WAR
The Journey of Martial

Dark

“JESSICA LEE IS PREGNANT?” Oli shouted over the phone.

My ears were ringing and I had to pull back from the phone. I could hear that his voice was filled with shock. To be fair, I shouldn’t have expected any less. I mean, it felt like just yesterday that I was pretty sure she didn’t even know my name.

I sighed and braced myself for Oli’s reaction. I knew it was coming.

“Yeah, and like I said, I am the father.”

Oli couldn’t believe it and it was obvious even through the phone.

“Oh, so you her daddy… or her baby daddy… how do I even begin—?”

“Oli, seriously,” I said.

“Like, wow…is there no condoms on Fight Island or what?”

“Man, shut up, Oli!” I said as I tried to stifle both a laugh and disappointment in his words. “This is serious.”

Oli chuckled.

“I can't believe it,” he said. There was both shock and amusement in his voice. “It happened the day after draft day, didn't it? You couldn’t keep your pants on in Fight Island for at least a week?”

I groaned because I knew he was kind of right. The whole situation was starting to eat at me again.

“Oli, stop joking. It’s real, man, and only you know about this.”

“Alright, alright. Sorry, bro. I was just joking,” he eased up.

Oli stopped for a second and I could practically feel the mood on the other end changing.

“Look, it's a big deal, but you can handle this. Just focus on the next match against Team Mexico. It is your time to shine. It’s now or never. This is really your moment, Martial.”

Oli was my best friend and the one person that I felt comfortable sharing everything with. If anyone was going to know about Jessica’s pregnancy, it had to be him. We had always been there for each other, through thick and thin, and his support meant the world to me.

“Thanks, bro. I appreciate it. I’ve got to run, but we’ll catch up.”

“Yeah, later,” he said.

“Later.”

I looked at the phone for a minute and breathed sharply through my nose. I needed to centre myself and that seemed to be the only thing to do it lately.

“Time for training,” I said to myself as if it took convincing.

The training facility was as chaotically beautiful as it always was by the time I got down there and there was this weird combo of tension and anticipation hanging in the air. We were literally days away from fight week and Team New Zealand was in the final stretch of preparation. Every moment felt like it counted. It was like losing out on even one second of training at this point would lead to our downfall, so needless to say, the pressure was on.

“Conference room,” Coach said as I walked into the training hall that morning.

I thought I might be in trouble, but I saw that everyone was heading that way. We all walked into the conference room and it had this kind of importance about it. The leather chairs were arranged around a large round table that was polished to a shine. For each spot at the table, there was a laptop or tablet. The centrepiece of the room was a wide screen that took up the entirety of one wall.

“We’re going to look at some footage,” Coach Carter said. “Grab a seat, everyone.”

This was where strategies were born and where victories were planned. I ran a finger over the table and it was just as smooth as it was shiny. I felt official, even more so than I had before.

“Alright, team,” he went on when we had all taken our seats, let’s get to work. We’ve been pushing ourselves hard in training, and now it’s time to break down our opponents. We need to anticipate everything they might throw at us.”

He hit play and the video started rolling. It was Team Mexico versus Team South Africa. They’d smashed them 4–2. We all leaned in and watched quietly. Each fighter came up on screen, one after the other and we picked apart every move. We looked at what they were good at and what they stuffed up. We had to find a way to use it.

“Martial, I need you to focus here,” Carter said as he froze the footage on Team Mexico’s Super Welterweight, Raul Ortega. The screen displayed Ortega’s recent TKO victory over South Africa’s Sizwe Nkosi. It was a dominant performance.

“Ortega’s a skilled striker, no doubt, but he’s shown weaknesses when it comes to defending submissions. That’s where you can get him,” he continued.

I studied Ortega’s movements closely and watched the power behind his punches and his aggressive, forward-pressing style.

“I understand, Coach. I’ll make sure to maximize on those openings,” I said.

Carter gave a firm nod and then moved his attention to Liam, who looked a bit like he was ready to fight someone right there and then.

“Liam, pay attention now,” he said as he brought up the footage of Team Mexico’s Captain, Heavyweight Alejandro "El Milagro" Ramírez. We got to see Ramírez’s raw power. His strikes would meet their marks with bone-crushing force.

“Ramírez is a beast, but he’s slower and more methodical. You’ve got the speed and technique to dance around him. Use that to your advantage,” Coach said.

Liam watched the footage with laser focus.

“Got it, Coach. I’ll try to use my agility to keep him off balance and stay out of his range.”

“Try?” Coach’s voice went up an octave.

“I will,” Liam corrected himself quickly.

We ran through the rest of the teams fast but didn’t miss a thing. We watched their styles and their habits. Basically, we were looking for the stuff they always went back to. I kept a list in my head of what I’d do different when it was my turn. One small mistake from them could be the break we needed.

“You all ready for what’s coming?” Coach asked as he ended off about 3 hours after we’d gone in there.

“Yes, Coach,” we all said.

“Then back to the grindstone,” he said.

When we headed into the training room, I was pumped. The match with Team Mexico was getting so close and you really could feel it sitting heavy in everyone. It wasn’t long before the smell of sweat hit me. Pads thumped in a steady beat as fighters talked in short bursts with their sparring partners and planned what was coming up next.

The door opened and a voice that I knew all too well said, “So you lot think you can replace us?”

It was Lola and she was standing in the doorway with a grin. She walked in first. Her arm was still wrapped, but she had that same sass in her eyes. Caleb, Keiran, and Niko followed behind her. The whole room came alive the second we saw them.

Everyone yelled back, “Ay!” and the sound filled the room.

“They’re back!” I shouted.

Lola laughed and limped over to us and Caleb gave a tired salute. Keiran and Niko both looked sore but happy to be there.

“It’s great to have you all back,” I said and pulled Lola into a tight hug.

“I missed you guys,” she replied with what looked like both tears and excitement in her eyes.

Keiran and Niko accepted the hugs and high fives, but when I reached Caleb Scott, I hesitated. Our last encounter had been tense. There had always been this weird rivalry and an unspoken competition between us.

