A Black Belt Champion Picked a Quiet Man for a Fight to Amuse the Crowd — He Smiled: “Are You Sure?”
Chapter 6
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The moment Derek's palm desperately slapped the mat for the third time, the terrifying, crushing pressure on his spine vanished. Thomas released the lock instantly. He didn't push off Derek, nor did he use the younger man for leverage to stand. Thomas simply unwound his limbs and stood up in one fluid, silent motion, his faded gray corduroy pants barely wrinkled. He took a half-step back, his breathing as calm and measured as it had been when he was leaning against the concrete pillar ten minutes ago.On the mat, Derek Lawson was a broken machine. He rolled onto his side, cradling his right arm, his chest heaving as he sucked in ragged, humiliating breaths of air. Blood smeared across his chin from his bruised nose. He didn't look angry anymore; he looked terrified, staring up at the unassuming man in the wire-rimmed glasses as if Thomas had just grown horns.The referee, a seasoned MMA veteran named Ray, finally snapped out of his shock and rushed forward, waving his arms to officially wave off a fight that wasn't even supposed to be real. Ray crouched next to Derek, but his wide, disbelieving eyes were locked on Thomas."Jesus, buddy," Ray muttered, glancing at Thomas's relaxed posture. "Where the hell did you learn to move like that?"Thomas didn't answer. He simply reached up and pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose.From the VIP section, the scraping of a metal folding chair cut through the ambient murmurs of the crowd. Jim Gibson, the veteran wrestling coach with the cauliflowered ears, was pushing his way through the velvet ropes, completely ignoring the security guards. Jim was 65, a man who had cornered fighters in Tokyo, Las Vegas, and Rio de Janeiro.He walked straight onto the blue polyurethane mat, his eyes fixed on Thomas. "I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me," Jim said, his raspy voice carrying over the front rows. He stopped three feet from Thomas, crossing his arms over his chest. "I haven't seen that specific shoulder crank transition since the '98 Vale Tudo underground finals in São Paulo."Thomas looked at Jim. A flicker of recognition crossed his weary eyes, and the polite, detached smile returned. "Hello, Jimmy. It's been a long time. You're looking older.""And you're looking exactly the same, Tommy." Jim barked a rough laugh, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. He turned to the crowd, then down to Derek, who was finally sitting up, nursing his shoulder. "You idiot kid," Jim said to Derek, his tone dripping with pity. "You picked the absolute worst guy in the Western Hemisphere to drag onto a mat. You think you're a champion because you got a plastic belt in a local promotion?"Derek glared, but the pain in his arm kept him quiet.Jim turned back to the crowd, his voice projecting: