All four of them stood facing the boy with the bat.
Stitch.
Gold grill catching the sun like a warning light. Bat resting on his shoulder, spinning lazily. He looked at them the same way you'd look at a new arcade cabinet. Not opponents. Toys. Something to test. Something to break.
It got under Bianca's skin first. Then Caesar's.
Especially Bianca. She remembered the last time. The bat to the liver. The kick to the chest. The way he'd called it "lucky" and walked away.
"Alright," Stitch said, drawing the word out. "Lemme get ready first."
He started stretching. Right there. In front of them. Arms over his head. Torso twists. Neck cracks. Like they weren't even there. Like this was a warm-up and not a fight.
That was it for Caesar.
"You're underestimating us too much, puta."
He snapped. No warning. No stance. Just rage and forward motion. A straight right came flying for Stitch's jaw.
Stitch didn't even blink. He leaned back an inch. The fist cut air in front of his nose.
"Yeah, that's what I'm talking 'bout," Stitch grinned, gold flashing.
Caesar came again. Hook this time. Wild. Desperate. Stitch caught his wrist mid-swing, fingers like a vice, and drove a front kick straight into his solar plexus.
_THUD._
Caesar coughed. Hard. Blood spattered the concrete. He staggered back, clutching his ribs.
As Stitch raised his fist to finish it, movement blurred from the side.
Ethan.
He launched himself, full jump kick, screaming. All heart. No aim.
Stitch's eyes flicked up. He didn't dodge. He just reached out and caught Ethan's ankle in mid-air.
"Wait your turn, bastard."
He slammed Ethan down.
_CRACK._
Head hit concrete. Body went limp instantly. Out. Not moving.
The alley went quiet except for Caesar's ragged breathing.
That sound broke something in Caesar. He roared and charged again, fists swinging.
Stitch sidestepped. Easy. And countered with an elbow aimed for Caesar's temple.
Bianca moved first. She grabbed Caesar's hoodie and yanked him back, out of the arc. At the same time Mark slid in low.
Sweep kick. Fast. Aimed for Stitch's ankle.
Stitch hopped back. Light. Efficient. Landed on the balls of his feet like he'd been expecting it.
He scratched the back of his head, bat tapping against his palm. Annoyed. Bored. Dangerous.
"Y'all just can't wait your turns, can ya?"
"This isn't a game," Bianca said. Her voice was flat. No smile. She dropped into a Judo stance. Feet shoulder-width. Hands open. Center of gravity low.
Mark settled in beside her. His stance was different. Looser. Boxing base Hakim drilled into him. Elbows tucked. Chin down. Eyes up. Not textbook. Practical.
Stitch looked between them and sighed. Loud. Dramatic.
"Guess I gotta kill y'all asses at the same time then."
He moved.
Target: Bianca.
She saw it coming. Stepped to the side at the last second. Bat whistled past her ear. She fired a punch for his face. It grazed his cheek. Barely. He was already pulling back.
And then he was on her.
Jab. Cross. Bat handle to the ribs. Bat head to the thigh. He wasn't trying to end it. He was testing her. Pushing. Relentless.
Bianca gave ground. Evaded. Redirected. Looking for a grip, for an opening. Her face was tight. Struggling. His strength was just too much. His reach was longer. His swings didn't stop.
But she was smiling anyway. Small. Sharp.
"You couldn't beat me last time," Stitch taunted between swings. "What makes you think you can now?"
"Cause this time I'm not alone," Bianca said, catching his wrist. "And you're painfully easy to read."
She pivoted. Used his momentum. Judo sweep.
Stitch's feet left the ground. For half a second he was airborne.
He caught himself on his hands. Balanced. Grinning.
"You thought that'd wor—"
He didn't finish.
Mark's boot came up and _cracked_ straight into his face.
Soccer kick. No wind-up. All torque from the hips. Adrian's drill.
Stitch's head snapped back. Blood sprayed from his nose. He hit the ground and rolled.
Bianca pushed her glasses up with her knuckle. Smiling now. Real.
"Took you long enough."
"I needed to make sure I wouldn't get in your way," Mark said. Small smile. Breathing steady. Eyes still on Stitch.
Silence.
Stitch pushed himself up on one arm. Touched his nose. Stared at the blood on his fingers.
Then he started laughing.
Not amused. Shocked. Like he couldn't believe it.
"These losers made me bleed? Ain't no way."
He said it to himself. Quiet.
Then he stood. Slow. Bat dragging across the concrete. _Screeeech._
He wiped the blood across his cheek, smearing it. And when he looked up, the grin was back. But it didn't reach his eyes.
"Since you made me bleed," he said, voice dropping. Low. "It's only fair I make y'all bleed too, right?"
The air in the alley got heavy. Cold.
