Time ticked by. Each student found their designated mat. I sat just off the edge of mine. I figured it would be fun to watch the match before mine to get a feeling of the skill level of the others that I would be going up against. Two girls stepped into the ring with protective gear on—one in red and the other in blue. They met in the middle to bow before returning to their starting point. The official asked if they both were ready before giving them a countdown.

  The girl in blue made the first move. She quickly stepped forward and kicked at the girl-in-red’s side. The girl in red stepped back to avoid it before stepping forward to punch her opponent in the stomach. The caution of the first handful of moves went by the wayside soon thereafter. Both girls instead focused on gathering points by rapidly striking their opponent’s scoring areas.

  After two minutes, the official called the match—the girl in red was declared the winner. Both were winded but the different expressions of the fighters—one of victory, the other of defeat—could not be farther apart. I assessed that the two girls were fairly evenly matched but neither would prove to be a challenge for me.

  I stood up and stepped into the ring. A boy a little taller than me stood on the other side. For this match, I was wearing the blue protective gear.

  “Eddy Teller. Michael Robinson. Are you both ready?” the official asked.

  I nodded, as did my opponent.

  “Ok. Then on the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

  I decided to take a cautious approach to start with. There was going to be a lot of fighting and I wanted to be as fresh as possible come the final fights. I could always Heal my muscles into perfect condition, but I wanted to avoid drawing any undue attention to myself. I didn’t think anyone could actually see the magic, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  My opponent—upon seeing me not moving too much—took the initiative. He launched forward. At least, that’s what it would have looked like from the outside. To me, it was slow. I casually moved out of his way when he tried to punch me in the chest. I lashed out with a kick to the side as I did. I made sure it wasn’t a full kick. I didn’t want to accidentally break his ribs—it was a spar, not a fight to the death!

  Michael staggered back from the strike. I thought even at half-power that I might have overdone it. I gave him a couple seconds to forfeit if that was the path he wanted to take. When he didn’t surrender, I launched a flurry of attacks his way that was overwhelming. I took a couple strikes that I could have avoided. I wanted to win quickly now that I had sized the boy up and found him lacking.

  “Stop!” the official yelled.

  I jumped back to give my opponent space.

  “Eddy Teller is the winner. 20 points to 3. Please vacate the mat.”

  I bowed to Michael. I walked off the mat and took off my gear. There was no point in wearing it for another hour before my next match. Instead, I found Dad hanging off to the side with the other spectators—most of which were parents.

  “Good fight,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “How many rounds?” he asked.

  “Master Chang said eight,” I said, “so I think this will go on for a while.”

  “How much time until your next one?”

  “No idea,” I shrugged. “Maybe an hour? I want to say it’s double elimination, too. There’ll be a losers' bracket meaning the rounds won’t actually go faster until the third round. Even then, I’ll be doing a lot of sitting.”

  “Do you need anything? Water, food…?”

  “I’m good for now,” I said. “I’ll probably hit the bathroom after the next round.”

  “Hopefully not too hard,” he laughed.

  I gave him a glare in response.

  We watched other matches for a while before Dad excused himself to go to the bathroom. I sat and waited for a while. Eventually, he wandered back around.

  “What took so long?” I asked.

  “Oh, I thought I’d check out some of the other competitions,” he said. “They’re pretty cool.”

  “I’ll probably go have a look after the next round. I think this one’s just about finished.”

  The next round was posted on the wall a little over ten minutes later. I was going to have to wait a while for my match. I was second to last on mat number five. Seeing that I had at least half an hour before I was due to fight, I took that opportunity to visit the rest room and return.

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  Along the way back, I checked out the other competitions. I didn’t have enough time to really watch them, but the sword fighting looked like a lot of fun. Both contestants stood in full gear whaling on each other with bamboo swords. The matches also lasted longer than the sparring ones I was doing. At the same time, there were fewer people participating. I tore my eyes away from the spectacle and returned to my assigned mat.

  The next three matches for me were as easy as the first had been. I was average in terms of fighting skill, but my stats meant I was just that much faster than everyone else I came against. It really was unfair. I wasn’t going to complain, though. I needed as many experience points as I could get so that I could maybe save the world. I’d come to terms with the fact that it was my fault. Even so, I was obligated to do something about it. Winning this tournament was but a step on that journey.

  The tournament broke for an hour for lunch after the fourth match. Dad and I scouted out the options before settling on getting each of us a premade sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water. There wasn’t nearly enough seating available for everyone at the same time, so we ate standing against one of the side walls.

  “Halfway there,” Dad said between bites.

  “Mhm,” I agreed.

  “Didn’t look like you’re having any trouble so far,” he pointed out.

