense by evasion: 52%
Defense by blocking: 96%
Elapsed time: 01:12:44
Average grade: 76
Score: 76 x 8 (SSS) = 608
Here I go. Six times higher score.
But, as Odin advised me, I don't take it as humilation. It's an inspiration. Hope that one day, when someone brings up Zoya's highscore, a number higher than 500 will show up.
I get ready for the next skirmish with the dummy, ready to make at least 120 today.