The boxer steadied himself, immediately following up with a straight punch aimed at Mauve's chest.

  Mauve's eyes blazed. Instead of retreating, she stepped forward, closing the distance. When there were barely five centimeters between them, she pivoted sideways, her hands wrapping around his thick arm. Before he could react, she reversed her palm and struck him under the chin with the heel of her hand.

  The man's massive frame reeled backward. His mouthguard flew out, knocked loose by the precision strike.

  But Mauve didn't stop. She grabbed his staggering body, yanked him back toward her, and in one fluid motion, drove her elbow into the soft spot between his ribs and solar plexus.

  "Ughh—"

  A guttural grunt escaped him. His stomach churned violently, and a mouthful of bile sprayed out.

  Mauve hooked two fingers—index and middle—and jabbed into the nerve cluster under his raised armpit. The strength drained from one side of his body instantly. He slumped uncontrollably to the left.

  The opening exposed his neck—previously guarded—dropping it low and wide open.

  Mauve spun into the air, gathering momentum into her heel, and slammed it full force into the side of his neck.

  The man crumpled to the ground. The arena exploded in thunderous cheers.

  "Mauve!"

  "Mauve!"

  "Mauve!"

  The match ended faster than anyone could have imagined. Mauve had given her opponent no breathing room whatsoever.

  She understood the physical gap between men and women—the sheer difference in strength and stamina. A prolonged fight would only favor him. So she struck with a relentless combo, each move designed to end it.

  Every opening she spotted, she exploited. Once she closed in, she targeted his weak points without mercy.

  Grace was stunned. She'd suspected Mauve had hidden depths, but she never imagined this level of skill.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  In under a minute, Mauve had taken down a professional boxer—a head taller, every inch of him muscle.

  What about an average man?

  "Average guys? I could take five."

  In the private changing room, Mauve peeled off her crop top. Her back was marked with fading bruises—old injuries.

  Grace and Scarlett watched as she changed. Finally, Scarlett spoke quietly. "We were so worried about you. We thought you'd end up beaten black and blue. We had no idea you were this incredible."

  Mauve glanced up from packing her bag. "I'm decent, sure. But I'm far from the best. Getting bruised up happens all the time. You might see it sooner than you think."

  The way she said it—so casually, so matter-of-fact—made Grace wince.

  Mauve had won tonight. But Grace had seen her stats on the screen: 27 wins, 6 losses. Odds at 1 to 3—one of the lowest in the arena. She was a consistent winner.

  But six losses. Grace didn't want to imagine how formidable those opponents were, or how much pain Mauve—a young woman—had endured in those defeats.

  Mauve finished packing and straightened up, looking at the two silent figures before her. "This is the real me. I fight underground for money. Still want to get to know me? Still want to be friends?"

  Grace and Scarlett exchanged a glance. Together, they nodded.

  Grace spoke first. "I don't know what happened that made you choose this. But I know no woman does this unless she has no other choice. You have your reasons. Maybe we haven't earned the right to know them yet. But we still want to be your friend."

  Scarlett nodded in agreement. "Don't feel pressured. We won't pry. I just... I feel for you. I've never seen anything like tonight. Just watching made my heart race. But you live it. I admire you. Truly."

  For the first time, Mauve's expression softened. A genuine smile tugged at her lips. "You two are something else. You're not the first people I've brought here. But everyone else? After seeing this, they kept their distance. That's why I'm used to being alone. Why I keep people at arm's length."

  She paused, then asked, "Aren't you afraid I have a violent streak?"

  The question caught them off guard. They answered in unison: "Do you?"

  Mauve shrugged. "Maybe. But I'd never lay a hand on a friend."

  Grace and Scarlett exchanged another look—and smiled. "Then just don't hit us, and we're good."

  Just then, the door swung open without a knock.

  A middle-aged man with a shaved head and glasses stepped in. His gaze swept over Grace and Scarlett, sizing them up, before he spoke. "So these are your first-timer friends?"

  Mauve nodded. "Patrick. I know the rules. It won't happen again."

  Patrick snorted but said nothing more. He pulled a stack of cash from his bag—all one-cent bills, crisp and new.

  "Twenty Dollars. Count it."

  Mauve took the stack, weighed it in her hand, and tossed it into her bag. "I'm done for the month. Family stuff. I'll let you know next month."

  Patrick eyed her. "There's a Muay Thai champion coming next month. Interested? Win big, lose bigger."

  Mauve didn't hesitate. "No interest. Patrick, I told you—I don't fix fights."

  Matches hyped as "champion showdowns" were always rigged. Mauve had her limits. And fixed fights were one of them.

  She trained in Chinese martial arts. She had no respect for fakery.

  "Don't get all high and mighty with me. Money's what matters, isn't it? You need cash." Patrick stepped closer. "Do one match for me. I'll give you a hundred Dollars. Deal?"

  Mauve swung her bag over her shoulder, making Patrick jump back. Her voice was ice. "No deal. Find someone else."

  To Grace and Scarlett: "Let's go."

  Patrick called after her as she left. "Think about it. You know where to find me."

  The same minivan dropped them at the nearest bus stop, just in time for the last bus.

  Scarlett couldn't contain her curiosity. "Mauve, you make twenty Dollars a fight? What if you lose?"

  "Half. Ten Dollars."

  Scarlett's eyes widened. "That's still a lot!"

  Grace stared out the window at the city lights blurring past. She didn't know what to say. Her mind kept flashing back to Mauve standing in the center of that ring, facing down opponents twice her size. Something heavy lodged itself in her chest.

  Scarlett suddenly piped up. "Let's get late-night food!"

  Mauve turned to her. "You paying?"