On the playground, Traurig stared at the man two grades younger standing before him, not daring to make a rash move. The former raised his fists into a boxing guard, leading with his left hand. The latter stood with one foot forward and one foot back, his body slightly bent—left foot in front in a bow stance, while his right knee rested on the ground.
So it's a southpaw stance, Traurig thought.
The two circled around a fixed point, keeping a distance of about 150 centimeters between them. Measuring the distance and testing his opponent's reactions, Traurig threw several jabs, all of which the other man evaded by stepping back, so Traurig stopped probing with them. Being unfamiliar with wrestling, he didn't dare continue punching, afraid that the moment he committed to a strike, the opponent would seize the opening and tackle him at the waist. The distance between them remained unchanged.
Let me try this out, Traurig thought.
He took two steps back, and the man followed right after him.
Catching the moment his opponent was stepping forward, Traurig suddenly burst in, shooting out a probing jab. The opponent's forward momentum wasn't very strong; he braked slightly and came to a stop. Traurig raised his guard with both hands, lifted his knee, leaned back a little, eyes locked on the wrestler who stood slightly shorter than him. He snapped his hips forward—a straight front kick drove directly toward the wrestler's lower abdomen.
Because the man had only just stabilized his stance, he had no time to retreat. He quickly turned his guard inward to block, but was still kicked off balance and thrown to the ground. Traurig rushed in, sweeping his leg low, stopping it just ten centimeters from the wrestler's temple.
"Let's call it a day, Chu Ren."
Traurig reached out and helped Chu Ren to his feet.
Traurig Ai had black hair that was neither short nor long, with a few strands sticking to his fair forehead from sweat. He was an 11th-grade American high school student, 1.79 m tall and weighing 94 kg, though he looked about 10 kg lighter. Clothed, he didn't show exaggerated muscle, just a large frame; he was fit but didn't appear overly heavy. Chu Ren was a ninth-grader, 1.71 m tall, weighing 76 kg, with long, even black hair and darker, brownish skin. He was a Junior Varsity member in the school's wrestling club. Due to their weight difference, Traurig had agreed to stick to stand-up techniques only, no wrestling.
At that moment, Traurig wore loose white casual pants and a gray T-shirt with black letters reading "What Can I Say," the knees of the pants already darkened from contact with the floor. Chu Ren wore gray athletic shorts and a white T-shirt. No one knew Traurig's fighting style.
"Rather than being unsteady, it looks more like you abandoned thought and relied purely on instinct. Using your instinct is good—but yours doesn't look very refined. You could've sidestepped. Next time, let's do MMA. Did you land on your butt?"
"No, we wrestlers are used to slamming into the floor every day, so that doesn't scare us. My arm got a bit scraped, though."
The memory of being lifted and slammed to his side by Chu Ren last time was still vivid, and Traurig marveled at how different wrestlers were. They chatted as they walked slowly off the playground.
This was an American high school with mostly Asian students. By Traurig's account, competition was intense academically, yet athletics weren't bad—though forget about football or similar sports. Traurig himself was academically advanced; he had even started learning linear algebra, though his grades were inconsistent. Maintaining a high GPA seemed unnecessary to him—fighting was far more interesting than studying.
For now, it was time to go home. Surrounded by mountains, the school lay above Traurig's house at the foot of the hills. After parting with Chu Ren, he walked down toward the house.
His parents were in China for work, so Traurig lived with his grandparents. With them away and his sister gone, the large house was empty except for him. He took off his shoes and went down to the basement, sitting at the dining table. From his backpack, he pulled out his laptop, intending to do his homework—but watching some martial arts videos first seemed like a good idea. Today he decided to study a style known for its kicks.
He opened YouTube and typed:
Capoeira
In truth, Traurig was curious to try it, but thinking of his own weight, which is more than 80 kg, he doubted he could avoid injuring himself. After a short while, he abandoned the idea of mimicking the moves. Instead, he moved to the side and practiced his own punching combinations: left jab, right cross, left uppercut, right hook, left hook, backstep, high right sweep, low right sweep transitioning into the high sweep, spinning backward to strike an imaginary opponent with a left whip punch. Realizing the whip punch didn't flow naturally into the next move, he stepped back significantly while resetting his boxing guard, keeping his eyes on the imaginary opponent.
Suddenly, the shadow opponent planted a left hand on the floor, launched the right leg, and executed a 360-degree side flip. Seeing the distance close rapidly, Traurig stepped back—but the first flip was a feint. After landing, the shadow performed another side flip aimed at Traurig's neck. Unable to evade completely, Traurig crossed his arms to block and, with lightning speed, trapped the opponent's ankle with a tiger-like grip, stabilizing his stance while preparing to pull and strike the other leg to tear at the opponent's ligaments. The imaginary opponent spun in midair, left foot kicking Traurig's chest. Traurig quickly twisted away from the ankle and stepped back, avoiding the kick. When he looked again, the shadow had vanished. He couldn't imagine more moves—the Brazilian martial art was unfamiliar to him.
Sweat dripped from his hair, occasionally blurring his vision, but it didn't matter. Traurig was thoroughly engrossed.
Afterward, he practiced alone for a while more, but progress was minimal. Resigned, he returned to his homework. His discarded jacket lay to the side, and the fluffy carpet was damp from his sweat.