A Black Belt Champion Picked a Quiet Man for a Fight to Amuse the Crowd — He Smiled: “Are You Sure?”
Chapter 7
Theme:
Font Size:
24px
"This guy you all just laughed at—this is Thomas Weaver. 25 years ago, before MMA had rules, before it had weight classes and corporate sponsors, there was a fight camp in a basement in Detroit. Tommy here was their lead grappling architect. The man holds black belts in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Judo, and Combat Sambo, directly under the Gracie and Machado lineages. He was the sparring partner they brought in to break the guys who were getting too arrogant."A collective murmur of awe and embarrassment washed over the crowd. The frat boys in the front row suddenly found their shoes incredibly interesting. The girl holding Thomas's coffee stared at the paper cup as if it contained holy water."I retired, Jimmy," Thomas said softly, his tone carrying a hint of warning. "A long time ago. I'm just an accountant now.""You can take the tiger out of the jungle, Tommy, but you can't take the claws off the tiger," Jim replied, gesturing to Derek. "Clearly."Humiliation is a dangerous catalyst. For Derek Lawson, listening to an old man detail how thoroughly he had been outclassed was too much to bear. The physical pain was nothing compared to the death of his public persona. In a flash of blind, agonizing pride, Derek scrambled unsteadily to his feet. He ignored the referee's warnings; he didn't care about the rules; he wanted blood.With a scream of pure fury, Derek lunged from behind, throwing a desperate flying knee aimed squarely at the back of Thomas's head. It was a cowardly, lethal move designed to permanently injure."Tommy, behind you!" Jim shouted.Thomas didn't turn around. He didn't even look as Derek launched himself into the air.Thomas simply dropped his center of gravity and took a half-step to the right, sweeping his left arm backward in a blind, crescent-shaped arc. His forearm caught Derek's incoming thigh perfectly, altering the trajectory of the flying knee by just a few crucial inches. Derek sailed past Thomas's shoulder, hitting nothing but empty air.But Thomas wasn't done.As Derek flew past, Thomas's right hand snaked out, grabbing the collar of Derek's gi top. Using Derek's own uncontrolled momentum, Thomas yanked hard, violently driving Derek face-first into the unforgiving floor outside the padded mat.The sound of Derek's body hitting the exposed concrete was a sickening thud.Derek lay there, entirely motionless.Thomas finally turned around, looking down at the unconscious champion. He sighed—that same tired, parental sigh from earlier."I tried to tell you, son," Thomas murmured. "It wasn't a good idea."The arena was completely silent now, save for the frantic shouts of the medical team rushing down the aisle toward the unconscious Derek Lawson. The flashiness of the expo had evaporated, replaced by the stark, sobering reality of true martial violence.The promoter of the event, a sweaty man in a cheap suit named Arthur, scrambled onto the mat. He bypassed his fallen champion entirely and ran straight for Thomas, his eyes wide with dollar signs."Mr. Weaver! Mr. Weaver, wait!" Arthur panted, holding up his hands. "That was... that was incredible! The sheer technique! Listen, I can offer you a contract right now. Main event, next month in Vegas. I'll pay you ten times whatever you make pushing pencils! We can market this:The Return of the Underground King!"