“It’s good to be back,” Caleb said and put his fist out for a bump.

I saw a mutual respect between us that hadn’t been there before. I met his fist with mine and just let the moment be what it was without overthinking it.

“Thank you, and good luck out there, Martial,” Caleb said sincerely.

“Thank you, too.”

It was all I could say.

Right then, the tension between us felt like it was gone. We didn’t need to say anything more because it was like we both knew we had to stick together if we wanted a chance.

Training went hard after that. When it wrapped up, Coach Carter called everyone in and stood in front of us with that look he gets when he’s proud but doesn’t want to show it too much. The room still reverberated the session. Everyone’s faces were red and smattered with sweat. I, for one, could still hear my heart pounding.

“Alright, team,” Coach Carter said reassuringly. “We’ve been pushing ourselves to the limit, and with fight week just around the corner, it’s time to take a step back and recharge. Tomorrow, we’re taking a day off to explore Fight Island. It’s important to unwind and bond outside the gym. I’ve got a plan that’ll help us do just that.”

We all lit up with excitement. A day off was exactly what we needed. The thought of having a chance to relax and enjoy ourselves sounded like heaven. To add to it, we were all pretty much getting along now, which meant we’d probably have some insane bonding time in a different setting. I was so up for it.

The next morning couldn’t have come any faster and I think I say that for all of us. We got to the Fight Island theme park just as it opened and the place was already electric. There were so many vibrant colours and music poured over us from the PA system. Watching Lola and Keiran sing along like they were auditioning for a talent show was pretty epic. Everywhere you looked, there were rides, attractions, food, and fight-themed displays that celebrated the spirit of competition.

“Welcome to the Fight Island theme park!” a cheerful greeter exclaimed as we got to the centre of the park.

Her enthusiasm was infectious and I could barely hear what she was saying over the music, but I caught a little about the types of rides and how everything was already covered.

“Freebies!” Keiran fist bumped Stacey. “That’s all I need to hear!”

“Enjoy your day!” the woman said and waltzed off.

Our first stop was the Fight-themed restaurant for obvious reasons. It was a super impressive spot that immediately caught our attention. The décor was incredible. All of the walls were plastered with murals of legendary fighters and memorabilia from historic matches. The menu was a playful nod to the fight world, with dishes named after iconic fighters. We found a table as fast as we could and went through that menu with a fine-toothed comb.

“Can I get the ‘Heavyweight Axel Cross pancakes’?” Stacey Tui asked the waiter.

I couldn’t help but smile at the creativity behind the menu. I opted for the ‘Women's Super Bantamweight Li Wei Omelet.’ It looked like a protein-packed dish that was also loaded with vegetables.

“Thankfully, I’m wearing my eating pants,” Coach joked.

“They’re just sweatpants, Coach,” I laughed.

“Exactly!” he said matter-of-factly. “Stretchy means more room!”

Stacey laughed so hard she shot lemon water out of her nose and that was it. We were all off to the races and I laughed so hard my sides hurt. Luckily for us, it didn’t take long for the food to come and put a stop to all the foolishness. We dug in straight away and it hit the spot. We had some killer breakfasts at the training facility, but this was real good stuff that made the morning feel lighter. The table was just a racket of laughs and dumb stories. It felt good to just sit there and breathe for once.

“Alright, I need to walk this food baby off,” Coach said. “You all enjoy your walkabout. I’ll catch up.”

After breakfast, we headed for the augmented reality roller coasters. Everyone said they were the best part of the park. The rides mixed real speed with the headset visuals so it felt like you were flying through a game. I’d never seen anything like it. It might not have been the best idea after that heavy of a meal, but YOLO!

“Hold on tight!” Lola shouted as we strapped into our seats.

We were like kids at Christmas. The ride was a heart-pounding ordeal with virtual opponents appearing and disappearing as we shot through loops, twists, roundabouts, and dizzying drops. The feeling of battling our way through the ride was out of this world. I had never experienced a roller coaster like that, even if it was augmented. Still, it felt realer than real. It was unforgettable.

Next up were the bumper cars.

“You’re with me,” I said as I tugged on Jessica’s hand.

I helped her into her seat beside me.

“Ready to cause some chaos?” I asked and flashed her a grin.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied and I could see the excitement on her face.

We went full chaos in the bumper cars and ripped around that track like we owned the place. Everyone smashed into everyone. Laughter bounced off the walls so loud it felt like there were more of us there than we were. For a while, it didn’t matter who was the best fighter or who made the team. We were just kids again. I looked at Jessica and she seemed so carefree. This was living. I almost didn’t want it to end, but one of us was bound to get whiplash in there, so we dipped.

Plus, there was so much for us to try in this place that we had to keep it moving. After that, we hit the water rides to cool off. The log flume was wild. Water sprayed everywhere and we came out soaked from head to toe. No one cared. It was perfect.

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Kieran Fitzpatrick said as he shook the water out of his hair with a grin.

“Exactly what we needed,” I agreed.

It really was because I could already feel the rush of adrenaline making room for relaxation in my body. It’s like I had been in defend or brace mode this whole time. The day was shaping up to be the perfect mix of fun and bonding, and I loved every minute of it.

“Hey, let’s get out of here for a sec,” I said to Jessica.

She looked around for a moment and then pointed.

“Ferris wheel?” she asked.

I turned and looked up.

“Oh, heck yes!” I said.

Each cabin looked unreal. The floor and walls were clear so you could see everything. As we rose higher, the whole island spread out below us. You could see the rides and the green patches of trees. Most beautiful of all, other than the woman beside me, was the coast shining in the sun. It didn’t feel real for a second.

“This place is incredible,” Jessica said as she leaned her head gently on my shoulder. I felt so whole right then. It was like everything in the world fit right where it was meant to.

“Yeah, it really is,” I replied. I was swept up by a feeling of peace and contentment. The crazy energy of the theme park felt miles away. It was just in that sweet moment, high above it all.

“I feel like we’re going to be alright,” Jessica whispered.

“I don’t feel it,” I said and she shot up as quickly as the words left my mouth. She looked at my face and scanned me for an answer.

