The first flight of stairs felt like climbing a mountain. My shins ached from the impact with Tank's knee, and the adrenaline was starting to dip, leaving behind a cold, sharp clarity. The second floor was different from the first. Where the ground floor was chaotic and loud, the second floor was unnervingly quiet. This was the territory of the "Technical Tier"—the fighters who didn't just swing; they calculated.
I stepped onto the linoleum, my wet sneakers squeaking. The hallway was lined with lockers, but the students here didn't scatter. They leaned against the walls, watching me with a mixture of pity and morbid fascination.
"You're early," a voice drifted from the shadows near the end of the hall.
A figure stepped into the dim yellow light. He wasn't big. In fact, he was leaner than me, wearing a sleek grey tracksuit. His hands weren't wrapped in bandages; they were encased in thin, professional-grade MMA gloves.
This was Jax 'The Ghost' Reed. Level 2.
"Tank was a Neanderthal," Jax said, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. His movements were fluid, almost like he was dancing to a beat only he could hear. "He relies on mass. I rely on frequency. You won't even see the punch that puts you down, Asher."
I didn't waste breath on a reply. I dropped my center of gravity.
Before I could even blink, Jax was in my personal space. Snap-snap. Two jabs landed on my jaw before I could even raise my guard. They weren't heavy, but they were precise—aimed at the nerves. My vision flickered.
Flashback: Three Months Ago
I remembered Julian sitting on our porch, his knuckles bruised from a boxing class he took "just for fitness." He was laughing as he tried to teach me how to parry.
"It's not about being faster than the punch, Ash," Julian had said, his eyes bright with that annoying optimism he always had. "It's about knowing the rhythm. Everything has a heart-beat. A song. If you can hear the song, you can predict the next note."
I had laughed at him then. I wasn't laughing now.
Jax was a blur. He moved in a zigzag pattern, his feet barely touching the ground. He landed a hook to my ribs, then a stinging slap to my ear that threw off my balance. I was a punching bag. Every time I swung, I hit air.
"Too slow," Jax hissed, spinning for a roundhouse kick.
I took the hit. I didn't try to dodge it. I let his shin connect with my forearm, the pain radiating through my bone, but it gave me exactly what I needed: Contact.
While his leg was still extended, I grabbed his calf with my left hand. For a split second, the Ghost was tethered to the ground.
"I don't need to be faster than you, Jax," I growled, my voice thick with the copper taste of blood. "I just need to break your rhythm."
I pulled him toward me. He tried to counter with a flurry of punches to my face, but I tucked my chin and drove my forehead into his nose. Crunch. The sound of cartilage breaking signaled the end of his 'song.'
While he was dazed, I didn't go for a flashy finish. I went for the joints. I used a low-angle sweep to take his standing leg out, and as he fell, I delivered a calculated knee drop to his solar plexus, pinning him to the floor.
I leaned over him, my shadows covering his face. "You're fast, Jax. But you're predictable. You always double-jab before you pivot. Julian taught me that. And Julian is the reason you're going to sleep now."
I didn't wait for him to pass out. I stood up, breathing hard, my ribs screaming in protest.
I looked down the hall. A door opened, and Chloe was standing there, holding a stack of books, her face pale as she saw me standing over Jax's crumpled body. Her eyes weren't filled with admiration—they were filled with fear. Not fear of me, but fear for me.
"Asher, stop," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Look at yourself. You're bleeding. You've won Level 2, isn't that enough?"
I looked at my hands. The white wraps were now stained a deep, dark crimson. I looked at the stairs leading to the third floor.
"It's never enough, Chloe," I said, my heart feeling like a cold stone in my chest. "Not until the top of the stairs."
I turned away from her, leaving the only person who cared about me standing in the hallway, and headed for the next flight of stairs.