>>5310333The bus stops to let someone on. A middle-aged man in a well-tailored black suit, carrying a briefcase. You wonder what a sharp-looking guy in fancy duds like that is doing out here on the bad side of town.
Strangely enough, the man passes by several empty seats and sits down right next to you on the bench. You're expecting him to start hitting on you, some line about how he saw your face and blah blah blah, but instead he says nothing. Just sits properly, looking forward.
The bus starts up again. You decide to ignore the man until he makes some kind of move, or reveals his intentions.
After some time has passed and a few streets gone by, the man in the suit asks, "Tough day at Ken's gym?"
"Do I know you?" you say, your suspicion intensifying.
"No, but I know you," he says. "Mariana Rosa, twenty-four years old. One living relative, a younger brother, and an adoptive guardian. You work as a waitress at your guardian's restaurant, practice jiu-jitsu and kickboxing every afternoon at Hanamura Martial Arts, and sing at a local nightclub on weekends. You also help your neighbors by babysitting their kids, and by carrying groceries indoors. Cute."
"Who are you?" you ask. "Police?"
The man looks directly at you for the first time to give you a smirk, like 'come on now.'
"So you're not police. Who are you, then?"
"I'm Antonio Diaz. Nice to meet you."
"That doesn't tell me shit."
"Your first expulsion from a tournament was when you were sixteen," Diaz goes on as though you hadn't said anything. "You were disqualified on a technicality, and assaulted the referee. The most recent expulsion was after you struck your opponent before the match started, breaking her nose."
"You know that that bitch said to me about Leo? About our parents? She deserved worse."
"I believe you," Diaz says. "But that put you in a tough spot, doesn't it? After your previous incidents, you were already a pariah from any sporting martial arts organizations you could care to name. Ken Hanamura didn't have much clout left after spending so many years on the skids, but he scraped it together to get you that spot. Now you're blacklisted from the Brazilian jiu-jitsu tournament circuit, probably for life."
"So what?" Your blood is starting to boil. Who does this guy think he is, dredging all this up from the past? "You here to lecture me about how I couldn't keep my shit under control? Maybe you think you can fix me, is that it?"
"On the contrary," Diaz says. "It's that killer instinct that we like about you, Ms. Rosa, and it's because of that I'm here to offer you an opportunity. Think about it: haven't you ever wanted to fight in a tournament without rules or boundaries? No point systems, no banned moves or regulations, just one-on-one, a fair contest, with nothing to interfere?"
More than anything, you think. You don't say it out loud, not wanting to give Diaz the satisfaction of being right. But he can see it all the same.