“I know it,” I said.

She smiled and punched me in the shoulder light and playfully.

We met back up with the team and jumped on a few spinning rides. Everyone came off dizzy and cracking up. Then we hit the arcade. The place was filled with bright lights and loud music. Machines beeped and whirred everywhere. We went head-to-head in shooting hoops and racing games. We were back to yelling and cheering like little kids.

When the sun started to fade, we found a chill spot outside. They were serving non-alcoholic drinks and the setup looked unreal. They’d be screening the latest blockbuster, so we just had to indulge as our last bit of fun for the day. We sat in soft chairs under the stars with the ocean smell drifting in and a big screen came to life with the opening credits.

“To Team New Zealand,” Coach Carter said as he sat down to join us with a fruity drink in one hand and a proud smile on his face. “Let’s carry this spirit into fight week and show them what we’re made of.”

We lifted our glasses and the sound of them clinking felt like a little promise between us. We really were in it together. It felt safe to be here with these people. We were new members of one another’s families.

Morning came fast and just like that, it was the first day of fight week. The energy felt different. It wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was heavy but good. Sunlight shot through the window and warmed the room. I stretched and felt the nerves sitting deep in my chest. It was like someone had plugged me into the wall socket. I looked at the photo of me and Dad training back home in our old garage gym that was sitting on my nightstand.

Looking at it pulled me straight back. I could almost smell the sweat and the dust. I was younger then and getting ready for my second regionals. I could still hear how quiet it got before he spoke to me that day.

“Dad, I'm scared,” I had whispered as my voice shook. “What if I don’t get the win?”

We were in our home gym and completely surrounded by worn-out mats and weathered boxing gloves that had seen countless rounds. My dad was always calm and composed. That day wasn’t any different when he had looked at me with an understanding that only he could offer me. He placed a firm hand on my shoulder and it brought me out of my head and back to myself.

“Martial,” he said, “winning or losing doesn’t define you as a fighter. The true measure is whether you make the walk or not. Only a few have the courage to step into that cage, and those who do are warriors.”

His words stayed with me and sank deep into my heart. It wasn’t just about the outcome. It’s always nice to win, but this game is more than that. We’re here to have the courage to face our fears. We have to step into the cage no matter the level of uncertainty. That’s what made a true fighter and that’s what I had carried with me all these years. I just stood there and let the memories mix in with the reality of where I was. All roads had led me here. That couldn’t be a mistake. That had to be fate and it had to be by my choices, my mom’s acceptance, and my dad’s guidance.

“This fight week isn’t just about proving myself in the cage,” I said to myself. “I’m honouring the lessons my dad taught me. I want to be the warrior he knew I could be.”

I was pulled from my thoughts by a firm knock on the door.

“Coming!” I shouted as I pulled a shirt off a nearby armchair and threw it on.

I opened the door and found a WAR official standing there. He was holding out a crisp Team New Zealand tracksuit and a packet that had been stuffed with information for fight week. Next to him was a member of the Team New Zealand security detail. He had this serious look on his face like happiness wasn’t in his vocabulary.

“Morning, Martial,” the official greeted and handed me the tracksuit. “Here’s everything you need for fight week. The bus leaves soon, so get ready quickly. Journalists and fans are already gathering outside, so we need to move fast.”

“Understood,” I replied with the familiar pang of adrenaline starting to course through me.

I got straight up and hit the bathroom to brush my teeth and jump in the shower. The water woke me up fast. I had to be switched on now. There was no room for being slow. I dried off and pulled on the Team New Zealand tracksuit. It fit like it was made for me but the tag on the back of my neck was a little scratchy. My name sat stitched across the chest.

Super Welterweight Martial Wilson.>

“It’s all brand new, that’s why,” I smiled to myself.

Seeing my name made something snap up in my chest, though. I was proud. Don’t get me wrong. But man, that pressure was unreal. I was carrying more than my own name now, but I didn’t have time to dwell, so I grabbed a bottle of water and took a long drink. From there, it was one deep breath and time to lock in, so I made my way down to the lobby.

When I got there, the rest of the team was already standing and waiting. Everyone was suited up in their gear. We nodded at each other and I could tell that we were all feeling like last night’s dinner might just make a reappearance. It was beyond nerve-wracking.

Then we stepped outside and it got worse. The cameras were everywhere with flashes going off and reporters yelling over each other. We had mics shoved in our faces to the point that I thought I was going to have to block and hit a one-two combo just to get to the bus. I kid, of course, but it was really that manic. We had been around reporters before, but it had never (and I mean NEVER) reached a fever pitch like this before.

“Martial, how do you feel about the upcoming fight?”

“What's your strategy for facing Raul Ortega?”

“Do you think Team New Zealand will come out on top?”

I kept my head down because my only focus was on getting to the bus. The security team moved like hot knives through butter and made a protective barrier around us as they guided us through the barrage of bodies. The noise and the flashing lights were grating and I started to wonder whether WAR organizers wanted it this way. Maybe it was like a way to remind us how high stakes were and that there were countless eyes watching our every move. Then again, WAR was so far global it was practically a universal thing. It was bound to drum up more and more press with every fight week.

Once we were finally on the bus, the roar from outside was silenced and we all let out an audible sigh of relief. It felt like I was holding my breath and swimming through the crowd. I took a seat next to Jessica, who was already settled in. Her smile was as warm and comforting as ever.

“You ready for this?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied with a nod. “Let’s do this.”

As the bus pulled away from the flood of reporters and fans, it felt good to leave the frenzied crowd behind so that we could focus on what was coming. By then, fight week felt real. There was no more build-up. This was it. I knew it was going to test me, but I was ready. I would just have to take it one step at a time. I had to focus on me, the team, and everyone backing us.

The bus rolled through the streets of Fight Island and there was a bit of chatter onboard. My stomach sat tight and I knew it was nerves, but there was still nowhere else I’d rather be. We were heading to a new hotel that was close to one of the main arenas. When we pulled up, I just stared out the window. The place looked like something out of a movie. We had been to some pretty spectacular places since we had arrived on the island, but this was next level.

