Chapter 9 - Five Hundred Witnesses
By the time Briggs and I stepped onto the mat, there were more than five hundred people around the field.
Phones were everywhere.
The official gave us the rules.
“Controlled contact. Immediate stop on command. No strikes to joints. Understood?”
“Yes,” I said.
Briggs nodded.
His eyes never left mine.
The whistle blew.
He came forward slowly at first.
Testing distance.
Testing reaction.
Then he smiled behind his mouthguard.
I said nothing.
His face tightened.
He feinted high.
Not my thigh.
Not my hip.
My knee.
I caught his leg.
The crowd gasped.
His balance vanished.
I turned.
Briggs hit the mat.
Hard.
He grabbed my wrist.
“You have no idea what you started.”
He bucked violently.
Briggs ignored him.
He drove an elbow backward toward my injured ribs.
I shifted just enough.
The elbow grazed me.
Pain burned through my side.
I heard the crowd react.
Briggs tried to stand.
Now he was breathing hard.
Now he was angry.
Real angry.
He rolled toward me and whispered, “I’m going to break you.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I said, “Say it again.”
His eyes changed.
He lunged for it.
That mistake ended the match.
I trapped his arm, shifted my weight, and locked him into a controlled shoulder position.
“Tap,” I said.
He fought it.
“Tap.”
The official moved closer.
Briggs twisted harder.
His free hand slapped the mat.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The whistle screamed.
I released him immediately.
The crowd exploded.
Briggs stayed on his knees.
I stood.
For one second, I thought it was over.
May you like
Then Briggs surged up behind me.
And swung after the whistle.
