Kyoujou Numarei - I

It slammed into Jenn’s face, and as it did, she went flying, body spinning twice. After three seconds, Jenn seemed to slow, and gravity yanked her down in a cloud of dust and debris.

She lay in the middle of a cobbled street, and the folk nearby moved away, unwilling to dirty their oh so noble breeches.

“You dead?”

A horse reared in shock and near trampled Jenn. But the woman said nothing. Instead, she laughed, and as she did, found herself smiling all the more.

Shortly after, Jenn rose to one knee, and pressing finger against nostril, snorted out a glob of blood. It was a deep, almost black red, and against the white stone pavement, resembled a splatter of modern art.

Her face was manic, and her voice even more so. “Now this. This is pretty damn aesthetic, alright!”

“You haven't seen anything yet,” replied the girl, bending her knees and raising her hands. “I'll make a Mona Lisa out of your spilt blood.”

Jenn was equally enthused. “And I'll make porn out of yours!”

In truth, this was all a very questionable idea. Jenn was skilled, but her martial abilities could hardly hold up to a character of the genre. Katou was easy prey. With poor timing, spatial awareness, and an overdependence on abilities. This girl was different.

Her knees were just a tad bent. Her right foot forward and the other behind at an exact 45-degree angle.

It was a dead tell.

Jenn’s smile was increasingly delirious. “Great,” she mumbled, now seeing the girl’s eyes for what they were—calm, locked on, and reading for every twitch of movement. “Great. Ah, this is so damn great!”

Jenn didn’t know quite how she fought just yet, but she knew the girl could, and that was all that mattered.

“Hey, what’s your name, lady?”

She was tense, aware. “What’s it to you?”

“I can’t get off to someone I don’t know.”

“Kyoujou Numarei,” she grumbled, tucking her elbows near her ribs.

“Kyoujou… good name for a porn star.”

Jenn’s left arm flashed red, and she pulled herself up with a nearby street lamp. If Numarei suspected something, she made no indication.

She beckoned Numarei with a fold of her two fingers. “Koi!” Come (as a fighting game character might say).

Footsteps cracked against the cobblestone. Dashing past the pole, Numarei opened with three jabs. Jenn slipped one, but the two others hit her nose and plexus, forcing out blood and spit.

She stumbled back, blood pouring from her nostrils. Numarei circled Jenn, keeping distance, watching for any movement. The latter was breathing fine. Spared the nervous tells of an amateur.

Jenn went low, spreading her arms wide. Numarei kept her arms outstretched in a ‘frame’ (I imagined it was dubbed as such because it resembled one—maintaining a ‘frame’ of control, through making a physical barrier with one’s arm. But then again, I’m no martial artist, and my best frame of reference has been re-reading ‘Foot of the Four Cardinal Directions’ and whatnot, so take that as you will).

Numarei was quick, and as she framed her opponent, followed with a knee. Jenn tried to backstep, body pulling back with one sudden jolt. It worked. Though as she was mid-motion, Numarei transitioned her knee into a kick, hitting Jenn in the right thigh.

The woman winced in pain. “Crap, almighty.” She swayed like a twig in the wind.

Before two seconds, Jenn buckled and struggled to stand. Her balance was gone. Her whole right leg, a metaphor for an elder’s crotch pickle (limp).

“College wrestling isn’t going to cut it against me,” Numarei said, looking at Jenn like she just snorted a booger. “All you’re doing is getting yourself killed.”

“That’s not really my problem.”

“Okay…” Numarei rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have any friends, or lovers whose problem it might be?”

“Yeah. One. But he’s a molester bear that has plenty of companions anyway.”

“That explains a lot.” She mumbled. “Damn molester couples.”

Then—Numarei was gone. Without a word. Without a sound, save the loud, and sudden patter of steps.

Jenn tensed. Numarei was before her. She was in the motion of a punch. Blurring into imperceptibility.

It was nigh-perfect. Landed with a twist of the hips, and an utter lack of intent.

Jenn did not see it. Nor did she predict in time. All she did was strike with her own, hoping to land a punch in time.

Bit by bit, both attacks inched. Two punches en route to a timely collision. Tearing through the sound barrier like the roar of thunder.

Jenn’s, delayed and slower. Numarei’s, a whirring initiative.

—Third Reversion: Body Space Reversal

Her power activated. Right before contact, Jenn’s body was pulled away to the pole she'd marked. Straight into Ibari’s blindspot—her behind.

The Third Reversion worked as thus: It would either keep Jenn’s momentum, or create enough speed to match the thing she marked, and was dashing to.

In this case, Jenn had neither travel speed nor a moving target to keep up with.

But that was fine.

Despite keeping a speed of roughly 100m/s, the Third Reversion did have another benefit. Being that Jenn’s body held the exact same stance—bent knees, and a punch at the ready.

Meaning in less than a second, a punch from Numarei’s blind spot would slam into her skull, and render her unconscious—

“Dumbass.”

—Or so Jenn theorised.

In one clean, swift movement, Numarei let the momentum carry her forward, ducking beneath the punch. As she did this, her foot swept forward, hooked Jenn by the ankle, and sent her falling.

What happened next could best be described as ‘human basketball’.

Pulling her arm. Shooting her fist. Numarei struck Jenn in the midsection, slamming her into the rock-hard pavement. This formed a miniature crater, and as it did, Jenn’s body bounced, going down then up again.

A cough of blood and air came from Jenn’s lips.

Numarei continued this several more times. Bouncing Jenn like a ball. Performing dribbles so intense that they'd put NBA stars to shame.

Ten times.

Twenty times.

Thirty.

Jenn’s limbs flailed. Her spine crumpled like an ill-made toy, unable to bear the weight of shame on this scale.

“Here's a tip: Your shiny red hand screams danger.”

Ibari cupped her hands, and brought it down in a final rush of power.

“Kah,” and here Jenn spat blood and air, falling one last time.

By the time Numarei was done, Jenn flopped to the ground, limp and dazed, deflated like one’s happiness after enduring a fifty-episode-long filler arc.

The girl stood over Jenn, and brushed the red hair at her ear. It was over. The fight was set. And on Numarei’s face played the subtle inflections of a begrudging victor, tinged with respect as it were.

“I told you, didn't I? I'd make a Mona Lisa out of you.”

It was true. Drawn with Jenn’s blood was the loose silhouette of the Mona Lisa, etched in the street by every glob and dribble.

“Hah,” said Jenn then, with a smile on her lips. Wheezing with every breath. “...Now that's…” She paused. “Pretty aesthetic, eh?”

Numarei did not answer. She took one step. Then another. Then all of four, before a voice came from behind, so frail, so eager, that even she had to turn.

“Was I right?” was what the voice managed. “Was I right?”

Numarei did not wait. “Yeah,” and taking out her silver token—so like any other coin, flashed it between her knuckles. “Better luck next time.”

Jenn chuckled. “Looks no different than a quarter…”

A dark cloud loomed above, and Jenn fell asleep to the patter of rain, steps, and steps on stone under rain.

Days Until Tournament: 2