The front pillars were white marble with thin black lines running through them. When we walked in, we saw that the floor matched. It was slick and polished so clean that it looked wet. The chandelier looked like it was made of teardrop and canary diamonds and it threw golden light across everything. Inside, the lobby opened up wide. The chairs were deep navy with silver legs that caught the light. The couches had that same soft fabric that left handprints when you touched it. A few small glass tables sat between them. Each one of them had bowls of floating flowers that looked too perfect to be real.

The reception desk curved in a half-circle with a black stone top and white paneling at the front. It was lit from underneath so it looked like it was floating on a cloud. There was a wide mirror framed in brushed gold behind it and the staff stood lined up in neat black suits with crisp ties and happy faces.

The paintings on the walls looked like realism. They were big coastal scenes that reminded me of home. You could almost feel the spray of the ocean in them. The colours were bright blues and greens. The brushstrokes were smooth and clean. The place was rich but not in a cold or snobby kind of way. It felt like old money mixed with something inviting.

The staff greeted us like we were already champions and a concierge rushed over to sort our check-in. The manager came out to meet us himself and made sure everything went fast. For a sec, it felt like we were legit celebrities.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your home for the next week,” the manager said with a smile. “We hope you find everything to your satisfaction. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Our bags were taken care of by porters and we were each handed our room passes. When it was my turn, I took my keycard and I could hardly wait to see what it unlocked.

“Mr. Wilson, your room is on the top floor with a stunning view,” the manager informed me. “Our security team will escort you.”

I followed the security team to the elevator. It moved smooth and fast straight up to the top floor. The walls were glass so you could see the whole island as we rose. Buildings, palm trees, people, and the curve of the beach. My stomach fluttered a bit the higher we went. I was never one to be scared of heights. I would jump at the chance to ride roller coasters and Ferris wheels, but this was way up at the top of the building and the elevator kind of rocked with the draft from the shaft.

When the doors opened, the first thing that took me in was how long the hallway was. There were soft lights lining the ceiling and floors. Everything looked so expensive. The guards gave a nod and peeled off while I stopped at my door. I slid the keycard in and the lock clicked.

“Whew!” I whistled as I walked in.

The room was big. The cream walls were mixed with deep grey panels. Art hung neatly. These pieces were different from the ones in the lobby. They were just clean shapes and calm colours. The bed sat dead centre. It was a king-size with white sheets and pillows piled high. Off to one side, there was a small lounge setup with a dark leather couch and a glass table. One whole wall was made up of windows.

I walked over and I saw it immediately. From up there, you could see the arena in the distance. It was the same one where we’d fight Team Mexico. Its silver roof caught the light like metal on fire. There were clusters of lush green trees off to the west of it and the beach off to the east. It was bright and smooth. The sun was sinking low beyond the horizon of the ocean and turning the water gold as it sank. It looked so peaceful.

“Hard to believe what’s coming next,” I thought out loud.

I stood there for a bit and then unpacked my gear. The day hit me all at once. I showered, brushed my teeth, ordered something small to eat from room service, and dropped onto the bed. The sheets felt cold and soft. It was so comfy that my eyes started to close instantly.

But before I could drift off, my phone rang. It was Jessica. She was video-calling with a bright smile on her face.

“I’ve got something to show you,” she said playfully.

“When?” I asked as I tried to keep my voice upbeat in spite of the exhaustion.

“Now, silly,” she replied.

A few seconds later, there was a knock at the door. I had a pretty good idea of who it was and I opened it to find Jessica standing there in a stunning red dress. It hugged her figure perfectly and glistened under the soft hallway lights. For a brief moment, the thought of fight week was completely gone. There was just the gorgeous sight of her. She had a way of reminding me of the world outside the competition. There were all these simple joys and all this beauty beyond the grind.

“Focus on the match,” I thought to myself, but my eyes were still drawn to her smile.

“So, you gonna let me in?” she asked as she brushed past me.

The smell of her hair hit me first and common sense went whisking off behind her right along with it. Everything in me went still for a second. The smart thing would’ve been to laugh it off or keep my distance. Heck, even popping on some cheesy cartoons might have ruined the mood far enough so that we could keep our hands to ourselves. I didn’t because I didn’t want to.

She turned and smiled at me like she knew exactly what I was thinking. My heartbeat went stupid fast and I shut the door and locked it like a reflex.

I stepped forward without thinking and then again. She pulled me in and I held her petite face in my hands before I kissed her. This was home. This was my safe place. It was game over and I knew it.

I had no control around her, and with her looking like that, who could blame me?

The late morning sun came through the hotel window. Time felt irrelevant.

Jessica and I were curled up on the couch and her warmth against me was comforting. It felt like this rare moment of peace in the confusion and pressure that had become my life. The distant sounds of Fight Island’s bustling energy barely reached us up here. It was just the two of us.

For a moment, I forgot about everything. Then, a knock at the door shattered the peace. Jessica tensed against me.

“Who is that?” she whispered as she looked toward the door with wide eyes.

Another knock. It was sharper this time.

“Mr. Wilson?” A woman’s voice rang through the door, crisp and professional. “You’re already late. We need to leave soon.”

“Shoot!” I hissed at the clock on the wall. “It’s already 11 AM. They said someone would be coming by. I forgot.”

Jessica bolted upright and was already reaching for her things when she whispered, “I’ll be in the bedroom.”

She disappeared behind the door before I could respond. I exhaled sharply and rubbed a hand over my face as I stood up. I was still sluggish from sleep. I wasn’t ready for this.

But I had no choice, so I pulled the door open.

Standing in the hallway was a woman in a perfectly tailored navy-blue suit. She had auburn hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. A clipboard was tucked under one arm, while in the other, she scrolled through a slim tablet with super sharp focus.

Her green eyes flicked up to meet mine. She scanned me like I was already a problem she had to solve.

“Mr. Wilson,” she said with an efficiency that was scary, although it wasn’t necessarily unkind. “You’re already late. You need to get ready quickly. There’s a packed schedule today. We’ve interviews, photoshoots, sponsor meetings, and the whole PR gauntlet.”

