Demonstration

It was almost scary how quick she went back to acting exactly the same as before. It was as if one conversation had never happened.

I mean, I certainly remembered it. Every time she touched my arm to correct my form on a punch I became very aware of it, in fact. I was half convinced she was teasing me.

Still, if nothing else, I was at least glad to get back to our usual rhythm. Even if it did involve me punching heavy bags until my hands ached.

It was during one of these sessions, a few weeks after our talk, that I decided to voice a complaint that I would very shortly come to regret.

“Y’know, I really don’t get it. What’s the point in spending so much time on ‘proper technique’ or whatever? Boxing is just punching the other person in the face until one of you keels over, right? How complicated could it be?”

In truth, I knew my comment was inflammatory before I even said it, but my knuckles were starting to get raw and I can’t pretend I wasn’t just a smidge aggravated by it. To my surprise, though, she didn’t take the bait. Instead she stopped to think for a second, then started talking with a somewhat mischievous smirk on her face.

“Hmm… if you don’t think technique is all that important, how about we step in the ring for a moment so I can prove you wrong?”

“Ah- bu- uh-“ I froze up at the sudden provocation. I knew trying to fight this girl would end up with my teeth down my throat, so I had to avoid that eventuality. “I mean… you’re a lot bigger and stronger than… it wouldn’t really be fair, would it?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t even need to hit you. I’ll prove you wrong without ever laying a finger on you.”

She exuded utter confidence. Her bravado was clearly more than bluster, she fully believed every word she was saying. And she was smirking in a way I had never seen from her before. Cocky, but casually so. Part of me was glad that she seemed to have relaxed a little around me. The other part was seriously worried about what I was getting myself into.

“…I don’t have an excuse to get out of this, do I?”

“Nope!” she said gleefully, backing into the ring and sliding under the bottom rope. Somehow she made even that look graceful.

I was entirely certain I was about to get my ass kicked.

Even so, I stumbled my way into the ring myself, and stood facing her down, a little further than double arm length.

“Alright, here’s the rules. Come at me with everything you have for thirty seconds. I’ll defend, but I won’t touch you at all. If you hit me or I hit you, it’s your win. Otherwise, it’s mine. That fair?”

“Fair? That sounds like the most unfair ruleset I’ve ever heard.”

“Is that a no then?”

“Of course not, it’s unfair in my favour, that’s my favourite type of fairness.”

Touka smirked again. When had this girl gotten so confident?

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she said, raising her gloves. She was so confident she hadn’t even bothered putting in a gum shield. “We go as soon as the second hand on the clock strikes 12.”

I raised my hands too, and we both waited silently for the clock to strike.

Ten seconds.

Five seconds.

Three.

Two.

I lunged at her with a punch from my left hand. It had all the speed I could put behind it.

She very simply took a short step back and watched my punch sail past her. Then she returned the punch, quick and clean, stopping right before my nose.

I fell backwards onto my ass.

“You said you wouldn’t hit me!”

“And I didn’t. Clock’s ticking, Nanako.”

Disgruntled, I got to my feet and re-engaged. I was about to step in for another punch, but she once again perfectly spaced a jab to just stop short of my nose. I was forced back, but tried to get back in quickly.

Again, stopped just short.

I tried, over and over and over again, but every time I tried to throw a punch, she would keep me just out of range with a fast, simple jab.

Before long, my thirty seconds was up.

“That… wasn’t fair…” I panted, trying to get back the breath I wasted with my fruitless attacks. “Your arms… are longer… I couldn’t… get in.”

“And that’s a problem you have to contend with as a boxer. Come a bit closer, I’ll show you what I mean.”

Sucking as much air in as I could (and praying my lungs would stop burning, I straightened myself out and dragged myself back in front of her. She extended her arm until it was just a few inches from my face.

“Extend yours too,” she said, so I imitated her. While she was just barely not touching my nose, my arm barely reached past her bicep. If we were in motion, she’d hit me before I had a chance to think about it.

