The Jewel of Boxing

There was plenty of information. Little rules detailing little conducts. It was boring. All too reminiscent of the bureaucratic madness she had suffered through a few moments prior.

But two things in particular caught her eye. Two, curious little things, in curious italicised text.

‘Upon registration in ‘The Sword Saint’s Tournament’, the individual will become a participant. Participants are disallowed from attacking or otherwise harming other participants, and will forfeit their roles if they do so.’

‘Once registered, participants will acquire a token. At the date listed, participants will hand the token and be accepted into ‘The Sword Saint’s Tournament’. Any and all individuals who present an acceptable token will be accepted and registered as participants. Likewise, any and all participants who fail to do this will be disqualified as participants.

A smile touched her face. Jenn stared at the paper, eyes filled with an unfettered lustre. Certainly, if one were ever to get a lover, one should hope they were stared at with the same power Jenn commanded in that moment, so intense it was.

“So… it’s the token that makes the participant, not the other way around,” Jenn mumbled, annoying an elderly man trying to sleep.

Jenn thought of the document’s phrasing and sat in a posture of contemplation. She could go back and verify the rules, of course. Discuss it with the DMV employee, and whatnot.

But that would mandate even more waiting. And on top of that, potentially give way to other participants catching on to this little detail…

So, what would she do?

“Hehe,” she chuckled. “Alright. Alright!”

The old man next to her left the bench, and Jenn continued in her unrepentant laughter.

“Now then, how do we get this show on the road?”

As one might gather, Jenn’s plan was one of unprecedented violence (given her rather meat-brained nature and role as an action protagonist). Still, unprecedented violence did ironically require a precedent target, and Jenn was rather lost on that end.

All she had to do was fight a participant and take their token by force.

But… how would she choose?

With no clear indication of who was, and was not a participant, Jenn found herself at wits’ end. Teetering on it for all of two seconds, before she looked up, pulled herself upward and smiled.

At one end of the bridge was a girl with ruby red hair, a cropped sports bra, and shorts patterned with stickers and cuts. At the other was a random, wearing a plain, linen shirt, and white breeches.

From those two, it was obvious who was the protagonist and who wasn’t. And with that out of the way, all it became was a matter of due process and patience.

Inhaling hot air, Jenn excitedly got up and approached the girl with a finger thrusted.

“I’m here to fuck bitches and get riches. And my wallet’s all stacked.”

“What,” said the girl in a whisper, “what?” Her voice grew louder. “Uh, are you on stupid juice?”

The girl, among a few spectators, took in the sight of this outspoken woman.

“Sorry, wasn’t it clear enough? I’m saying you’re a bitch. Or do you not speak English around these parts?”

The girl sighed. “I don’t swing that way. There's probably a gay bar, or tavern, or something around here. Maybe a gay monastery.” She turned on her heel and prepared to walk away.

Jenn caught up. “Woah, woah woah. Don’t go jumping the conclusion hurdle, lady. When I said I fucked bitches I meant it in the violent sense. You know, fighting each other and stuff?”

She stopped. “Okay,” she seemed to understand. “But why the hell…” Her voice trailed off. She saw the documents in Jenn’s hand and her eyes narrowed. Then flicked her eyes about, taking in the look of several guards. “You want me to hit you and get in trouble, right?”

That was a natural assumption. Rules did forbid violence between any participants.

Jenn shook her head, moving to the girl’s left. “What, lady, you've got it all wrong. I am not a participant.”

“So…”

Jenn showed the paper, shaking it in the girl's face. “See this? I missed the damn registration and found a loophole that'd get me a token.”

The girl stepped back, expression caught in a half-scowl. “Hold up, hold up.” She raised her hands. “Why are you assuming I have a token? I could be a tourist.”

Jenn’s eyes narrowed. Her face imbued with an all too unreasonable smirk. “No tourist says they ‘could’ be a tourist. They just say, ‘I'm a tourist, you got the wrong idea,’ and go on doing touristy stuff.”

The girl murmured something disagreeable. “Alright, smartass. And let's say I do have a token, what changes?”

Jenn struck a pose, one hand on her chin and another pointed. “I challenge you to a fight and whoever wins gets the token.”

She shook her head. “That's… so damn stupid.”

“Huh?”

“Why would I fight you for something I already have?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Jenn took a coin from her pocket, and mimicked sliding it into an arcade machine. “Aesthetics.”

“Aesthetics? You think I’d fight because it looks good?”

“‘Course,” Jenn replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know what separates a poser from a badass? Aesthetics. You know what separates a 500-year-old loli bait from a mature, knowledgeable elf mentor? Aesthetics. It underpins everything. It dictates everything about the quality of its possessor. So when I say, I think you’d fight me for aesthetics, I guess what I’m really trying to say is that you’d fight me to not look like a bitch.”

Jenn walked closer. “And here’s the thing—I can tell you’re a fighter. And folks like you? They value pride and aesthetics over all else.” She was a hairsbreadth away. And her breath could be felt. “Your nose is a little crooked, your ears are cauliflowered, and you're flexing those cheese grater abs like they're a Saturday morning newspaper. Let me guess, you come from either a fighting game or a martial arts manga.”

The girl's mouth lost its expression, but her eyes held something new. Interest.

It was difficult to tell precisely why she felt that way. Maybe Jenn held the same novelty as a back-alley philosopher, spouting insanities and all. Maybe the girl had nothing else to do. Or maybe—for all Jenn’s endless monologue, she’d actually said something that hit close to the truth.

In any case, Jenn had taken note of this. And in a great gamble for provocation, chose to go all in.

“You don't seem like protag material, though… nor a mainstay.” Her eyes went to the girl’s chest. “Protagonists tend to be a bit less lewd. My guess is some designer cooked you up with one hand down under and a bottle of lotion in the other. Probably for a one-off arc or as DLC.” Jenn ran her eyes down the girl's shorts. There were cuts and tears in it, revealing bits of thigh and leg. “Yeah. You definitely have a lot of porn drawn of you.”

“What’d you say?”

“I said, when I put whatever your name is into a search engine, the second result that comes up is porn. And whether you took it up top, down under, or sideways!”

The girl’s anger spilt in a sudden burst of movement. She gripped Jenn by the collar. “Take that back.”

“Make me—porn bait.”

Her eyes swept the guards. They were watching, and without reaction. “...Go die.”

“After I’m done rubbing one out.”

The girl’s reaction came in the form of a punch, splitting the air with the sound of a bullet.