WAR THE JOURNEY OF MARTIAL

The next morning, the reality of what had happened the day before started to sink in. I woke up with Jessica beside me and it felt so surreal. Her soft breathing was the only sound in the quiet room and I just lay there as she slept. I watched for a while and felt like I had discovered an all-new high. The thought that she had actually said yes was the craziest but best thing I had ever experienced.

Despite everything that had happened, I was engaged to the woman I loved. She had accepted me exactly as I was even though we had been through all of those ups and downs. I had lost count of the mistakes that I had made, but she was willing to look past them.

Trust me, I wasn’t unaware of just how lucky I really was.

Still, as the morning light filtered through the curtains, I knew that the peace of that moment wouldn’t last forever. It just couldn’t. I still had battles ahead of me, both literally and metaphorically. The WAR tournament was far from over, and I still had a lot to prove to my team and to myself.

I wasn’t just fighting for wins anymore. I was fighting for my family.

I slipped out of bed slowly and quietly. I didn’t want to wake her from her cozy slumber. I headed straight to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I looked up at my reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at me was different from the one who first stepped onto Fight Island. I had changed. Some of it was for the better, but some of it wasn’t. That didn’t matter because, right then, standing in front of that mirror, I was determined to be better.

I quickly got dressed and threw on my training gear. I was standing at the start of what would be the three-week camp, and I needed to be focused. Coach Flynn’s words were still fresh in my mind.

‘No more distractions,’ I thought to myself.

I left the room as quietly as I could and pressed my palm on the door to guide it shut on the other side.

That’s when I took the biggest sigh of relief and felt like I had a brand-new kind of purpose. This wasn’t just about winning fights anymore. I was out to prove to myself that I could handle the pressure and that I could rise above the noise. I had to show myself that I could be the fighter and the man that I knew I could be.

I was ready for whatever came next.

The first two weeks of training camp for our fight with Team South Africa were intense, but there was good energy around the team.

We were focused on breaking down Team South Africa’s Captain, Zeke Langu. His crew wasn’t all that far behind him in terms of skill. They were a well-oiled machine, so analyzing every fight and every move became an obsession for us. Even though the pressure was high, I felt sharper than ever.

My striking, wrestling and jiu-jitsu had never been so crisp. Every combination just came off me naturally. Every takedown was a little easier than the last. Even my grappling felt like my body already knew what to do before my mind had caught up. They say that’s when it really starts to take effect. When it becomes second nature to you. It’s like you’re a beast that’s filled with nothing but instinct. Don’t get me wrong. It takes strategy, too. My drills were just as crisp and my sparring rounds were on point. I pushed my strength and conditioning harder than ever before. Every session left me feeling stronger and faster.

I was more explosive than ever before. In fact, I was peaking. But more importantly, I felt free.

By the end of training the one night, I had sweat pouring off me like I had just run a marathon. Every one of us did. The mats were covered in exhausted bodies while people sat against the wall. Some of them stretched their aching muscles or lay flat on their backs trying to catch their breath. The only sounds left were heavy breathing and the occasional hollow thud of someone dropping onto the mat.

Niko walked past first and bumped his glove against mine.

“Looking sharp… bro,” he said between breaths. “You’re… moving differently.”

“Yeah,” Simon added as he collapsed beside us. “I’d hate to be the poor bloke standing across from you next week.”

Daniel nodded in agreement and said, “You’re on another level right now.”

Even Ari Morgan wandered over after finishing his own rounds. Praise never came easily from our captain, which made it mean even more when it did. He stopped in front of me and gave a small nod.

“Good work, Martial,” he said plainly. “Keep that up.”

Coming from Ari, that was about as big a compliment as you could get. I didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Coach Flynn blew his whistle to signal the end of the session.

“Circle up!” he called out.

We gathered around him like a bunch of asthmatic and sweaty animals. Flynn looked around the group before his eyes settled on me.

“Wilson,” he said. “Excellent session.”

I straightened up a bit to take in the compliment.

“Your work ethic’s exactly where it needs to be. Keep setting that standard.”

“Yes, Coach,” I replied fast.

He scanned the rest of the team.

“That goes for all of you. This is the hardest I’ve seen this squad train since we got to Fight Island,” he said as he folded his arms. “The South Africans aren’t just talented. They’re arrogant. They think they can bully us. They also have nothing to lose right now, which means that they’ll enjoy ruining our chances of advancing to the Round of 16.”

Nobody said a word. Most of us remembered the destroyed sprinter van. Well, those of us who had been there to see it. I still remember Zeke Langu standing outside Joe’s estate with that smug grin plastered across his face. I could feel a scowl coming on and the words escaped my lips before I even had a chance to stop them.

“We’re not going to let them get a one-over on us.”