I squinted at her and processed the abrupt wake-up call.

“Who...Who are you?” I asked.

She let out a short breath and shook her head slightly like she had been through this exact routine a hundred times.

“I’m Florence Smith. Your appointed WAR publicist.”

I frowned.

“Since when?” I asked.

Florence gave me a pointed look.

“Did you not check your email?”

“...Email?”

“Yes, Coach Carter said that he had emailed you all about today’s events last night. He did tell you I would be coming by around this time, didn’t he?”

I hadn’t looked at my phone since Jessica had walked in looking like the finest thing since sliced bread, so I hadn’t seen an email. The last thing Coach had said to us in the lobby was to be ready around 11, but nothing about why or who we’d be meeting.

“He said someone would be coming, I guess,” I grimaced and tried to play off the fact that I hadn’t checked my phone in well over 12 hours.

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “They never check their emails.”

Despite the exasperation, there was the faintest look of amusement in her expression.

“Starting today, I manage your public image, media obligations, and make sure you don’t say or do anything that makes WAR regret signing you.”

I sighed and rubbed my temple.

“So basically, you’re here to babysit me?”

Florence crossed her arms and smirked.

“Only if you act like you need babysitting.”

She checked her watch and then exhaled through her nose. Her expression softened just a fraction.

“Look, I know this is a lot. But trust me, once we get through today, you’ll see I’m not the enemy here.”

That was yet to be determined.

“Give me a minute,” I said.

“Sixty seconds,” she corrected. “And don’t make me come in there.”

I shot her a look before shutting the door behind me. Jessica sat at the edge of the bed and hugged her knees. Her expression was a mix of worry and something else. I couldn’t make out what exactly.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“My publicist, apparently,” I muttered as I was still trying to wrap my head around it.

Jessica studied me carefully.

“You okay?” she asked.

I forced a smile.

“Yeah… just media stuff. I’ll be back soon, alright?”

She nodded, but there was still a flicker of concern in her eyes. Before I could say anything, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my neck. She pressed a soft kiss to my lips. It was brief, but enough to bring me back home to myself.

“Good luck,” she whispered warmly. “And be good.”

I smirked and squeezed her hand one last time before I kissed her forehead and stepped toward the door.

“No promises,” I said.

She chuckled and shook her head.

“Just don’t forget who you are out there,” she said, almost like she was asking.

I left the bedroom and saw that Florence was already inside the living room. She was standing near the window and casually scrolling through her tablet as if she owned the place. Sunlight painted her face and lit up her navy-blue suit. It made her look even more composed and like she had everything under control.

“Did I say you could come in? That’s kind of an invasion of privacy!” I said heatedly, but I was really trying to make sure Jessica could hear me so she wouldn’t come out yet.

Florence didn’t even look up at me.

“You were taking too long. Figured I’d save us both some time.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” I said as I grabbed my keycard off the counter.

Florence finally looked up and her sharp green eyes assessed me before a casual and almost amused smile tugged at her lips.

“So,” she said lightly, “who were you talking to in there?”

‘Oh, no! She was listening.’

I needed to play it off.

“No one. Just on the phone.”

“Mhm,” she said with an arched brow.

A beat of silence passed before she smoothly shifted back to business.

“Your first interview is in two hours and fifteen minutes. We have a lot to get through before tonight’s talk show, so let’s move.”

I nodded and pretended to focus, but my mind was still on Jessica. I just hoped she’d be okay while I was gone.

As we stepped out into the hallway, Florence was already typing something into her tablet. I shut the door hard so that Jessica could hear that we had left. Florence, on the other hand, was effortlessly navigating through notifications like she had the entire day mapped out in her head.

“You know, Martial, you’re not the first man on Fight Island to be sleeping around,” she quipped.

“I’m not sleeping around,” I shot back as my neck and face flushed.

“Right, and I’m a sideshow clown for kids’ birthday parties.”

“You don’t say,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m your publicist. I need to know when and who before God does so that you and whoever she is don’t end up as front-page news.”

“First of all, ew. Second of all, I am not… I mean, I didn’t—”

“That’s exactly the type of stuttering I need to prepare you for. Well, prep on you not to do that when you’re confronted by a pap or tabloid writer. You’re a star now, Mr. Wilson. Get used to it.”

I stayed silent.

“Car’s waiting downstairs,” she said without looking up.

I let out a slow breath and pushed the thoughts away as we headed for the elevator. The ride down stayed quiet except for the soft notification sounds from Florence’s tablet every now and then. I watched the numbers light up and wondered if that was all for me. When the doors opened, the lobby noise was loud enough to make me want to head straight back to my room. I really could have done with more sleep. The guests were talking low, but there were already cameras flashing outside. Security stood near the doors like statues. The moment we stepped out, the heat slammed into us and we were escorted to a car that was waiting out front. The driver opened the door and Florence slid in first as cool as ever. It was like nothing rattled her. I looked back at the hotel once, then got in after her.

Time to face the storm.

As the car rolled away, I leaned back and tried to clear my head. Florence scrolled through her phone and then looked up at me.

“Before we hit the interviews, we’re making a quick stop,” she said. I knew right then that I had absolutely zero say in that. I was just a tail for the day. Still, I’d ask questions.

“Detour?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. I had expected to go straight to the media obligations, but her tone made it clear that this was non-negotiable.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “You’re representing Team New Zealand and image matters. We’re getting you some new clothes, a fresh haircut, and a little grooming. We want you to look like the star you are.”

I gave a small nod. I was surprised but willing to go along. The car cruised through the lively streets of Fight Island and passed through palm trees and luxury stores. There were fans in fight merchandise everywhere. Eventually, we pulled up in front of a high-end boutique with a modern look to it. Then again, what wasn’t modern and opulent out here?

“Come on,” Florence said. “Look alive.”

