"Fight the essence of life; discover the essence of self; embrace the sour taste of regret." We had little access to literature in the orphanage, but I remember seeing that line and thinking, "I don't know what this means." Maybe now I do.
Among the large crowd of men surrounding a ring of rocks, a boy's head poked through the back. He struggled to see what was happening. The only evidence that anything was happening at all was the loud grunts coming from the center and the occasional cheer of the crowd.
One of the men looked back at the boy.
"Looky here, boys! We've got ourselves a spectator."
A couple of others turned to the back of the crowd. The boy would have felt welcome if it weren't for the very unwelcoming glares.
He slid his foot back, but before he could turn to walk, a strong hand placed itself on his shoulder. Even through the cloth, the boy could feel the wear and tear of skin.
Before he knew it, the others pushed him to the front.
His body swung around as his arms flailed, stopping him from falling into the ring. He looked up to spectate.
Two large men wrestled in the center. The shorter one threw his hand around the other's neck and sat back on his weight to pull him down. The man reacted and swung his hips around to throw him off-balance.
Suddenly, the shorter one let go of his grip and took the taller man's back. He locked his arms around his opponent's belly and lifted him off the ground, slamming him to his hands and knees.
This back-and-forth lingered as the boy sat in awe. Whether this was a good technique or not, the boy didn't know the difference. All he saw was himself being crushed under the same pressure.
Who plays? How do they decide?
The thought of being next made his heart race. He could feel his palms start to sweat and pressure build in his face.
One of the men next to him smirked.
"Fun, huh?"
He looked up at the man.
"It's called wrestling. You try to make your opponent tap, fall out of the ring, or pass out."
"T- Tap?"
"Yeah, like tap out?"
"..."
"If you feel like you're about to die, just smack the other dude a couple of times- see here."
He stopped himself and pointed.
Before he knew it, the fight had come to a decision. The taller man had himself wrapped around the short man's arm. He pulled it across his body and cranked it backwards. His opponent let out a scream before a couple of taps freed him of the pain.
"Is that the game?"
The man laughed.
"Game?" The man scoffed but continued.
"There are more than just this one. Sometimes we use our fists, other times weapons, yada yada."
Fists and weapons, too?
"Alright!" A man spoke up from an overhang above.
The overhang was connected to a flight of stairs different from that of the soldiers' commons. There was a large office area behind. And instead of a wooden railing, it was marble.
I guess he's one of the instructors here. He looks big.
"Give me..." The instructor looked around for a moment before continuing, "Ralph. And..."
His eyes locked on the boy.
"Give me Ralph and Jackson. Center of the pit, now."
The crowd mumbled at Jackson's name. Ralph stepped up. His eyes were shaky, and his palms were sweaty. He forced himself into a fighting stance.
The instructor spoke once more, "Boxing, three-minute limit. If no one loses, it will be laps for the both of you."
"Begin."
Jackson looked forward confidently. His stature was enough to fuel anyone's ego. He was clearly over one hundred and ninety centimeters. His shoulders stuck out like boulders, and his forearms rippled with muscle.
Ralph charged, hoping to get the first hit. Though he was nervous, experience outweighed his doubt as he launched a perfect right cross. His nerves weren't due to the fight, but his opponent.
Twisting his foot, Jackson collapsed his weight on his right knee to dodge the punch, countering with his own left hook.
An elbow blocked the shot to the ribs as Ralph used the crunching motion of his side to counter with a swift jab.
Jackson retreated, exiting the range of the shot.
It was a quick exchange, but enough to silence the crowd.
A couple snickered, "Ralph sure has grown."
"Ah, just wait, Jackson always does this."
The boy watched the fight intently.
Ralph didn't stop the assault. A quick shuffle of his feet, and he was within range.
His elbow twitched, and Jackson's eyes followed. While looking at the movement, Jackson blocked a left hook to the side of his face, stopping the obvious feint.
Ralph's head recoiled back from a quick left jab, and blood sprayed from his nose. Anything more substantial than that, and he would have been on the floor.
"Tsk."
He focused his eyes back on his opponent as he regained composure. His hands lifted to his chin, ready to attack.
Jackson stood his ground, unwilling to move. Ralph stepped in range and double jabbed. One to the stomach and one to the face. He whipped his left arm back to his face for protection and used the momentum to launch a strong right hook.
His knees shook. The recoil from the earlier jab was too much for his knees to bear, and his punch overextended.
Jackson was already wrapped under his arm and countering with a left hook to the ribs. As Ralph winced in pain, he turned his head only to be met with another. The hook sent him stumbling forward.
A couple of men in the crowd laughed. He looked around as his breath began to shake. The last punch sent his head whirling.
Spit flew from his mouth as he exhaled sharply. His knees could hardly hold his weight.
A quick glance at the crowd's reaction was enough to turn his face red from embarrassment.
Ralph shouted and charged with no semblance of a stance.
"Fuck you, you backwater mercenary! I'm going to kill you!"
"Enough!"
A voice halted the fight. As everyone looked up, the crowd followed the instructor's extended finger to the edge of the ring. A footprint in the sand was imprinted outside of the circle.
Ralph looked around, confused as to how he ended up so close to the edge.
"You've lost Ralph. Compose yourself. We have no room for those who act like children."
All heads turned to the boy.
The instructor sighed.
"In war, there is no time to be angry or sad. You fight each battle with your life on the line despite the difference in strength. And when you falter, you do not let emotions take hold."
Ralph nodded in response.
"Good," he continued, "twenty laps."
Ralph almost retaliated, but restrained himself to avoid earning an additional fifty.
"Now then..." his gaze fell back on the boy.
"316, please step forward."