Black Belt Asked Maid's Daughter to Fight as a Joke – Her First Strike SHOCKED the Whole Gym
Chapter 7
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Todd didn't notice. He just saw a little girl with her hands up. "What's that supposed to be?" he mocked. "You going to ask me for a high five, or are you surrendering already?"Abigail remained silent. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, not with anger, but with an unnerving intensity, as if she were solving a complex mathematical problem. She was analyzing his posture, his weight distribution, the tension in his shoulders.Frustrated by her lack of a fearful response, Todd decided to end it quickly. He would embarrass her with a single swift move. He lunged forward.It was a textbook front kick aimed at her midsection; it was fast, powerful, and designed to knock the wind out of an opponent, sending them staggering backward in pain. For a 13-year-old girl, it would be devastating.But the kick never landed.Just as his foot was about to connect, Abigail shifted her weight. It was a tiny movement, almost imperceptible: she pivoted on the ball of her back foot, turning her body just enough so the kick flew past her, missing by less than an inch. Her movement was so fluid, so economical, it was like a willow branch bending in the wind.Todd was suddenly off-balance, his leg overextended, his side completely exposed. He had expected to hit a solid target; instead, he found only empty air. He stumbled, catching himself before he could fall.For a split second, the dojo was silent. The students held their breath: they had just witnessed something impossible—a girl with no training had just effortlessly evaded a black belt's signature attack.Todd spun around, his face a mask of confusion and rage. "Beginner's luck," he snarled, more to himself than to her. He attacked again, this time with a flurry of punches: a jab followed by a cross. It was a classic combination, fast and direct.This time, Abigail didn't even pivot. As the jab flew toward her face, she tilted her head to the side; the punch skimmed past her ear. As the cross followed, she swayed backward from her waist, her feet never moving; the second punch sliced through the air where her head had been a moment before. She had dodged two lightning-fast punches by moving no more than a few inches."Your movements are too wide," Abigail said. Her voice was soft, but in the dead silence of the room, it sounded like a judge delivering a verdict. "You telegraph your intentions with your shoulders."Todd stared at her, his chest heaving. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. A child was critiquing his form—his perfect form. Humiliation burned in his gut, hot and acidic; his carefully constructed world of dominance was cracking; the respect of his students was evaporating—he could see it in their wide, disbelieving eyes.