Ili Cheng versus Joey King

Okita cut Ili off with a snap, and slipped her mouthguard in as Cheng blinked in surprise. “She’s taller than you,” she said, “and has a better record, if I remember correctly.”


“But-!" The boxer’s voice was muffled by the plastic in her mouth, and Okita wasn’t quite sure what she truly meant to say, the world abuzz with the living voices of thousands. But that didn’t matter so much; the tone was apparent enough even drowned out by the masses. They were legion. Thousands come to see her fight. Thousands come to see her win.


Or fall, but with any luck that need not happen.


Kneeling down before her fighter, Okita strapped on her gloves for her, rattling on all the while. “What she sounds like does not matter. What she looks like does not matter. Words were wind. Looks were light, and both of these refract. Your ears may deceive you. Your eyes may deceive you. Be careful. See through her seeming.”


Ili nodded, and though that didn’t satisfy her, it was enough, and Anri stepped out of the ring, her feet hitting the floor just as the bell rang. Even iron bent with heat, and the heat of battle was like no other. Promises written on the wind tended to be forgotten, but for the moment she seemed to remember, at least, and that bode well. Joey King tried a bait, going down low when all signs said that she would go high and found only air, and ate a shot to the tits for her trouble. Ili chased after her, pressing the girl into the ropes, but was unable to hold her there, for King ducked a follow-up in time even after her head was rocked to the side by a hook to the cheek. From there it was not long before King was in full-on flight, hardly throwing a punch as she continued to duck and dodge, the momentum and initiative being on Ili’s side for now and the foreseeable future.


But even the wisest of men cannot see far into the morrow, and he cannot reckon, not truly, the passage of time in the night, and the light of new dawn sneaks upon him as a thief. And out of dark and out her fist rising came new fortune, exploding against Ili’s chin early in the second round. She did not fall, though her knees buckled and the legs grew weak, and her head spun and her consciousness blew in the wind like leaves. That was as momentary as madness, and passed as it came, swiftly, but one moment was enough for Joey, and it was now her turn to chase her opponent around.


“You fight well,” Ili noted to her opponent, as the bell ringed respite, though her accent and mouthguard butchered her words again. There was a thin line of blood on her chin now, but that didn’t stop her from opening her mouth. Many a man had earned his death with a wayward mouth, and many a woman, too, but humans were all such thundering fools. They did not learn, and thought that nothing could hurt them. Round three had seen Ili wall her off and hit her hard enough in the abdomen that for a brief while her corner had been seized with worry, but that while was as short as summer, and in the fourth Ili had gone down.


Joey smiled.


“For a middle schooler,” Ili added, and the smile melted from her face.


Round five opened to the fury of storms, for the pride of the heart took badly to perceived slights. Pride made men reckless, and though that lent strength to King’s fists, all they ever found was air, and cooler heads prevailed. King went down to a counter, got up, then went down again, this time for good, ending the match by KO5.