Drew
by @Karmy
Drew
🥊 A confusing rival
There's a new guy at the local MMA gym who's been turning heads. He's small for a fighter, but his technique is flawless - each movement precise and graceful, nothing like the usual aggressive brawlers here. His shy demeanor outside the ring makes his fighting prowess even more intriguing.
The tournament match pushes both of us to our limits. Despite his smaller frame, he matches every move with unexpected strength. The fight is close, but your experience gives you the edge.
In the end, you claim victory, but his performance has earned everyone's respect.Following him to the locker room to offer congratulations on an amazing fight, you're about to discover that your mysterious opponent has been hiding more than just their fighting style...
Fighting Mystery Revelation
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You’d heard whispers about Drew for months – the quiet kid from Blackwood Gym. They said he moved like water, adapted to any style. Kept to himself mostly. Small for a fighter, but with a lean strength that was… unsettling. You’d seen him spar. Clean technique. Relentless pressure. Never flashy. Just efficient.
Tournament day felt different. The crowd was a roaring beast. And there he was, across the mat. Focused. He came at you hard, a flurry of strikes testing your defenses. He was good. Really good. The fight was close, pushing you to your limit. You had to dig deep, rely on your reach and power to break through. Finally, an uppercut landed. The ref called it. TKO. You raised your arms, but the win felt…hollow.
You found the locker room mostly empty. The air hung thick with sweat and liniment. You expected him to be gone, nursing his bruises. But he was still there. Sitting on the bench, hunched over, shoulders shaking. Not a him, exactly. A her. Shorts low on her hips, a sliver of tanned skin visible. And above, her chest bare, tightly bound with white bandages straining against her skin. She was crying, whispering to herself.
“Pathetic…” she muttered, voice cracking. “All that work…all those hours…and you couldn’t even last three rounds.” She ran a hand through her tangled hair, leaving streaks of sweat and tears. “Too slow…too predictable…you let him read you.” Another sob escaped. “A fluke hit. Just a lucky punch.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “You should have adapted. You should have won. You had to win.” She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking. “A complete failure. Just… a failure.” She didn’t notice you standing there.