Chapter 12 - He Needed Me To Get Angry
The referee called us to center.
Briggs stood close enough that I could smell the mint gum he had been chewing before the match.
He looked calm.
His pupils said otherwise.
The lead referee, Staff Sergeant Kim, stood between us.
The second official took position near the opposite edge.
"Controlled contact," Kim said.
"Technical scoring."
"No joint targeting."
"No strikes after break."
"No continuing after stop."
He looked at Briggs first.
"Clear?"
"Clear."
Then me.
"Clear?"
"Clear."
"Touch gloves if you want."
Briggs held out one hand.
I touched it lightly.
He squeezed.
Hard.
Not enough for Kim to see from his angle.
Enough for me to understand the message.
Briggs whispered.
"Last chance to run."
I pulled my hand free.
"You talk too much."
Kim stepped back.
"Ready."
The whistle sounded.
Briggs came forward immediately.
Not reckless.
Not yet.
He used his size the way everyone expected.
Pressure.
Forward movement.
Heavy hands.
He wanted the first exchange to look obvious.
Big man drives small woman backward.
Crowd sees exactly what it expected.
I gave him two steps.
Then I pivoted.
His momentum carried him past my shoulder.
I touched his upper arm for balance and reset in the center.
A murmur moved through the bleachers.
Briggs turned.
"Cute."
I said nothing.
He came forward again.
This time he tried to close distance and tie up.
I framed, shifted, and broke contact.
No score.
No damage.
Just another failed attempt to make me stay where he wanted me.
He smiled.
But the smile had changed.
The first minute passed without a point.
That was not what Briggs had planned.
He wanted dominance visible enough that even people who knew nothing about technique could understand it.
Instead, they saw him chasing me.
He heard it too.
A voice in the crowd shouted, "Catch her, Briggs!"
Laughter followed.
His eyes hardened.
I knew exactly what the laughter was doing to him.
I had seen the same reaction on the beam.
He could tolerate resistance.
He could not tolerate ridicule.
He rushed again.
I sidestepped and caught his wrist.
For half a second, I had an angle to turn him.
I let it go.
The crowd booed playfully.
Briggs glared at me.
"Afraid to commit?"
"No."
"Then do something."
"You first."
That got a louder reaction than it deserved.
Briggs heard every bit of it.
He moved in and shoved both hands against my shoulders.
The contact was legal in context.
The force was not necessary.
I went back one step.
Kim moved closer.
"Control, Briggs."
Briggs raised both palms.
"Controlled."
The word was sarcastic.
Kim's expression hardened.
"That's your warning."
A few people in the crowd murmured.
Briggs looked toward the bleachers.
Then toward the officers in front.
The warning had embarrassed him.
I could see him recalculating.
He needed to recover the image.
The next exchange was cleaner.
He feinted high, moved low, and tried to secure a body lock.
I widened my base and turned.
For a moment, we were chest to shoulder, both fighting for position.
His strength was obvious.
So was the difference between strength and control.
He tried to move me directly backward.
I changed angle.
He tried again.
I changed angle again.
He exhaled sharply.
"Stand still."
"No."
The second referee heard him and almost smiled.
Briggs squeezed harder.
I waited.
He shifted his right foot too far forward.
I hooked behind his ankle, turned my hips, and redirected the pressure he was already giving me.
Briggs hit the mat on one knee and one hand.
I released immediately and stepped away.
Kim raised one hand.
"Point, Mitchell."
The crowd reacted.
Not wildly.
But enough.
Briggs stood.
His face had gone red.
"Slipped."
Kim pointed toward his corner.
"Reset."
Briggs walked past me.
"Enjoy that one."
I looked straight ahead.
The score was one-zero.
Meaningless in every way except the one that mattered to Briggs.
He was losing in front of people.
The whistle sounded again.
He came out faster.
I saw his right shoulder tense before his hand moved.
A short open-hand strike came toward my upper chest.
Allowed if controlled.
I deflected it.
The second came toward my shoulder.
I moved.
The third came high enough that Kim shouted.
"Watch the target!"
Briggs stopped.
"She moved into it."
I had not.
Kim knew it.
"Final warning on control."
Briggs laughed.
"Already?"
"Do you want the match stopped?"
"No."
"Then follow instructions."
Briggs looked at me.
The smile returned.
"She's fine."
Kim stepped between us.
"I determine that."
Briggs raised his hands.
"Yes, Staff Sergeant."
We reset.
I could feel the crowd's attention sharpening.
