(POV: Sophia)
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I don't usually spend my Saturdays watching people get suplexed into the ground, but apparently, my life stopped being normal somewhere around the time Leo became friends with a celebrity and forgot to tell us. And we ended up finding through a post.
This? This was just the next stop on the madness express.
Let's rewind.
It started the way many questionable stories do: with Ethan holding up a flyer and saying, "Hear me out."
"An amateur MMA event?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "You want us to voluntarily attend a public concussing?"
He grinned like a raccoon who just found a locked dumpster. "It's for a good cause! Charity event. Entry's free if we sign up as volunteers."
Ava peered over the flyer. "You volunteered us for this, didn't you?"
"...Define 'volunteered.'"
Leo, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor eating instant noodles straight from the pot like a retired monk, spoke up for the first time in ten minutes. "I'm in."
We all turned to look at him.
"You're what?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I've been meaning to check out that gym anyway."
That should've been the red flag. Not the flyer. Not Ethan's unblinking enthusiasm. The moment Leo said he was "checking something out," it should've been game over.
The event was the next day. Held at a local community gym that smelled like sweat and ambition. We showed up in matching volunteer T-shirts Ethan forgot to wash beforehand—so mine had a mysterious mustard stain and Ava's had "EVENT STAF" printed on the back. Missing the final 'F'. Somehow, it felt poetic.
Our jobs were simple. Ava was on ticket duty. Ethan was in charge of sound cues, which was a mistake no one caught until it was too late. I was manning the sign-in table, which meant dealing with fighters with names like "Bone Crusher" and "Gentleman Steve."
Leo? Nowhere to be seen.
"He said he'd be late," Ava said, checking her phone. "Something about picking up snacks."
"For who? The fighters?" I asked.
Ethan hit play on a test track and accidentally blasted the opening notes of "Barbie Girl" over the loudspeakers. He scrambled to fix it, nearly tripping over a coiled mic cable.
"I give us thirty minutes before we get kicked out," I muttered.
That's when the first match started.
To my surprise, it was kind of impressive. The fighters were skilled, respectful, and only mildly terrifying. I got into it. The crowd was lively. The referees were competent. Nobody lost a tooth. So far.
Then, halfway through the third match, someone said, "Wait—is that Leo?"
Heads turned.
And there he was, walking in like he was delivering a pizza, holding a plastic grocery bag and wearing the expression of someone who took a wrong turn into a parallel universe.
Only—he didn't stop at the bleachers.
He kept walking.
To the mat.
"Why is he walking to the mat?" I asked, panic rising in my throat.
"Maybe he's giving someone their lunch?" Ava offered.
But Leo reached the side of the ring, handed the bag to a stunned volunteer, and climbed into the cage.
The announcer blinked down at his list. "Uh. Next up… substitute fighter... L-Train?"
A beat of silence.
Then Leo raised his hand. "That's me."
I stood up so fast my knee cracked. "WHAT."
Apparently—and I'm quoting Leo here—"One of the fighters bailed last-minute, and the coach said I could stand in so the guy wouldn't lose by default."
"YOU AREN'T EVEN WEARING GEAR!" I shouted, which is a weird sentence to yell in public.
"I borrowed shorts," Leo said.
As if that explained anything.
The bell rang.
I braced for disaster.
The other guy was taller, bulkier, and looked like he ate drywall for breakfast. He cracked his knuckles like a movie villain. Leo just stood there, blinking calmly, like he was waiting for an elevator.
The guy lunged.
Leo… dodged.
I don't mean "just barely." I mean he stepped sideways like he was avoiding a puddle and let the guy stumble past him.
The crowd gasped.
"He knows how to move," Ava whispered.
Leo didn't fight so much as not get hit. He sidestepped, ducked, pivoted, and looked almost bored while doing it.
"Where the hell did he learn this?" Ethan muttered, leaning forward.
A week ago, I watched Leo try to open a jar of pickles with a towel and sheer willpower.
And now?
He was ducking spinning kicks like it was Tuesday and he had nowhere else to be.
The guy got frustrated. Swung harder.
Leo ducked, twisted, and… accidentally tripped him.
The guy went down.
The referee froze.
Leo blinked.
The crowd roared.
"He won?" Ava said.
The bell rang again.
Apparently, yes. He won.
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End of Chapter 38.