What is this girl even made of?

“So she managed to get away?”
“Yes, but I think I managed to gather some information.”

The second step of our plan to divert attention away from Tori has begun. With how well step one went, Dojima doesn’t seem to suspect a thing.

“First of all, I don’t think it’s possible that she’s a student.”
“Oh? How so?”

“No teenager can move like she can. I only won that fight because I managed to catch her off guard, but her movements are too masterful for a high schooler.”

If it were just my word, he likely wouldn’t have taken what I’m saying at face value. But thankfully, the witnesses from last night will corroborate what I’m saying. We carefully planned out how we’d choreograph our “fight” to both make The Judge look like a more formidable opponent and to make Ouroboros look like the only one who can contest her.

“Hmm… our sources almost never make mistakes. This is quite troubling. Although I suppose this Masked Judge could be a staff member…”
“There’s another thing too. After my last punch, her mask was covered in blood. So anyone with a busted lip should be regarded as suspicious.”

Dojima looks at me with that disgusting curled smile. God, I fucking hate this bastards face so much.

“That certainly is helpful. You’ve done well, Ouroboros.”
“Thanks. And I told you not to call me that at school.”

Hoping that I didn’t just doom some poor teacher with a bloodied lip to her death, I breathe a silent sigh of relief that the plan seems to be working as intended.

***

“You two seem weirdly close today…”

During lunch, Kou confronts Tori and I on our apparent change in behaviour. We’d been privately discussing our next move, and apparently he mistook this as some couple’s rendezvous. Ship trash bastard.

“Oooh, are Fucchi and Toricchi finally dating?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Shut up Kou.”

I chop Kou lightly on the head and seek to change the subject.

“What you guys think about Dojima-sensei so far?”
“Seems like a nice enough guy.”
“Docchi is much cooler than Mucchi”
“He seems… okay.”

This is something I’ve been concerned about since Dojima showed up. If there’s one thing these Yakuza are good at, it’s ingratiating themselves with people for their own benefit. If they get on the right side of the student body, they might be able to get people to tattle on their friends.

While Tori knows the truth, I can’t say anything to the other two without also giving up my own secret, and there’s no way that would go over well.

My thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of the lunch bell, signifying that it’ll be time to go to fifth period soon.

“I’ve got P.E in the afternoon so I gotta shoot. Fuji, we still on for tonight?”
“Hm? Ah, yeah, I’ll see you then.”
“Cool cool. See you guys later.”

Tori gives us a small wave and that same beaming smile she always wears as she runs to the door of the roof and leaves us behind.

“Tonight, eh?”
“Oh, shut it, Kou.”
“Oh come on, it’s so obvious you like her. Ain’t it, Ai?”
“Totally.”
“You shut it too.”

Without Tori here, I’m gonna be spending fifth period batting away questions from dumb and dumber here.

“Hey, what about you too? You’re always around each other, flirting and shit. Ain’t you just a pair of hypocrites?”
“Flirting? Preposterous, Fuji.”
“An asinine suggestion, Fucchi”
“I hate her.”
“I hate him.”
“We’re not close.”
“Not one bit.”
“There’s nothing between us at all.”
“Not even a whiff.”
“How ridiculous of you to suggest.”
“Quite so, an absurd notion.”

Sure thing, you self-projecting tsundere fuckwads.

***

Her speed really is impossible to keep up with. Every block or dodge is simply met with another strike, not allowing a single breath of reprieve.

As I dip left to avoid the oncoming left hook, I’m met with an ankle sweep from her right foot which throws my balance off completely, giving her an opportunity to finish me with another strike.

However, noticing that I’m looking to make a last-second counter, she feints a straight right and steps in towards me on my left, lowering her centre of mass and ducking below where I throw my desperate jab. Looping her left arm under my right and hooking her right arm over my left shoulder, she latches her hands together on my back. With one swift step, she moves her right leg behind my left knee, lifts with her clasped hands and throws me to the ground. Adjusting before I’ve even processed what's happened, she locks my right arm and neck into a kata-gatame triangle that I’m completely unable to escape.

I tap her shoulder and she releases. I knew she was better than me, but I’m only just now realising how big the skill gap between us is.

“It’s like you know what I’m gonna do before I do. How the hell are you so good at predicting my movements?” We’d been sparring for nearly an hour, and Tori had managed to get me to the ground every single time.
“Hmm… intuition, I suppose? I don’t really think about it, I just do whatever feels right at the time. Normally it works out for me.”

Unconscious competence. She’s trained her intuition so well that she doesn’t even need to think. She can act on pure instinct.

“Reset?”
“Sure, let’s go for one more.”

We both get to our feet and reassume stance. Me in my hands-down southpaw style, her in her orthodox Muay Thai stance.

Neither of us makes the first move for a second, simply slowly circling until the other breaks the impasse.

Whoosh

Air brushes the side of my head as I narrowly dodge her blindingly fast jab. She throws several more, to which I continue dodging to my left, almost completely overwhelmed by the speed.

I’ve started to figure out her game plan a bit by now. She throws out several fast jabs to find the optimal range and speed, before throwing out some riskier strikes towards pressure points and weak areas. Which means…

I step back and narrowly avoid the right hook aimed for my abdomen. Capitalising on the whiff, I grapple the arm with both of my own and step forward, looping my right leg around hers and pushing.

The grab catches her by surprise, but her control over her weight is exceptional, and she shifts her body further right. As I try to lead her to the ground, she clinches my head with her left hand and rolls, trying to reverse the hold.

I have more raw strength, but her control is better, and neither of us conclusively gains the upper hand as we hit the mat, both of us ending up on our side.

I keep control of her right arm and try to hold it in a joint lock, wrapping my legs around the middle of her body and trying to straighten myself out, but she keeps hold of the left arm around my neck. Her position is stronger than mine, and her technique is far more refined. Not to mention her flawless conversion of a standing clinch to a grounded choke that was cutting off my carotid artery. I try to switch my attention to the defensive and remove her hold on my neck, but I’m unable to force her left arm away, and I’m left with no choice but to once again tap my submission.

“You’re getting better.”
“Slowly.”
“All progress is progress.”

It’s true, with each spar I seemed to be getting closer and closer to besting her, but there was one thing I simply couldn’t overcome: there’s an enormous experience gap between her and I.

As we disconnect from the bind, we both find ourselves panting pretty heavily. The adrenaline had worn off during the scrap on the ground, and the exhaustion of an hour of constant sparring had suddenly set in.

“Break?”
“Y-yeah. Let’s.”

Following Tori’s lead, I get to my feet and walk over to the side of the gym where we had left our water bottles.

As I’m drinking, I think back on how Tori has acted these past couple of days. She was always hyperactive, over the top and headstrong, but I’ve never seen her so relentless. It’s not just her boundless mountain of extra energy driving her actions, but a passion I’ve never seen from her before.

“Hey Tori, level with me for a second.”

“Hmm? What is it?”
“How do you have so much martial arts experience? I’ve never fought someone so proficient in Muay Thai before, and those grapples must have been learned from either judo or BJJ. How are you so good when you’re only 18?”

She tilts her head and gives me a mischievous smile.

“That, my dear friend, is something you’ll have to find out in time.”

Stop that, dammit. How can a vigilante that strikes fear into the hearts of organised criminals be so damn cute?

For a second I think to press her on the question a little more, but she stops drinking and gets up from the bench, somehow already looking completely refreshed. I’m still struggling to pay off the oxygen debt that’s killing my arms.

“Wanna go again?”

She’s inhuman.