Bianca's smile faded. Her hands came up again. Mark's stance shifted. Weight on the balls of his feet.
Something in Stitch had changed. The playfulness was gone.
Now he was serious.
---
The fight didn't start right away.
Because now it wasn't about fighting.
It was psychological.
Stitch stopped spinning the bat. He gripped it. Both hands. Centered his weight.
Before, he'd been swinging it around like a toy.
Now it looked like what it was: a weapon.
He started walking. Slow. Dragging the tip of the bat along the concrete.
_Screeeech._
The sound set everyone's teeth on edge.
His eyes locked on Mark. Killer focus. No grin. No jokes.
Caesar saw it too. He stepped in front of Mark, chest heaving, blood on his shirt.
"Don't forget about me."
Stitch didn't even look at him. He just kept walking.
Caesar grabbed his shoulder. "I said—"
Stitch's bat moved.
Backhand to the stomach.
Upward swing to the chest.
Jab under the jaw.
Three hits. Didn't break stride. Didn't look down.
Caesar dropped. Out cold.
"Fuck off, insect," Stitch said, voice low. "I have payback to give."
He kept walking toward Mark.
Mark's heart was hammering. Sweat ran down his temple. The alley felt smaller. The air felt heavier. This was different from before. This was Stitch serious.
Bianca lunged to intercept. Too slow.
The bat came down.
_WHOOSH._
The air split. The wind of the swing alone made Mark flinch.
He and Bianca both dove. Rolled. Came up on their feet.
If that hit landed, they weren't getting up for the rest of the fight.
Stitch didn't stop. He came in swinging. Wild. Chaotic. But precise.
Bat to guard. Bat to ribs. Bat to thigh. Each hit rattled their bones through the blocks.
For 10 minutes it wasn't a fight.
It was survival.
Every time they tried to create distance, he closed it.
Every time they tried to close in, the bat kept them out.
They were getting dog-walked.
Finally they broke away. Gasping. Bruised. Hands shaking.
Mark wiped blood from his lip. Looked at Bianca.
"I have a plan."
"Tell me." No hesitation.
He leaned in, spoke fast, low. His plan.
Bianca's eyes went wide. "Are you sure you can do it?"
Mark thought about it. About the drills. About Hakim yelling "eyes on the shoulder." About Connor screaming "taunt them."
"Yeah," he said. "Just trust me to do my part."
Bianca stared at him for a beat. Then nodded. Jaw set. "Go."
Mark picked up a rock from the ground. Aimed. Threw.
_PING._ It clipped Stitch's temple.
"Come on, loser!" Mark shouted, voice bouncing off the alley walls. Connor's taunt. Word for word. "Let's dance!"
It worked.
Stitch's head snapped up. The calm was gone. Rage flooded in.
"I'm gonna enjoy beating your ass," he snarled, and charged.
The bat came in fast. Down. Side. Thrust.
But Mark was moving.
Footwork. Connor's footwork. Pivot. Slide. Duck. He was dodging by inches. Redirecting the bat with his forearms. Finding openings. Landing jabs to the body. Calf kicks.
It wasn't pretty. But it was working.
Stitch's face twisted. Frustration. Confusion.
_How the hell is this bastard dodging me?_
Bianca watched from the side. She couldn't help it. Her mouth opened slightly.
The guy who'd been pushing both of them back seconds ago couldn't touch Mark now.
It reminded her of detention. Austin and Sato sparring. Technique vs observation.
Two weeks. That's all it took. Two weeks of basics and bruises and "eyes open."
She forced herself to look away. Wait. Breathe. Wait for her part.
Stitch was falling apart. Swings getting sloppy. Breathing ragged. Relying on grit now.
"No! No no no!" he screamed. "I'm not losing to a runt like you!"
He went for it. The finisher. Overhead swing. Both hands. All his weight behind it.
Mark had been waiting for it.
He'd memorized it while getting his ass kicked. The tell. The wind-up.
He side-stepped. Caught Stitch's wrist. Twisted.
The bat clattered to the ground.
Then he pivoted on his back foot and drove a back kick straight into Stitch's stomach.
It wasn't Adrian-level. He was just copying what he'd seen. But it was enough.
_OOF._
Stitch slid backward, gasping.
Right into Bianca.
She was already moving. Caught his wrist. Used his momentum. Pivoted.
Judo flip.
_STOMP._
Stitch's back hit the concrete. Hard.
Silence.
Mark dropped to his knees. Chest heaving. Every muscle screaming. Pain surged through his arms, his ribs, his legs.
But it was nothing compared to the mall.
He looked up. Bianca was standing over Stitch, breathing hard, but standing.
They'd done it.
From the ground, Stitch groaned. Blood in his teeth. Eyes unfocused.
He'd come here to break them.
Instead, the stray had just learned how to bite back.