“One Punch, Prove It!”, A Black Belt Mocked a Quiet Farm Girl — Then He Was Shocked
Chapter 2
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He was also a bully. Trenton treated Ironwood like his personal kingdom, terrorizing the newer students during sparring sessions and dropping beginners with spinning back kicks just to feed his own ego. The gym's owner, Coach Garrison, often turned a blind eye because Trenton's father was the primary financial sponsor of the facility.From her first week on the job, Maeve had caught Trenton's attention—and not in a good way. To Trenton, Maeve was a peasant. She represented the rural, unpolished world he actively mocked. He hated the way she quietly went about her business, never looking at him with the awe and reverence he demanded from the rest of the gym.The friction started on a muggy Tuesday evening. Trenton was holding court on the main mat, demonstrating a flashy hook-kick combination to a group of impressionable white belts. His lackeys, Cody and Wyatt—two muscular guys who practically shadowed Trenton's every move—were cheering him on.Maeve was nearby, quietly running a heavy microfiber mop across the perimeter of the mat, her headphones securely over her ears. She was tired. The farm had been brutal that day: a fence had blown down in a storm, and she had spent six hours driving wooden posts deep into the clay earth with a heavy iron sledgehammer.As she worked her way past the group, Trenton intentionally threw a high, snapping roundhouse kick that missed Maeve's face by mere inches. The sudden snap of his heavy canvas gi pants echoed like a gunshot.Maeve didn't flinch. She just stopped, slowly pulled her headphones down around her neck, and stared at him with flat, unamused hazel eyes."Oops," Trenton sneered, flashing a blinding, predatory smile. "Watch your head, farm girl. This is a combat zone, not a barn. Wouldn't want to accidentally knock you back to the sticks."Cody and Wyatt snickered.Maeve looked at Trenton, then at the drops of sweat he had purposely shaken off his face onto the floor she had just cleaned. Without a word, she pushed the mop over the puddle, wiping it away, and continued walking.Trenton's smile vanished. His jaw clenched. He was used to people shrinking away from him, apologizing, or fawning over his speed. Her complete indifference felt like a physical slap to his face."Hey! I'm talking to you, Cinderella," Trenton barked.Maeve paused, looking over her shoulder. "I'm just here to clean, Trenton. Let me do my job.""Then do it somewhere else," he snapped, pointing to the far corner of the gym. "The real athletes are working here."Maeve didn't argue. It wasn't worth the energy. She quietly pushed her cart to the other side of the facility, leaving Trenton fuming in the center of the mat. He hated her silence. He hated that she didn't fear him. And in his twisted, arrogant mind, he decided right then and there that he was going to make an example out of the quiet farm girl. He was going to humiliate her so badly she would never set foot in Crestwood again.Ten days later, the tension that had been brewing finally boiled over. It was a Friday night, which meant it was open mat at Ironwood. The gym was packed. The air was thick with humidity, the smell of canvas, and the rhythmic thud of shin guards slapping against heavy bags. Coach Garrison was locked in his glass-walled office in the back, buried under a pile of quarterly tax paperwork, leaving the floor entirely unsupervised.