“Good,” Coach Carter shot me a grin. “Because next week, we get to answer them on the WAR canvas.”

The room went weirdly quiet after that. Nobody smiled and we sure as day didn’t laugh. Every single one of us was locked in because Team South Africa had made it personal. Now, all that was left was the fight.

No one knew it, but Jessica’s “yes” had taken the pressure WAR had put on my shoulders and made it disappear overnight. For so long, I had convinced myself that everything depended on becoming a perfect warrior. I thought that my whole future rested on winning fights. But now, I realised it didn’t. No matter what happened inside that arena, I was already winning.

I was in the zone.

I had the woman I loved beside me. Soon, she’d be my wife and we had a baby on the way. I wasn’t fighting because I needed WAR anymore. I was fighting because I wanted to. Deep down, all I really wanted was to give my family the best life I possibly could.

Funny enough, letting go of that pressure made me better.

I trained with a clear head and trusted my instincts. I had really started to enjoy every second of it. I wasn’t carrying the weight of the world into every session and it showed. I was just becoming the best fighter I could be.

Jessica stayed with me at the facility and our daily routine gave me such a sense of peace. Her belly was starting to show and each day, my love for her grew along with it. We kept our lives private and tried our best to avoid the public eye. We were content to just be together in the TNZ facility. I thought that she might go a bit stir crazy, but I had never seen her glow like that before. She had really come into her element.

Words couldn’t describe how happy I was or how grateful I felt that Jessica helped with pretty much everything. Her tips on nutrition were so on point it made me feel like I had been eating wrong my whole life. I’ll be honest, though. Her massages weren’t great, but they made her happy and that was enough for me.

Even though it had mainly been her idea not to show the world the pregnancy, I honestly didn’t care to either. This was something special and all our own. I loved spending time with her, completely away from the world. Those nights out on the town had felt empty and this felt like home.

In there, we were just us. There were no cameras and no noise. Just the two of us, focused on the future.

By the second week of camp, everything seemed to fall into place. I had my team and my strategy on point. The fight was coming up fast, but I felt at ease. It was nothing like the previous fight, which had me all over the place.

I wasn’t surprised at all when I got a call from Florence that week. She had been on my back about drumming up positive press, so I caved. We sat at one of the upscale restaurants on the island. The atmosphere was relaxed but refined. High-brow stuff and something I would have thought was stiff just a few months back.

I could see the glow in her face for once. Her mood was a lot lighter than usual. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. She had been paid a hefty commission from my rise in the game not too long before that. From the looks of it, the weight she had been carrying for a while was finally off her shoulders.

Florence had been down to just three fighters on her PR roster. Most of the other publicists in the industry juggled at least 10 or more, but she’d hit a rough patch recently. Despite all of that, she had stuck with me, even when I’d given her uphill. Now, seeing her filled with that new confidence that I’d also been wearing was a nice change.

“You know, darling,” Florence began as she smiled and glanced at the menu, “things are finally looking up, huh? Between your win and the media deals coming in, I feel like I can actually breathe again.”

I smiled back. I could appreciate her excitement.

“So, you’ll be paying for dinner tonight, then,” I grinned at her.

“Fat chance, rich warrior. You’re still the cash cow between the two of us.”

I laughed a little too loud for the aesthetic of the room. Typical Florence.

We went over the media obligations for the next few weeks. She laid it all out in her usually efficient way. Still, her voice was oozing enthusiasm.

“We’ve got the interview with Fight Island Weekly, the SocialX livestream Q&A next Thursday, and don’t forget the press event before the fight with Team South Africa. It’s all good exposure.”

“Good. Just have me home by bedtime, and we’re A-okay.”

After a brief silence, she looked at me with a playful grin.

“Soooooo, is there a lady friend in your life?” she asked in a tone that sounded like teasing.

I raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Why do you ask?”

Without missing a beat, Florence pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of Elin Blomqvist. She was one of the top Women’s Super Flyweight fighters from Team Sweden.

“She’s hot, right?” Florence smirked.

I looked at the picture of Elin. She was tall, athletic, blonde and undeniably a knockout in more ways than one, but I wasn’t biting.

“And?” I asked as I gave Florence a sideways glance.

Florence leaned in and grinned like she had some juicy gossip to spill.

“And,” she started back up, “she thinks you’re handsome. She asked me to find out if you’re single. Team Sweden’s facility is in South Fight Island. It’s far but you could be a cute power couple so it’s worth it”

Her tone was playful. I got the feeling that she was enjoying every second of it. But I just laughed it off and shook my head.

“No, I’m not single.”

Big mistake. Florence’s eyes lit up like Christmas.

“Oooooo!!! Who’s the lucky lady?” she practically shrieked.

I leaned back and gave her a polite but firm smile.

“That’s private.”

Florence pouted dramatically and then sighed.

“Martial, people eat up love stories. You should think about sharing a bit more. It’s a great way to boost your image. Shows people that you’re not just a fighter. That you’ve got structure. It gives them a bit of intimacy... Otherwise, they’ll just see you as another stray dog.”

I smirked at her analogy but kept my stance firm.

“Not this part, Florence. Some things stay private.”

She sighed again and shrugged dramatically as she sipped her wine. “Fine, fine. But when the love story comes out, remember I tried to tell you!”

We both laughed and the conversation moved on to more business, but the mood stayed light. Florence was back on her game.

I checked the time on the new WAR smartwatch a fan had gifted me. Still early. Tonight, I had something special planned. It was a gender reveal dinner for Jessica. She had found out the baby's gender but wanted to surprise me, so I decided to surprise her right back. I spent the afternoon transforming one of the empty rooms in the facility into something romantic. We would have soft candlelight, a beautifully set table and lights to give us that warm vibe.

“Florence,” I said. “It’s been a delight. Don’t forget the check.”

“No joking around,” she laughed. “You’re paying.”

“That I am,” I smiled at her as I stood. “Thanks for everything, yeah?”

“It’s my pleasure, Martial. You just keep doing what you do best. But do think about what I said.”

“You’ll get your big relationship expose but only when the time is right.”

“Is that a deal?”

“It’s a maybe,” I said as I turned to leave.

I made it back to the room that I had commandeered that night with time to spare. I sent Jessica the pin to meet me there and when she walked in, wearing a stunning black velvet dress, I was floored. As much as I loved her natural look, I had to admit she looked absolutely breathtaking all dolled up.

“You look… wow,” I said under my breath.

“Oh, stop it,” Jessica blushed.

“I’m serious,” I said as I looked her up and down.

I led her to the table where a single private waiter stood with a smile. We shared a quietly intimate dinner that night, but it was filled with laughter and stolen glances. Afterward, we slow danced to soft music and moved in sync as if nothing else in the world mattered. It was pure magic and, in that moment, I kissed her passionately and held her close.

When she pulled her face back, she looked at me with a warmth in her eyes that I just couldn’t describe. I held her still in my arms as she stayed looking into my eyes with a tenderness that made my heart race. Then, with a soft smile, she whispered, “Do you want to know what we’re having?”

I nodded my head like a schoolboy.

“It’s a little you, Martial.”

“What?” I whispered back excitedly.

“We’re having a boy,” Jessica confirmed as she started to well up.

The joy that flooded through me was indescribable. I would have been happy with either a boy or girl, as long as Jessica and the baby were healthy. But there was something about having a new version of what my dad and I had, especially knowing that he was gone.

By the middle of the second week, camp had settled into a rhythm. That was when Mum arrived on Fight Island.

I preferred that she didn’t watch my fights, but after everything that had happened, I couldn’t resist showing her this place for herself. It wasn’t cheap, either. Between the return flights from Auckland and one week at one of WAR’s partner hotels, it set me back 133 WARcoins—just under NZ$40,000. A few months ago, that would've been an impossible amount of money. Now, it was worth every single coin.

I hired an autonomous luxury rental and drove out to the airport to meet her. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted her to be impressed and to feel like all of this fighting, which she hadn’t always been fond of, was worth it.

The arrival gates slid open and there she was. She spotted me instantly.

“Martial!” she called out to me as her face lit up.

She hurried over and wrapped me in the biggest hug. She held onto me like she hadn’t seen me in years. I knew that I’d been gone pretty long, so I understood how she felt.

“Oh, my baby,” she laughed and pulled back just enough to look at me properly. “It feels like it’s been forever.”

Teenage Martial would have told her to quit it, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

“It’s only been a few months, Mum.”

“Too long,” she said without missing a beat before reaching up and brushing a hand through my hair. Then, her eyes widened as she said, “Look at you! I love the haircut. You look so handsome.”

“I’m still the same me, Mum,” I said.

She shook her head with a proud smile and said, “You look amazing.”

I laughed awkwardly.

It was only then that I took a proper look at her. She was dressed from head to toe in designer clothes, right down to her sunglasses and trainers. She looked elegant and confident. Happy. She looked genuinely happy and that’s what was most important to me. It suited her. Growing up, she’d worked so hard just to keep a roof over our heads that luxuries like this had never been an option.

Seeing her smile like that made every WARcoin I’d spent feel like it was nothing in comparison to her smile.

She linked her arm through mine as we walked toward the car.

“So,” she said as she looked around the airport with wide eyes, “this is Fight Island?”

I grinned.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Mum.”

We drove to Amigos, a Spanish tapas restaurant in the best quarter of the island. Mum was in awe the whole way there. I had half expected her to talk my ear off and ask a million and one questions on the way, but she just looked out the window in wide-eyed wonder.

When we got to the spot, we caught up over good food and wine.

“So, the girls must love you,” Mum quipped.

“Mum,” I said as I looked around to see who was listening.

“I’ve seen the photos on the social media. Margie—you remember Margie from next door. You used to have such a crush on her. Anyway, she’s home and she showed me how to use these phone apps. Apparently, you are a bigger ladies’ man than you let on.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I replied nervously.

I had big news to tell Mum and her thinking I was just some Casanova was the last thing that I wanted.

As we walked into my room, Mum looked around. I could tell that she was amazed by how beautiful it was. I had gotten so used to it that I forgot how impressive it could seem to someone seeing it for the first time.

“Wow, Martial,” she said with her eyes wide, “this is incredible! It’s even more beautiful than the little bit I see on our video calls.”

Before I could respond, Jessica walked in from the bedroom and stood next to me. My mum turned, and I could see the surprise on her face. My heart was going a million kilometres an hour. Jessica looked like she might jump out of her skin. I could tell that she was waiting for me to say something, but I went blank.

“Martial,” Mum said.

“Mum,” I replied, “this is Jessica.”

“And who is Jessica?” she asked.

“She’s… my fiancé, Mum,” I said as I took Jessica’s hand in mine. I could hear that my voice was a little tense, so I cleared my throat.

Jessica smiled warmly and stepped forward.

“Mrs. Wilson,” she said. “It’s so nice to meet you. I can imagine this must be a bit of a surprise.”

She was right. My mum looked surprised, but in a good way. She gave Jessica a once-over, as if she was trying to size her up for a second, but then she smiled.

“Are you…?” she began.

“Yes, Mum,” I cut in before I took a deep breath and said, “We are… we’re having a baby. A baby boy.”

For a second, there was silence as my mum processed the news. Then, her face lit up with a wide smile, and she rushed forward to hug both me and Jessica at the same time.

“You’re happy?” I asked.

“Happy? Martial, I’m elated,” she said.

She looked at Jessica and went on, “To be honest, I always worried he’d get seriously injured or worse before he got to settle down. These sports are so violent, don’t you think?”

“Mum,” I said. “She’s a fighter, too.”

“Oh!” my mum took a step back. “Well, then you get him better than most people.”

“I think so,” Jessica said as she turned and beamed up at me.

“Well, I need to get Mum to her very snazzy hotel,” I said.

I was relieved that the cat was out of the bag, but I didn’t want to push it for either of them. Mum had had a long flight, after all.

“Yes, it was lovely meeting you, Jessica. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, I think.”

I got Mum to her hotel and got back to the facility as quickly as I could. I found Jessica asleep by the time I got back and was thankful for it. My nerves had had enough for a day and I wanted to hit the hay.

Next up was Oli, my best mate. A few days after Mum, Oli flew in from Auckland.

Even though I was slammed with training, media obligations, and everything in between, there was no way I was leaving him back home. Oli wasn’t just a friend. He was family. He was the brother I’d never had. We’d been through everything together, from the rough days growing up in New Zealand to dreaming about moments like this when they still felt impossible.

It didn’t matter how much time had passed between seeing each other. Whenever we got back together, it was like we’d picked up exactly where we’d left off.

I picked him up from the airport, and the second he saw me, we fell right back into our usual step.

“Man, when was the last time I saw you with a proper haircut?” he teased and flashed that trademark grin of his.

I laughed and shook my head.

“What? You didn’t think I could clean up nice?” I shot back.

He smirked and looked me up and down.

“You look good, man. You look like money,” he said.

I chuckled and said, “I feel like it too. It’s crazy how much things have changed.”

On the drive back to his hotel, we talked like we always had. I told him about everything going on, how hectic things were and how life on Fight Island was unlike anything we’d ever imagined growing up.

“Listen,” I said as we neared his hotel. “I’m gonna be busy while you’re here. Training, media… it’s all piling up, man. But I want you to enjoy yourself. Whatever you want to do, it’s all on me. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

Oli looked at me and smiled.

“Bro, you don’t have to do all that,” he said.

“No, seriously,” I insisted. “It’s the least I can do. You’re my brother. You being here means a lot, even if I can’t hang as much as I want to. So, whatever you want, it’s on the house. I’ll make sure you’re sorted.”

He tipped his head as if he understood and I could see he appreciated the gesture.

“I get it, man. I’m just here to support you. But don’t worry, I’ll find a way to keep busy. Just promise me that after the fight, we’ll celebrate the right way.”

“You already know,” I dabbed him up.

We drove Oli over to the hotel. Mum had moved into the spare room in my apartment at the Team New Zealand facility the day before, so Oli had taken over her hotel suite.

The moment we stepped inside, he froze.

“No way…” he murmured.

I laughed.

The suite was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the ocean and polished marble ran throughout the living area. Every piece of furniture looked like it belonged in a billionaire’s penthouse. The bedroom was enormous and the bathroom was lined with black marble and gold fittings. Last but definitely not least, the balcony wrapped around the entire suite.

“This is actually better than my apartment,” I said and Oli laughed.

“That’s saying something, huh?” he remarked.

We stepped out onto the balcony together and Fight Island stretched out beneath us in every direction. The turquoise water shimmered under the afternoon sun while luxury yachts drifted through the marina. Holographic WAR billboards lit up the skyline.

Oli rested his arms on the railing before looking over at me with a smile.

“I still can’t believe it, bro.”

“What?” I asked.

“After all those years sitting in Auckland talking about WAR…” he said. “You actually made it.”

I smiled.

“Everyone back home’s talking about you. You’re all over the news. The whole city’s proud of you.”

Those words meant more than any headline ever could. Seeing myself through the eyes of people who had known me since before all of the glitz was something else. I placed a hand on his shoulder and took a minute to appreciate it.

“Your time will come, too,” I said.

“I think it already has,” he said and smiled to himself.

Before I could ask what he meant, he walked back inside and unzipped his suitcase. When he turned around, he was holding a pair of black UFC four-ounce gloves.

For a beat, I just stared.

“No way…”

He grinned and said, “I signed with the UFC two weeks ago.”

I looked at him in disbelief.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Four-fight contract,” he replied.

I pulled him into a hug and I couldn’t help but laugh as one of the gloves slipped from his hand onto the carpet.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“I wanted you to be the first to know. Well, other than my folks.”

I picked up the glove and turned it over in my hands. The UFC logo stared back at me. After the Fight Academy, everyone had followed a different path. Some were drafted into WAR and others signed with promotions around the world. I had hoped that something like this would happen for Oli and now he had earned his opportunity, too.

“So, when’s the debut?” I asked excitedly.

“They’re working on it. Hopefully in a few months,” he replied as I handed him the glove back.

“I’m proud of you,” I said. “You know that?”

“And I’m proud of you,” he replied with a smile.

I couldn’t believe it. Somehow, we’d both made it. I nodded towards the door and said, “I’m gonna head out. Enjoy the suite.”

“I definitely will.”

Leaving him there, I couldn’t help smiling. It felt good having my best mate on Fight Island at last. I would tell him about Jessica, too, but for now, I wanted him to bask in his own win and enjoy the island.

Plus, it was just a few days before fight week, and I was in the thick of it. I was on a media run that felt like it would never end. Interview after interview led to one photoshoot that ran into the next. I had sponsor deals rolling in left and right, which was great for the wallet, but pressed me for time. On top of that were the meet-and-greets with fans who seemed more excitable every time. It was loads of fun, of course, but exhausting, too. I could feel the pressure building back up with every new obligation, but it wasn’t just my big break. I could tell it was Florence’s, too.

Florence was glowing. Every time I saw her, she seemed even more energized and happier. She was thriving, and it made sense. I was the only fighter on her roster who had made it to an official fight team, and the deals and attention I was getting were lifting both of us up. I could see the pride in her eyes during each new media event we tackled. I was happy to be part of her rise.

After another long day of interviews and a sponsorship shoot that lasted longer than expected, I caught sight of Florence as we left the set. She was on her phone and I knew she was most likely confirming another deal or setting up more appearances. Her usual professional vibe was still there, but she looked almost giddy.

“Another successful day,” I said as I caught up to her and wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. “You’re in a good mood.”

She beamed that radiant smile she’d been wearing for weeks now.

“Martial, honey, this is the kind of momentum we dream about in this business. You’re on fire, and honestly, it’s taking us places that I didn’t imagine would happen so fast.”

I could feel it, too. This was everything I had worked for, everything we both had worked for. I had to admit that it felt good knowing we were making it.

“So, are you going to tell me what you’re pumped about?” I asked.

“Martial,” she started, “I got an offer for you to go on the James Maverick Show again.”

I stopped dead and looked at her like she had to be joking. My expression must have said it all because she immediately raised her hands in defense.

“I know, I know,” she said quickly and tried to smooth it over. “Last time wasn’t the best experience.”

“That’s putting it mildly. The last time I went on Maverick’s show, it was a mess. I mean ambush questions and uncomfortable topics.”

“Yes, but—” she tried to cut in.

“He left me feeling like I’d walked straight into a trap,” I carried on without stopping.

“This could be good,” she said.

I didn’t even bother hiding my annoyance at that point.

“Florence, are you serious? Good? Why would I go back there?”

She sighed and her cheerful face dropped slightly, but not completely.

“I know, and I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t think it was important. But Maverick reached out himself this time. He knows what happened and... well, he wants to apologize. Live.”

I paused. I was still unsure. The last thing I wanted was to be back in front of those cameras, especially on a show that had burned me before. I didn’t trust the guy. The apology was probably bait. But Florence seemed genuine. She looked like she really believed this could work. I paused. I was still unsure. The last thing I wanted was to be back in front of those cameras, especially on a show that had burned me before. I didn’t trust the guy. The apology was probably bait. But Florence seemed genuine. She looked like she really believed this could work.

“Look,” she said as she got closer and lowered her voice, “I wouldn’t push you into something that wasn’t going to help you. But this? It could flip the whole narrative. Instead of the guy who walked off, you’d be the one who handled it like a pro.”

I threw my hands over my head and rested them right there. I still felt the sting from the last interview but I could see the logic in what she was saying. Florence had been right about so many things lately, and she always seemed to know how to play these media moves. Maybe this could work out.

“Alright,” I said finally, although I wasn’t entirely convinced. I was willing to trust her judgment. “I’ll do it. But if it goes wrong again...”

“I’ve got your back, Martial. It won’t go wrong, I promise,” she cut me off.

“Okay.”

That was it. I had signed on for a few days of anxiety in the lead-up. Still, when I got back to my room, I pushed the door open and couldn’t help but smile.

Jessica and Mum were curled up together on my sofa underneath a blanket. They had bonded so quickly that my worries from before seemed so stupid. Jessica really was like the daughter that Mum never had. The pair of them were watching an old romantic comedy on the television. An empty bowl of popcorn sat between them while baby books, parenting magazines and a notebook full of scribbled names covered my coffee table.

It hadn’t been more than two weeks since Mum had arrived, but the two of them had become surprisingly close. Mum loved giving advice, but I appreciated how she never overstepped. She always asked if Jessica wanted to know something. She never pushed her ideals onto her. Mum had always been that way. She was just an open and understanding person who never wanted to fill anyone else with her own beliefs. It’s part of the reason why she’d always supported my journey even though she didn’t like the idea of it.

Between stories about raising me, tips for surviving sleepless nights and the back and forth over baby names, they’d spent hours talking while I trained. Seeing them like this made something inside me settle. They looked like family.

“There he is,” Mum smiled as she spotted me. “He’ll settle it.”

“Oh, boy,” I said as I placed my backpack down on the floor and placed my keys on the hook. “Settle what?”

“Hey,” Jessica looked over and beamed. “Your mum thinks Andy is a good name.”

“Ew,” I said. “Andy sounds like a cartoon name.”

“What?” Mum mock-protested. “It’s a lovely name.”

I walked over and kissed Jessica gently before I said, “It is not, Mum.”

“See?” Jessica laughed as she stood up to stand by my side. “It’s two to one.”

“I give up!” Mum laughed.

“Miss me already?” I teased Jessica as I looked down at her.

“You’ve been gone for hours,” she laughed. “Your mum is very persuasive. I don’t know if I could hold out much longer.”

I smiled before leaning down and kissing Mum on the forehead.

“Thanks for keeping her company.”

“Oh, please,” Mum laughed. “She’s the one keeping me company.”

Jessica sat back down and nudged her playfully.

“We’ve been planning your future.”

“...Should I… be worried?” I asked.

“You should be terrified,” Mum said. “A pregnant woman is not a woman you can negotiate with.”

“Hey!” Jessica said. “I’m not that bad.”

For a moment, everything felt normal. I dropped onto the sofa beside Jessica and wrapped an arm around her while she rested her head against my shoulder.

Then I remembered.

“Oh...” I sighed.

Jessica looked up immediately.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’ve got another appearance on The James Maverick Show this afternoon.”

Jessica and Mum looked at each other. Jessica looked back at me and neither of us needed to say what we were both thinking. The last interview had been an absolute disaster.

Jessica reached over and squeezed my hand gently.

“You should go,” she said.

“You think so?”

She nodded.

“You can’t let one bad interview scare you away forever.”

She smiled reassuringly and said, “Besides...” as she brushed an imaginary crease from my shirt. “You’re a different Martial now.”

I looked at her for a moment before agreeing.

“...Yeah,” I said because I knew that she was right.

I stood up and headed toward our room to get changed. I headed into the bathroom and turned the shower on and tried to remind myself that I really was a different Martial now. The thought of being infantilized by some old TV host was ticking me off.

The hot water washed away the sweat from training and eased the stiffness in my muscles. I stood there for a while longer than I probably needed to, and let my mind settle before another media appearance.

By the time I stepped back into my room, I felt refreshed. I opened the wardrobe WAR had stocked for me and picked out a charcoal tailored suit with a crisp white shirt. The jacket fit perfectly across my shoulders and the trousers sat neatly over a pair of polished Italian leather shoes.

Then came everything else.

I fastened my watch around my wrist first. The diamond-set bezel caught the afternoon light coming through the window. A platinum chain rested comfortably around my neck and I slid matching diamond bracelets onto both wrists. A simple white-gold ring completed everything.

I adjusted my cuffs one last time before walking back into the lounge. Jessica looked up first and her eyes widened.

“Wow,” she smirked at me.

Mum blinked as she looked me up and down slowly before smiling.

“My goodness...” she said as she walked over and straightened my lapel the way she used to when I wore my school uniform. “You look so handsome.”

Then she paused and noticed the jewellery.

“You know...” she said thoughtfully as she lifted one of the bracelets slightly. “I never imagined I’d see you wearing jewellery.”

I looked down at my wrist. Neither had I, to be fair. The thought made a small laugh escape me.

“Neither did I,” I admitted out loud.

Growing up in Auckland, I didn’t own a single chain. I didn’t even own a watch. In fact, I didn’t even think about bracelets. Now, they had somehow become part of my everyday wardrobe. I didn’t really set out to change or anything. It was just... Fight Island.

Everyone dressed like this. Champions, celebrities and even the executives always had fresh looks on. So, after only a few months, I’d adapted without really noticing. Looking at myself at that moment, I realised how different my life had become and not just from the outside. I was all new from the inside too.

Then my phone buzzed. It was Florence.

I'm outside.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and said, “That’s my ride. Love you both.”

Jessica walked over and straightened my tie before giving me one last kiss.

“Go show them who you really are,” she said.

“I will.”

I kissed her once more, hugged Mum goodbye, and headed downstairs. Outside the facility, a sleek black autonomous limousine waited at the entrance with Florence standing beside it. She had her tablet tucked beneath her arm like she always did and she smiled the moment she saw me.

“Ready?”

I looked back at the Team New Zealand facility one last time before gesturing for her to climb into the car ahead of me.

“As I’ll ever be,” I said as I climbed in behind her.

The doors closed silently behind us and the limo pulled away toward the studio of The James Maverick Show. It glided effortlessly through the streets while we sat in perfect silence. I didn’t know who was more nervous, me or her. Truth be told, though, it was just nerves in the body because I hadn’t really thought about what awaited us outside until the limousine pulled to a stop. When the door opened, I was hit with a wall of flashing lights. There were paparazzi everywhere.

The tinted windows had shielded me from the reality of the scene, but now there was no escaping it. I could feel all of those eyes on me while the cameras snapped away. For a sec, I thought about just rushing past them, but Florence’s advice echoed in my head: The media are not the enemy, but they’re not your friends either. The key is to make them work for you, just as they benefit off you.

So, instead of darting through the crowd, I took a different approach. I stayed and actually smiled for the cameras. I posed for pictures and even exchanged a few words with the reporters. I made sure to control the situation and let them have their moment while making it clear I wasn’t just another fighter trying to get in and out unnoticed.

After a few minutes, I slowly made my way inside. The advice worked because doing things that way instead of rushing in made me feel more in control and prepared for whatever the night had in store.

Back in the prep room, I was getting ready for the show. Florence had disappeared while I fielded questions outside, but she popped back up and slipped a smartwatch onto my wrist. Her expression was serious. Her usual playful energy had been replaced by the sharp focus of someone who knew the stakes.

“I don’t trust James Maverick either,” she said firmly as she adjusted the watch on my wrist. “If he tries to pull any tricks, I’ll guide you through it. Remember, you’re one of two fighters. You’re either the good guy or the bad guy. Sponsors and fans love the good guy. Especially the sponsors.”

I felt grateful for her constant support.

“Thanks, Florence,” I said.

She smiled and, unexpectedly, kissed me on the cheek.

“Thank you, too,” she said in a softer tone.

“What was that for?” I laughed.

“Oh, relax, lover boy. You’re not my type,” she chuckled. “Now, go get ‘em.”

The lights got turned down for a moment, and I could hear the studio audience chattering. They sounded more anxious than I felt at that point. From where I was standing, I could see James Maverick leaning forward in his signature chair. He had that smug smile. No doubt trying to be as charismatic as ever. He adjusted his suit jacket before turning to the camera with a sparkle in his eye.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a special guest tonight. He’s the man on everyone’s lips after that brutal knockout and his rise in the WAR scene. This guy is a fighter with a massive future ahead of him, and tonight we get the chance to hear his story.”

‘Oh, now it’s massive future,’ I scoffed to myself as he paused for dramatic effect before raising his hand and gesturing towards the entrance.

