So for the next few days, me and Bone just kept sparring. Sparring and sparring...
It was like that for three days straight. Honestly, I didn’t even know what his angle was. I wasn’t allowed to talk back or ask questions, so my guess was as good as yours. But on the fourth day, he stopped dead in the middle of our spar.
“What’s wrong?” I panted, wiping the sweat from my eyes.
Bone didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, staring at me for a really long time.
“Well,” he said finally, rolling his shoulders. “You’re very aggressive, but you’re also highly tactical. You wait for somebody to fuck up before you go full force. Even when you have the upper hand, you keep your guard up. When you go in for throws, you’ve got good muscle, so you can easily use overwhelming brute force—but you only do that when you know your opponent is off-guard. The thing that really gets on my nerves, though, is that you fight really fucking dirty.”
“Yeah,” I gasped, catching my breath. “We’re supposed to be training for an underground street fight, right?”
“Yeah, I fucking know that,” Bone snapped. “But that doesn’t explain or excuse you biting me on my fucking nose when I thought you were going to headbutt me.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“Sorry for almost taking my nose off?!”
“You told me to come at you full force, so I did!” I defended myself. “I didn’t actually plan on biting you. It just happened.”
“This ain’t the movies, nigga!” Bone barked. “The fuck, you think I got a fifth sense for this shit?” He took a deep breath, letting the anger fade. “But I digress... Despite you telling me you only watched some basic videos, your fundamentals are rough. But they’re good enough to use in a fight. You learn fast, too. Hell, while we were sparring, you were slowly adapting to my rhythm. Nobody has adapted to my rhythm. Not in over fifteen years.”
Well, that just proves it,
the voice in my head grinned.
I’m a badass.
Bone stood there for a second, rubbing his chin as he looked me over. I could tell his mind was putting together a whole curriculum for me.
“Alright,” Bone said, snapping his fingers. “I figured out the game plan. For striking, we’re going to combine Dutch kickboxing with Systema. We’re also going to bring in Burmese kickboxing and a little bit of Savate.”
I just stared at him. “Bro, what the fuck is Dutch kickboxing? And what the hell is a Savate?”
“Dutch kickboxing is heavily focused on boxing combinations that finish with devastating low kicks,” Bone explained. “It’s aggressive, and it’s perfect for your build. As for Savate, it’s basically French kickboxing, but they wear hard-toed shoes. Since you’re going to be fighting on concrete in sneakers, we’re going to combine them so you get used to kicking with shoes on instead of being barefoot. You’ll be able to break his ribs with the toe of your shoe.”
“And the Burmese part?” I asked.
“Lethwei,” Bone said. “It’s Burmese kickboxing. It’s basically Muay Thai, but they allow headbutts. If you learn how to throw a headbutt like them, you’ll be able to put Nathan on his ass in two seconds flat. Systema, on the other hand, is a Russian military art. It’s going to teach you exactly how to strike the natural weak points on the human body—especially since you already have a habit of targeting toes and ears.”
Next up on his training block was grappling.
“For the ground game, we’re focusing on Combat Sambo and Catch Wrestling,” Bone said. “And I’m throwing in a little bit of Ssireum.”
Again, I had no goddamn clue what he was talking about.
“Sambo is another Russian martial art,” Bone explained, seeing my blank stare. “But Combat Sambo is the military version. It allows you to transition your strikes directly into heavy, bone-breaking grapples. Catch Wrestling is a brutal, old-school style of wrestling focused on submission holds. And Ssireum is basically Korean sumo.”
“Sumo?” I asked, looking down at my waistline. “I’m not exactly built like a truck, bro.”
“You don’t have to be massively obese to use it,” Bone muttered, rolling his eyes. “The only difference is it’s focused on using leverage and trips rather than pure weight. It’s perfect for throwing someone bigger than you.”
And finally, we had to work on my feet.
“For your footwork, we’re going to practice Ring-Cutting,” Bone said. “And we’re pairing it with Judo Ashi-Waza.”
Of course, he had to explain those two, too.
“Ring-Cutting is a boxing technique,” he said, stepping side to side to show me. “It’s the art of trapping an opponent and cutting off their escape routes so they can’t run from you on the concrete. Ashi-Waza is just Judo's foot sweeps and leg trips. It’s going to teach you how to sweep Nathan's legs out from under him the second he tries to slip away.”
I nodded slowly, trying to memorize everything. It was a lot of shit to learn.
This nigga really is a combat scientist,
the voice in my head whispered, actually sounding impressed.
He’s building a custom monster.
“
Alright, Mr. Bone,” I said, tightening the laces on my sneakers. “Show me how to do it.”
After a few hours of hard training, I basically had my fundamentals down pretty good. But I had to pack up my shit and go home. I had just realized something, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I hadn’t checked on Juliet once since I woke up. It was completely, unintentionally selfish of me. I was so busy obsessing over getting my get-back that I completely forgot to check on her mental health. I was so young, but yet so fucking stupid.
I tried calling her.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I’m sorry, the person you are trying to call is not available right now...”
“
Just one more time,” I muttered, hitting redial as I threw my car into drive.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I’m sorry, the person you are trying to call is not available right now...”
“
Come on now, Juliet...” My hands started sweating on the steering wheel, a cold dread setting in. “You’re starting to scare me a little.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I’m sorry, the person you are trying to call is not available right now...”
...
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I’m sorry, the person you are trying to call is not available right now...”
“
I’m blowing up your phone,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I watched the highway lines blur. “Fucking answer it. Please.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I’m sorry, the person you are trying to call is not available right now...”
I stopped calling.
There was no point. The only thing I could do now was just drive faster. I slammed my foot on the gas, pushing the car as hard as it would go. She had to be okay. She had to be. I tell her she’s loved and appreciated every single day. I tell her. I fucking tell her every single time I see her.
Please, God, tell me she didn’t go back to that dark place.