Page 32 of Shifting Gears

I stepped in fast, before he could even retract his fist fully, and cracked him with a clean left hook to the ribs, the same spot he’d hit me. His body jerked sideways, and I didn’t give him time to recover. I followed up with a right jab to the jaw, catching it just enough to make a nice snap sound. He stumbled back, trying to regain his composure.

I pressed him, feinting left, making him raise his guard high, then slammed a brutal knee blow to his ribs again. He grunted, his stance breaking for a second. But that was all I needed. I grabbed the back of his head and brought my knee back up into his stomach a second time.

He choked, but before he could stumble, I shoved him back and came in with a one-two combo—right hook, left cross. His head snapped to the side, sweat and spit flying in the air, his knees buckled.

He was breaking, his body folding under the pressure. He rubbed his midsection before he swung again, a desperate look in his eyes. I saw the glint of metal barely in time to step aside instead of blocking it. I grabbed his wrist and spun, tossing him over my shoulder and onto the ground.

He groaned, and I knew he wasn’t done, but I saw the thin metal rod with a pointed tip on the ground near me and I kicked it off to the side.

Dirty it right. Should’ve brought my brass.

He had staggered to his feet while I’d removed his weapon from an easily accessible location. He shook his head, probably trying to clear the stars he was seeing.

I chuckled as he came at me again. I dodged his jab and swung my counter—a vicious uppercut straight to his chin. His jaw clacked shut, and he flew backward, barely remaining on his feet. But I didn’t want to take the chance he’d recover fully, so I pivoted and delivered a final blow to his temple, which sent him reeling to the side.

He fell like a sack of potatoes. His body was limp before he even hit the ground.

This guy wasn’t a champion; he was a fraud and a cheat.

The crowd was silent as he lay still.

The ref ran over and checked on him. He stood up and extended his hand to me.

“Winner, Heroooo!” he shouted.

The crowd erupted around me. I thought it would be mostly boos, but those came from the seats at the end of the area, where a certain yakuza sat. I could feel his hated glare from here.

But I didn’t give a single fuck.

I had stepped into the ring and won. I still had it. And now that I’d found this spark in Japan, I had to decide if I wanted to stay in it.

I was swarmed by people as soon as I exited the ring. Most of them offered me a more enticing offer than the last. Interesting how fast the tides could turn when you walked out of a ring as a champion.

“I will pay you double what you make right now fighting for her.”

“A fighter of your caliber should be aligned with a dojo that has the prestige to match your skills, not the dojo you fought for tonight. That woman’s dojo has fallen into destitution.”

“I’ll pay you triple whatever he just offered you.”

“I can make you a star here in Japan.”

I stopped to search the crowd for Raven, and I saw her across the room, but she wasn’t alone. Kaito was talking to her, and she looked uncomfortable.

And one thing was for damn sure: I wasn’t going to let some pretentious prick who was a sore loser go and pick on a woman because he wasn’t man enough to speak to me himself.

“I fight for no one but myself,” I said to the surrounding men, hoping they’d get a fucking clue and back off.

But instead, they only grew more insistent. One literally even shoved a stack of cash in front of my face.

“Fuck off!” I shouted as I glared at the men around me, and they immediately shut up.

I pushed past them and stalked over to where she was, coming to a stop right behind her shoulder.

The man narrowed his eyes at me as I interrupted them.

“You good?” I asked Raven as I stared at him.

She turned her attention to me, and her eyes went wide.

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