“One Punch, Prove It!”, A Black Belt Mocked a Quiet Farm Girl — Then He Was Shocked
Chapter 3
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Trenton Hayes was in his element. He was sparring in the center ring, and his opponent for the round was a 30-year-old software engineer named Oliver Penn. Oliver was a sweet, timid guy who had joined the gym a month ago to lose weight and build some confidence. He was completely outmatched, exhausted, and barely holding his hands up to protect his face.Instead of guiding the beginner, Trenton was putting on a vicious clinic. He was tagging Oliver with stinging jabs, snapping his head back, and mocking him loudly."Come on, Ollie! My grandmother hits harder, and she's been dead for five years," Trenton barked, feinting a takedown. As Oliver dropped his hands to defend, Trenton whipped a brutal inside leg kick that loudly slapped against Oliver's thigh.Oliver cried out, his leg buckling. He stumbled backward, his face red and slick with sweat, gasping for air. "Trent, hold on, man. I need a breather.""There are no breathers in a fight," Trenton yelled, completely ignoring gym etiquette. He lunged forward, throwing a spinning backfist. He pulled the power at the last second, but the padded glove still caught Oliver hard on the bridge of the nose. Oliver collapsed heavily onto the mat, clutching his face. A thin stream of blood immediately began to leak through his fingers.The gym went quiet. A few people winced, but no one—not even the other advanced belts—dared to step in. Trenton Hayes was untouchable.Standing ten feet away, holding a heavy crescent wrench she was using to tighten a loose wall bracket, was Maeve. She watched Oliver hit the mat. She watched Trenton throw his hands up, pacing around the fallen man like a gladiator demanding applause from an invisible emperor.Maeve closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, the heavy wrench cold and solid in her calloused hand. She wasn't a fighter. Her dad had always taught her to keep her head down and mind her own business. "We can't afford trouble, Mae," he would say. But Hank Jenkins had also taught her never to stand by while a weaker animal was being tortured by a predator.Maeve set the wrench down on her utility cart. The metal clanged sharply against the plastic, breaking the silence in the gym. She walked over to the edge of the mat."He's done, Trenton," Maeve's voice was calm, yet it carried a deep, resonant authority that echoed off the high warehouse ceilings. "Back off."Trenton froze. He turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto Maeve. She was wearing her usual work clothes: a faded green flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows, stained denim jeans, and heavy steel-toed work boots.Trenton let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. He looked at Cody and Wyatt, who were standing by the cage wall. "Did the janitor just give me an order?"Maeve ignored him. She stepped onto the edge of the mat, her boots leaving faint dust prints on the black foam, and knelt next to Oliver. "You okay, Oliver? Keep your head tilted. Pinch the bridge." She handed him a clean towel from her apron. Oliver nodded weakly, humiliated, pressing the towel to his face.