  “I don’t think I will, either. I’m as strong as most adults while being half the size. Throw in a modicum of skill and I don’t think anyone will be able to come close.”

  “Even if they’re really skilled?” he asked.

  “Eh, maybe then,” I said. “Did you notice anyone like that?”

  “Not from where I was standing, but you never know who else is out there.”

  “True,” I nodded.

  “Well, I’m done eating. I’m going outside for a smoke. I’ll meet you back at the mat when I’m done.”

  “Those are going to kill you some day,” I scolded him.

  “I don’t want to know the future,” he teased back.

  I rolled my eyes as he left. This wasn’t the life to be too bothered with making him quit. After all, I was just going to reset any progress he made. I knew he had it in him to quit, too. He’d almost managed when I was fifteen before making the mistake of thinking cigars wouldn’t bring the cravings back. I was thirty when he finally kicked it after a health scare.

  I threw out my trash and wandered back to the tournament area. I checked to see where my mat would be and sat near it. I still had time before the next round, giving me some time to look around. I saw that there was definitely fewer people now. Some of the people eliminated stuck around to watch the matches, but most wandered off to do other things.

  Three more matches ended in victory. They were firing more quickly now that the amount of other fighters had dwindled to just a handful. I watched the loser bracket’s semi final before what would hopefully be my final match. Then I mentally facepalmed when I remembered that even if I won the match, I’d have to face the winner of the losers' bracket—whether the same person or the other—one final time.

  A crowd gathered around the finals ring. Both myself and the other winner—a tall girl—faced each other on the mat. The winner of the losers' bracket stood nearby to face the loser of this match. I felt confident. There hadn’t been any real challenge thus far, and I didn’t really expect this spar to be any different.

  “Mia Oliver. Eddy Teller. Are you both ready?” the official asked.

  “Yes,” we said together before bowing to each other.

  “On my count. One. Two. Three!”

  As with every match, I took my time getting to know the style of my opponent. I also wanted to gauge her skill level. To make it to the finals, she had to be the best of the best. I started with probing strikes while I kept my feet moving.

  She used strong kicks and quick, fast punches. With my stats, I was able to avoid or deflect them easily enough. When I thought I had a handle on her style, I went in more strongly. I counterattacked her next kick by stepping into it. I punched towards her chest with a bit more than half of my strength. The girl was definitely more skilled than the others had been.

  In an instant, her hands reached out. One blocked my attack and the other hit me in my chest! I staggered back and gave her some room. I reevaluated my approach. My opponent was much better than I had thought. I was going to need to use all my strength if I had a chance of winning.

  I leaped back into the fight. With all of my stats, I wasn’t pulling punches anymore. She was quick, yes, but I was quicker. In the first minute, she was ahead on points—blocking only reduced the points gained rather than negating them entirely. I punched, kicked, blocked, and dodged to the best of my ability. She was more skillful, but I was quicker. We traded blows. She hit me a fair number of times. In so doing, she was hit twice as much. In the end, the match was called after a grueling five minutes.

  “Eddy Teller is the winner,” the official announced. “21 points to 18.”

  I bowed to my opponent before sitting on the sidelines with Dad. Even after years of endurance training by running daily from quests, five minutes in the ring was exhausting. The stats helped but only so much. I wanted desperately to Heal my aches away. Instead I watched and waited.

  The girl faced off against a tall boy for the chance to face me again. The loser of the fight would be in third place while the winner of the fight with me would be in first place—though they’d have to beat me twice while I only had to win once. The two opponents fought relentlessly. Like me, the boy struggled to fight her on even terms. Unlike me, he didn’t have an advantage he was hiding to get him across the finish line. He lost decisively after only three minutes.

  The official called a ten minute break before the finals. I took that opportunity to run—yes, run—to the bathroom in that time. There was a short line, but I was able to make it back to the mat before the finals started. And then only just. As I came sprinting back, the girl was on the mat waiting for me.

  The finals drew a sizable crowd. Dad was there, as was Master Chang. After the ceremonial bow, we started the spar. Unlike the first time around, I had a much better measure of my opponent. I used what I knew—and my stats—to bring the match to a close much faster than it had been the first time around.

  “Good matches,” she said, extending a hand.

  “You were good,” I smiled while shaking it.

  She didn’t say anything more. I left the mat at the same time she did.

  “Great job!” Dad said, grabbing me in a big hug. “Proud of you.”

  “Thanks!”

  “You did very well, Eddy,” Master Chang commented. “You’ve done me and our school a great service with that performance.”

  “So what do I do now?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you have a good look at the other competitions?” Master Chang said. “They’re almost over. Come to Section B where we were this morning when you’re done. Awards will be handed out when the last competition finishes.”

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