The second we walked in, a group of stylists came straight for me. They looked me up and down like a project. Suits came off racks fast. They held up ties and whispered to each other. Before I knew it, I was pushed into a fitting room. The suit slid on clean. It was made of light fabric and it fit tight across my shoulders. It was still easy to move in, though, and near perfect for the heat. I wasn’t used to clothes that made me look like I belonged anywhere fancy. This was nice.

After I got dressed, a barber fixed my hair. He gave me a few quick and sharp cuts. He made sure I had neat edges while a manicurist worked on my nails at the same time. I never ever thought I’d have someone do that, but I couldn’t lie. It looked good. Every small thing they did made me look more put together.

Florence stood by the mirror with her arms crossed. She was there to give out quiet orders and that much was clear from the jump.

“That tie needs more contrast,” she said and the stylist swapped it out straight away.

When they were done, I looked in the mirror and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The fighter was gone and in his place was a guy who looked like he actually belonged in front of a camera.

“Perfect,” Florence said with satisfaction as she took a step back to admire the final look. “This is exactly what we need. Now, let’s get to the interview. Remember, no stuttering!”

The car pulled up outside the studio where the first media frenzy was happening. Inside, the place buzzed with noise. Cameras getting adjusted and lights being tested was all I could see. There were a couple of people talking into headsets, too. I felt ready, though. I felt clean and bossed out. It was like Florence’s plan had worked. The interview went smoother than smooth. They were the same types of questions that I had read or seen in the press from all my years of following WAR. They wanted to know where I grew up, what Fight Island was like, and what I thought about facing Team Mexico.

“Anyone special in your life, Martial?”

That one came out of left field.

I looked at Florence and she mouthed the words, “No stuttering,” to me.

“Uhm, no. Not yet,” I replied quickly and then I felt instantly guilty because I knew Jessica would see this.

After that came the photoshoot. The gear looked insane. There were big cameras and white screens. There were lights that made everything sharp. The crew moved fast and called out poses. Florence helped by checking angles. I did a few in stance and some with fists up. Then, I did some just standing loose. Florence watched the whole thing and gave notes. She would fix my collar or tell me to relax my shoulders.

She really was a pro.

When it wrapped, we jumped in a car and found a café near the studio. It was a quiet spot with low music and the smell of coffee cutting through the heat. It felt good to breathe again. Florence ordered fast and then opened her tablet while we ate. She started laying out what the rest of the day looked like. I listened. I was half in it and half still stuck on the flash of cameras and the sound of my own name echoing in that studio.

“Tonight’s late-night talk show is a big deal,” she said, picking at her salad. “It’s your opportunity to reach a broader audience and connect with fans. It really lets them see who you are outside the canvas. Just relax and let your personality shine.”

“I’ll do my best,” I replied.

I was amped for it actually. I had never been the centre of attention like this before and having a whole talk show to myself seemed wild. We finished our meal and started walking back to the car. Florence gave me a reassuring smile.

“You’re doing great, Mr. Wilson. Just keep it up, and remember—you belong here.”

“And no stuttering?”

“And no stuttering,” she confirmed and laughed.

“And it’s Martial,” I said with a small grin to correct her. “You can call me Martial.”

Florence chuckled softly.

“Alright, Martial. Let’s get you ready for tonight.”

When I got back to the hotel room, Jessica was sprawled on the bed with her eyes glued to the screen as highlights from the Team Italy vs. Team China match played. She looked up when I walked in and her face lit up with a smile that made the long day worth it.

“Hey, about that comment at the press junket. If you saw it, I just—”

“I did and it’s fine. They don’t need to know right now. I haven’t even told my parents yet.”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“What took you so long?” she teased. Then, she actually took in the change in my look and sat up. “Whoa, look at you! You look amazing.”

I couldn’t help but grin. I felt a little embarrassment but a little proud, too.

“Thanks. It’s been a crazy day,” I said.

“I’ll bet,” she said.

I sank onto the edge of the bed.

“Florence took me for a whole makeover. I got these new clothes, a haircut, everything. Then there was an interview and a photoshoot right after that.”

“That sounds so cool! And you definitely look like a star now,” Jessica said before she paused for a moment. “So, what’s next?”

“I’m heading out again tonight for something big,” I replied as I felt the adrenaline kick back in just talking about it. “I’m going to be on the James Maverick show.”

“The late-night show?” she gasped as she started practically bouncing with excitement. “Martial, that’s huge! You’re going to kill it!”

She jumped up and hugged me tight and I held her close. Just feeling her energy lifted me even more.

“Thanks, Jess. It’s a big opportunity. I just hope I can keep my nerves in check.”

She pulled back slightly and gave me a playful smirk.

“Well, you better get out of those clothes and freshen up. You’ve been running around all day, and it’s boiling out there.”

I laughed and realized she was right.

“Yeah, I could use a shower. Be right back.”

As I headed to the bathroom, I couldn’t help but feel almost giddy. Jessica’s support and the events of the day gave me the boost I needed. Tonight’s show was more than just an appearance. It was my chance to prove to the world that I was ready for the big leagues, and I wasn’t about to let that slip through my fingers. I quickly showered and let the cool water wash away the day’s heat and tension. After drying off, I slipped into a fresh outfit and took a moment to collect my thoughts. This was a big night, and I needed to be ready for anything.

I met Florence in the hotel lobby. Her sharp, no-nonsense attitude softened slightly as she looked me over with approving eyes.

“You cleaned up nicely, Martial,” she said with a faint smile. “Ready for your big night?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied and adjusted my collar.

That seemed to be the theme for me lately because, in life, there is no such thing as ready. There’s only the present moment. No one really knows what will come next. Well, maybe Florence. She seems to have that on lock.

We walked out to a black car waiting at the curb. It looked expensive and there was no driver. It was autonomous and the sliding doors opened on their own. They weren’t anything like the cabs back on the other end of the island. These were high end. The seats were soft leather that almost swallowed me when I sat down and the car started moving smoothly through the streets. City lights bounced off the glass towers as the sun dropped behind them.

When we stopped outside WAR Studios, I just stared. The building looked massive. It was all glass and shining under the lights. It stretched so high that it made my neck hurt to look up. Across the front, there was a digital billboard that played fight clips and promos. My own face flashed up for half a second and I got chills. I was still dealing with pinch-me moments after all this time of being here, but I felt like it was because this time was different.