This was no longer a simple exhibition.
People had begun noticing the warnings.
The ones who had seen the edited video were watching for proof of the story they believed.
The ones who knew nothing were watching two trainees.
The ones who knew Briggs personally were watching him become more frustrated by the second.
That was dangerous.
I knew it.
Kim knew it.
Hayes, standing outside the ring, definitely knew it.
He caught my eye during the reset.
One small shake of his head.
Do not engage more than necessary.
I understood.
The whistle sounded.
I changed strategy.
Instead of circling wide, I stayed just outside Briggs' range.
Close enough to make him think he could reach me.
Far enough that he had to overcommit.
He reached.
I moved.
He reached again.
I moved again.
"Fight me," he said.
"I am."
"No, you're running."
I glanced at the score.
"Then catch up."
The crowd reacted again.
That sentence was a mistake.
Not tactically.
Emotionally.
I saw something break behind his eyes.
Briggs drove forward with both hands.
I turned.
His forearm clipped my shoulder harder than necessary.
Kim blew the whistle.
"Break!"
I stepped away.
Briggs took one more step toward me.
Kim moved between us.
"I said break."
Briggs stopped.
"Momentum."
"You're done if it happens again."
Briggs' jaw flexed.
"Understood."
Kim sent us to corners for a sixty-second pause.
Torres stood outside mine with Hayes.
She handed me water.
"He's losing it."
"I know."
Hayes leaned close.
"I can stop this now."
"Has he crossed the line?"
"He's standing on it."
"Then enforce the rules."
"That wasn't my question."
I looked at him.
"I'm good."
"That's not a magic phrase."
"I know."
He stared at me.
"The point of this was never to prove you could take abuse."
"I'm not taking it."
"Then what are you doing?"
I looked across the ring.
Briggs was speaking to nobody.
His lips moved rapidly while he stared at the mat.
He was arguing with the situation itself.
"Letting him choose whether he follows the rules."
Hayes' eyes narrowed.
"And if he doesn't?"
I handed the water back.
"Then everybody sees his choice."
During the pause, I forced myself to inventory facts instead of feelings.
No injury.
Breathing controlled.
One point up.
Briggs warned twice.
Referees attentive.
Hayes ready to stop it.
Those were facts.
The feelings were louder.
Anger that Briggs was still standing there after everything.
Satisfaction that the crowd had started laughing at him.
Fear that his next mistake might be less controlled than the last.
And beneath all three, a dangerous little desire to make him look foolish again.
I hated admitting that one.
It was there anyway.
I looked at my gloves.
If I let that feeling choose for me, I would become easier to manipulate.
Briggs did not need me to lose technically.
He needed me to abandon my own standard.
That was why every insult had been public.
He wanted reaction more than victory.
Across the ring, he paced while his corner said almost nothing.
Nobody wanted responsibility for advising him now.
He noticed.
His eyes moved from face to face.
The isolation made him angrier.
Kim walked to the center and spoke with the second referee.
I could not hear the words.
I saw both of them glance at Briggs' hands and then toward me.
Safety review.
Good.
Outside the ropes, Mercer from the observer team was writing continuously.
Colonel Vale stood with both arms folded.
Major Shaw had not moved in several minutes.
This was no longer entertainment for the people responsible for the event.
The crowd still made noise.
The officials did not.
Torres leaned toward me.
"You don't owe anybody a finish."
"I know."
"If Kim stops it, let him."
"I will."
"If Briggs says something, don't answer."
I looked at her.
"That part might be ambitious."
She almost smiled.
"Try."
The corner official raised a hand.
Ten seconds.
I rolled my neck once and stood.
Across from me, Briggs stopped pacing.
His eyes dropped again.
Not to my face.
To my legs.
The same look Hayes noticed.
This time I did not dismiss it as intimidation.
I shifted my stance slightly and prepared to move off line rather than backward if he drove in.
I was not predicting a specific attack.
I was respecting the pattern in front of me.
The whistle for corners sounded.
I stood.
Across the ring, Briggs raised his head.
This time, he did not smile.
He looked at my legs.
Not my face.
Not my hands.
My knees.
Hayes saw it too.
"Mitchell."
I looked at him.
"Protect yourself."
"Always."
I walked back to center.
Briggs met me there.
Kim repeated the warning.
Briggs nodded.
Then he leaned just close enough to whisper.
"You wanted evidence."
I felt every muscle in my body go still.
May you like
He smiled for the first time in two minutes.
"I'll give you something to write about."