“This just seems unwinnable.”

“Only if you’re not thinking your gameplan through properly.” She retracted her arm before adding “take a small step in, until your arm is close to my face.”

I did what she asked, and she extended her own arm again. Obviously as mine was shorter, she couldn’t put hers all the way out without hitting me.

“So… what? When we’re in your range, I can’t hit you, but when you’re in mine you can still hit me. Still seems like an unfair matchup.”

“But look at the range of motion,” she said, twisting her body back and forth slightly to imitate the way she punches. “It’s much harder for me to land any significant hits, while you can throw shots at me to your hearts content. Even more so if you were to take another step in and start throwing hooks.”

“And that’s all well and good but how the hell do I manage that when I can’t get close to you in the first place.”

“Well, that’s why you have to learn how to counter an outboxer.”

“Out…boxer?”

At my question, she took up stance and faced a half-turn away from me. She kept her rear hand next to her head and her forward hand slightly outstretched.

“Outboxer.” She suddenly started shadowboxing in the middle of the ring, mostly throwing jabs with the full range of motion and moving around in circles with her footwork, as if keeping an invisible target at a certain range. “We use superior reach and spatial awareness to land hits while our opponents struggle to get closer.”

She stopped moving and took up a new stance, this time tighter, both hands relatively close to her face. Somehow the whole thing made her look smaller, as if her frame had actually shrunk.

“Infighter.” She started again, this time much lighter on her feet. She threw a couple of jabs at her apparent opponent before stepping in quickly, unleashing a flurry of hooks and uppercuts, then stepping back out and retaking stance. All throughout, she moved her head a tonne, as if her imaginary opponent was firing back on all cylinders. “Very fast and strong at short range. A good infighter uses their shorter reach against you by getting to a range where your movement is limited.”

She took another new stance, similar to the infighter one, but with her hands higher. Her head was almost fully covered, but her body was more exposed.

“Slugger.” This time her punches were much heavier, carrying far more of her weight in exchange for slower and less fluid movement. Like the outboxer, it was mostly jabs and crosses, but seemingly with the intent to cause serious damage rather than maintain range. “Slower than the other styles, but very strong. An outboxer can land 20 jabs without meaningful damage, but one good hit from a slugger can end a fight.”

One final time, she retook stance, this time similar to the first one but with wider feet.

“Boxer-fighter.” Her shadowboxing this time had no obvious underlying theme, instead incorporating ideas from the other three. The careful footwork and range of the outboxer, the fast hooks and uppercuts of the infighter, and the weighty crosses of the slugger. “Sort of a jack of all trades. Boxer-fighters are rarely as good at any one thing as the other three styles, but have really solid fundamentals and are far harder to predict.”

Finally, she dropped her stance and turned back to face me directly.

“Pretty much every boxer in the world falls into one of those four styles. And as a boxer you need to know which suits you best, and how to fight each of them.”

“Is boxing really that complicated?” I asked, the burning in my lungs being reduced to a slight ache. “Why do you need a bunch of different styles to punch people in the face?”

“Well, are there different styles in chess?”

“Of course. I’m a more aggressive player while my sister is far more defensive.”

“And why do you need those different styles?”

“Because we’re naturally good at different things, like me being better at applying pressure and finding tactics while Mai is better at grand strat..e…gy… oh.”

It sunk in how obvious her point was. And how elitist I was being for not getting it in the first place.

“Just like how chess players have things that their minds excel at, boxers need to work with the strengths and weaknesses of their body. I’m tall, fast and have good reach, so I need to know how to fight as an outboxer.”

“And… I take it you want me to be a… what was it, infighter?”

“That’s the one,” she said, with a seemingly proud grin. “Why do you think I’ve had you practicing your hooks and crosses so much?”

Technically, she never actually answered my question directly. But through this whole elaborate demonstration, she’d proved her point without ever even saying it. And by the look on her face, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Dammit all. This girl is clearly so much smarter than I gave her credit for. Maybe I really am a judgemental asshole…