Security met us at the door. One guard checked our passes with a scanner with no small talk. There was just a nod before the gate opened. Inside, everything was moving. Corridors were full of people in headsets. There were screens on every wall. Everyone looked busy but calm, like they’d done this a thousand times.

Florence led me through the fray of people and lights until we reached a makeup room. The walls were lined with mirrors that were rimmed in bright bulbs. It smelled like powder and hairspray in there. I sat down and looked at my reflection under the lights and tried to keep it cool.

“This is where the magic happens,” she said as she gestured for me to take a seat in one of the chairs. The room had an air of organized clutter to it, with makeup artists and stylists working fast to get everyone camera-ready.

A cheerful makeup artist named Marcy approached me.

“Just relax, sweetie,” she said as her hands moved expertly and she dusted my face with foundation. “We want you looking sharp under those lights. Trust me, it makes all the difference.”

She added some final touches. I saw the words concealer and powder on two of the cases. Whatever they were, I looked airbrushed, but not in a bad way or anything.

Next, I was taken to wardrobe. A tailor named Luca gave me a perfectly fitted suit.

“This should do the trick,” he said as he helped me into the jacket and adjusted the cuffs. The suit felt like a second skin.

“Looking sharp,” Florence commented as she poked her head through the door just as I had managed to pull the pants on. She gave me a thumbs-up and said, “Now, let’s head to the green room.”

The green room felt more like a lounge than a waiting area. There was a big TV showing the live feed and a table stacked with snacks and drinks. I sat back and half listened to the show through the walls. It was out of sync by a millisecond with the mouths onscreen, but it was still good to watch. Every so often, the crowd laughed or clapped, and the sound erupted from under the door. I munched on a few snacks and avoided the drinks. The last thing I wanted was needing a bathroom break in the middle of my interview.

I watched the screen for a bit. James Maverick owned the stage. He was a smooth talker with sharp jokes, who had the crowd wrapped around his finger. You could tell he’d done this a hundred times. The energy in the studio came through even from here. Florence stood near the door and checked her watch again. She didn’t say much. She just gave me a look that said we were close. My stomach did a flip. It was almost my turn.

“You’re up next, Martial,” she said encouragingly. “Remember, just be you.”

“Just be me,” I repeated.

“Keep your eyes up and ahead, but scan the floor as you walk just out in front of you so it doesn’t look like you’re looking down. You’ll need to be wary of the cabling under tape and camera rig tracks.”

“Ok,” I breathed.

“Ok,” Florence replied. “You’re up.”

The lights hit the second I stepped out. They were bright and hot. The crowd turned into one dark blur past the glare. I pulled in a deep breath and tried to calm the shake in my chest.

James Maverick stood dead centre and smiled like he owned the room. To be honest, he probably did. The guy had that easy charm that made everyone lean in when he talked. He turned toward me with his hand out like we were old mates. I knew better than to get too comfortable. This was his turf and I was just the guest trying not to trip over the lighting and camera rigging.

“Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Team New Zealand Super Welterweight Martial Wilson!” James announced.

His voice was booming with energy and it made me wonder if this guy needed a mic at all! He was magnetic. The crowd erupted into cheers and the sound was nearly overwhelming. I forced a smile and waved as I took my seat opposite him. It made me think about just how loud the cage would be.

I distracted myself by looking around. The set was modern and sleek. It had polished black floors that reflected the overhead lights and a massive screen behind us that flashed highlights from my recent fights before coming to the island and even some training footage.

‘I didn’t even know they had cameras on us!’ I thought.‘Is it all the time or just once when I wasn’t paying attention?’

“Thank you, James. It’s great to be here,” I said as I took a seat on the plush guest chair.

James leaned forward and clasped his hands together. His eyes locked onto mine with a mischievous glint.

“So, Martial,” he started with a friendly tone that was kind of laced with something a little sharper, “you’ve got the fight of your life coming up against Raul Ortega. I’ve got to ask… are you sure you’re not scared of Raul? I heard him say he’s planning to stop you early.”

The crowd chuckled at his words. It was a low rumble that made my jaw tighten. I felt the tension in my shoulders, but I kept my expression neutral.

“Look, Raul’s a dangerous opponent, no doubt,” I replied calmly. “But I’ve trained my entire life for moments like this. I know what I’m capable of and I’m ready to prove it on Saturday night.”

James leaned back and I could tell that he was clearly intrigued.

“Tell us more about your upbringing. What led you to this path?”

I knew this question. I had answered it so many times. I smiled and felt the adrenaline pump through my veins. I was going to get to speak about my dad on a show we had watched together growing up.

“I grew up watching my dad train and fight. He was my inspiration and always pushing me to be the best I could be. Competing on Fight Island is like a dream come true. For me, it’s a way to honour his legacy and make my own mark.”

James raised an eyebrow and a smirk came over him.

“Sounds like you’re quite the daddy’s boy, huh?”

The audience erupted in laughter and I felt a flash of anger.

“He was my mentor and my coach. I’m proud of that. I will not let him down when it’s time to fight.”

James leaned back in his chair as if he was considering my words.

“Confident, huh? Well, let’s not forget that WAR fans have Raul winning this by 89%. That’s a pretty big hill to climb, don’t you think?”

The way he said it made it clear that he was enjoying every second of this. I could hear the audience snickering again and it took everything in me to stay composed.

“I’ve been the underdog before,” I said and met his gaze. “But numbers don’t decide a fight. Hard work, strategy, and heart do.”

The crowd was still on James’ side, though, and he wasn’t done needling me.

“Heart’s great, Martial, but Raul’s known for being… let’s say, merciless. You sure you’re not feeling the pressure, especially with your dad watching? I mean, he did a lot to get you here. I’d hate to see you disappoint him.”

That was a low blow even for him and he said it with a grin. The audience laughed and I forced myself to stay calm.

“My dad and I used to watch your show. I never picked up on this vibe before,” I laughed and watched him get uncomfortable again. “You know, he taught me to never back down from a challenge. He knows what I’m capable of, and so do I.”

I might have looked calm, but inside I was simmering. I could feel the heat rising to my face, but I focused on staying in control.

“I believe in my training and my team. Simple as that,” I shrugged.

“Well, best of luck, Martial. I’m sure you’ll make your daddy proud.”

The crowd half-laughed and half-clapped. I shook his hand, got up, waved to the audience, and left with a smile.

As I walked off stage, Florence was waiting for me backstage, her arms open for a hug.

“You did great, Martial,” she said gently, as if trying to soothe me. But the irritation bubbling inside me was too much to hide.

I ripped off my tie with the fabric sliding angrily through my fingers as I stormed past her. Florence quickly followed. I could hear her saying something in a voice that was dipped in concern.

“Martial, I swear I didn’t know he’d be like that. It’s just a show. Don’t let it get to you.”

Her words barely registered. I was too wrapped up in the sting of humiliation with the crowd’s laughter still echoing in my mind. I ignored her and ordered a private autonomous taxi. I was filled with frustration and regret as the city lights blurred by.

The ride back felt agonizingly slow and the silence was only amplified by the knot in my chest.

Looking out the window of the taxi felt like an out of body experience. Fight Island didn’t look like a dream anymore. It looked like a cage that someone covered in gold. I pressed my forehead against the glass and let it cool me as I watched the roads twist through the city like sick veins. I used to picture this place every night and up until a couple of minutes ago, I was so excited. Now, I just felt sick. He had gotten in my head before my fight.

Was this what I worked for?

This is a circus with all of the lights and the noise. The pressure was meant to push me higher, not crush me. Every hour in the gym and every time I gave something up for this should have been worth something.

Was it worth it?

I never thought I’d fold under pressure and for sure never thought I’d want to run, but I could feel it circling around my neck like a constrictor. I was stuck in the place I’d fought so hard to reach and I couldn’t breathe. I shut my eyes for a second and then my heart hurt a little more when I thought of my mum. I missed home. I missed Mum’s cooking and the way the house smelled when she made stew. I missed my mates and the lazy afternoons when nothing mattered. Back then, I was just Martial Wilson. I wasn’t a fighter or someone the world waited to see rise or fall.

I don’t cry much. Maybe I never learned how. Life used to be easy, after all. My dream wasn’t mine anymore, though, and that sucked beyond words could say. It belonged to everyone else, especially the system that needed me to fight, win, and keep going. Truth be told, I didn’t know if I could because the dream had turned into a nightmare.

When the taxi stopped, I walked inside and slammed the door behind me. The sound reverberated and made Jessica jolt awake on the chaise. She sat up fast and rubbed her eyes. Then she saw my face and went still. She didn’t need to ask what was wrong.

“Martial? What happened? Are you okay?”

Her voice was soft and careful.

“Can you just go back to your room for tonight?” I said with my voice strained and low. I was barely holding it together. “I need to be alone right now.”

Jessica’s face twisted up in confusion. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked at me carefully before coming toward me.

“If you want me to go, I’ll go, but I don’t think you really do. Talk to me. Please. What happened?”

I breathed out with my hands on my hips and stared at the floor like it might give me the answers I needed.

“Please… I need time to myself.”

Jessica wasn’t budging. She stepped closer to me with this worried and pleading look on her face.

“Martial, what happened?”

There were a million things that wanted to come out my mouth and, sometimes, I shut down in moments like this because there is no picking the right one out of that many options. It’s all just anger like a volcanic storm.

“This… this isn’t what I signed up for, Jess,” my voice cracked despite the anger pushing it forward. “I didn’t know it would be like this. I hate this place. It’s all too much. I’ve made too many mistakes. I wish I never came here.”

Jessica flinched and her hands lifted slightly. They hovered in the air like she was reaching for something that was already slipping away.

Jessica’s lip trembled. Slowly, her hands lifted again. This time, she pointed between us with her fingers shaking as she gestured from herself to me.

“A mistake?” she whispered as her own voice cracked. “Is that what this is?”

I panicked.

“No—Jess, not you. You’re not a mistake, I didn’t mean—”

She turned sharply and grabbed her bag in a rush. I reached out to hold her and desperation started creeping into my tone. She was the only thing holding me together at that point. I just couldn’t lose her, too.

“Jess, wait, please—”

“GET OFF ME!” she screamed as she yanked herself away from my grip. Her chest rose and fell with heavy and uneven breaths. Her light brown eyes, which were usually filled with warmth, were now brimming with hurt, disbelief, and something else. I didn’t know what it was precisely, but it was something I wasn’t ready to face.

“This was not a mistake to me.”

As the words left her lips, the room seemed to shrink around us. For a moment, we locked eyes, and time itself seemed to hold its breath.

We just stood there saying nothing like idiots. Maybe we were dumb for thinking we could pull this off. If one thing could derail us like this, maybe we were really just two dumb kids trying to dream of playing house. The room felt off, like the air had thinned out and like there were eyes on me. I could feel the distance growing even though she was right in front of me.

She turned for the door. I reached out and caught her wrist before she could go.

“Jess!”

She ripped her arm free and turned right back to face me before she slammed a swift left knee into my ribs. She was a fighter, too. She wasn’t just my girl or something to come home to. Maybe I had forgotten that.

I remember it now.

Pain shot through my torso and forced a sharp gasp from my lips as I staggered back. Jessica pointed a shaking finger at me and tears spilled freely from her eyes.

“Do not EVER touch me and don’t you dare talk to me again.”

Then, she was gone.

The door slammed shut, but her words stayed in my head and I could almost hear them in the air like a curse. I put my hand to my side, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the one tearing me apart inside. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely and utterly alone.

I collapsed onto the bed and cried. The strong front I’d been holding up crumbled and I felt nothing but humiliation. Now, my person was gone and I was pretty sure that there’d be no fixing it this time. The pressure and the feeling of being mocked just made it all feel worse. I was alone in the darkness and I couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked through me.

Wasn’t crying supposed to be cathartic?