“Please welcome to the show, Team New Zealand’s own... Martial Wilson!”

The crowd went into full frenzied applause. It was louder than I expected. I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage. The lights were brighter than they seemed from last time, and the cheers hit me in a wave as I walked toward James. I gave a brief wave to the audience as James stood up to greet me.

He extended his hand with that ever-polite grin and said, “Martial, welcome back, my man! Have a seat!”

His voice was doing a good job sounding warm but I still felt like he had something up his sleeve. I shook his hand anyway and then sat in the chair beside him. The applause died down as the audience settled in. They were all chomping at the bit for what was next.

James leaned back in his chair with a knowing smile crossing his face as the audience quieted down. He looked at his notes and then looked straight at me.

His tone changed an octave as he said, “Now, Martial, before we dive deeper into everything going on with your career, I want to address something personal.”

The room went dead silent. I could feel the energy rippling as the air thickened around us.

“Last time you were on this show,” James continued in his clearly rehearsed sincerity, “I made some comments about your father. I’ve thought a lot about it since, and well, let’s just say I realize now that I might’ve crossed a line. So, from one man to another, I’m offering an apology, live on air, for everyone to hear.”

He paused and waited for what I’m assuming he thought was the words to sink in. It was an apology for all intents and purposes, but the man had this patronizing satisfaction on his mug.

“What do you say, Martial? Can you forgive me?”

The audience murmured softly in wait for my response. I took a deep breath and kept my expression neutral. My mind raced, but I knew I had to tread carefully. Florence’s advice echoed in my head.

Stay humble, stay focused.

I leaned forward myself and said, “James, I appreciate the apology. What’s done is done. I’m here to move forward and focus on the positive—on my career and what lies ahead.”

I had chosen those words carefully and I was chuffed with how quickly they’d come to me. The crowd responded with a respectful applause, and James nodded. His smile was still carved in place, though I got the feeling that he was waiting to see if I would say more. I knew that the best response was the one that left no room for further manipulation, which I had already given him, so I stayed mum.

James clapped his hands together. It would seem that the host was satisfied. I knew that this conversation wasn’t over yet. He was just getting brownie points with a crowd that had clearly started to favour me.

Then, James grinned widely. His eyes were lit up with mischief as he turned back to the audience.

“Well, I appreciate that, Martial,” he said smoothly. “And with that being said, let me introduce Martial’s potential opponent—Team South Africa’s very own Sizwe Nkosi!”

The crowd was swept up in cheers again. This time, the noise filled the entire studio. My heart pounded as I shot a glance toward Maverick, who kept his calm smile smattered across his face. Under the roar of applause, he leaned in and whispered under his breath, “Just go with it, kid,” before pulling back, that same smug grin still in place.

The lights brightened as Sizwe Nkosi made his way over to us. He was tall and imposing and his eyes were locked on me the entire time. Neither of us broke that eye contact, even as he sat down in the chair opposite me. The feeling in the air was electric.

As Sizwe settled in, the cheers died down and left a mad heavy silence between us. My smartwatch buzzed and the subtle vibration cut through the noise in my head. I looked down discreetly and saw a message from Florence: “DO NOT ENGAGE IN TRASH TALK!”

I swallowed hard but kept my face neutral as I turned my attention back to Sizwe. His presence was intense and the way he was staring me down made it clear he wanted to get inside my head. But I wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction.

James was eating this up. He leaned forward with a gleam in his eye and I could tell that he was ready to stir the pot.

“Well, now that we’ve got both of you here,” he said smoothly, “let’s talk about this potential match-up. What do you guys think? The fans are already buzzing about it.”

The crowd waited for a reaction, but I stayed composed. I wasn’t going to try to prove myself here. I owed this limp-wristed tabloid tycoon nothing. If I was going to prove myself anywhere, that would happen on the canvas.

Sizwe Nkosi leaned back in his chair with his gaze still locked on me as he casually crossed his arms.

“Well, it’s a shame I have to go home after this,” he began arrogantly. “But it would be a bigger shame if I left without a knockout.”

The crowd immediately responded with a chorus of “ooooo.” The game was on. He was baiting me, but I genuinely couldn’t have cared any less. What irritated me was letting myself come here to get sucked into some cheap straight-to-TV melodrama. James didn’t see us as two separate people. He didn’t care which one of us would play the villain and which would play the hero. To him, we were just two sides of the same fodder coin. Sizwe was trying to make a statement and trying to get in my head right there and then.

Maverick grinned even wider, which was saying something because I could practically see all the way back into his mouth at that point. I could tell he loved the energy in the room. He turned to the audience with his hands animated as he egged it on even further.

“Oh, a knockout, huh? You hear that, folks? Seems like Sizwe’s ready to put on a show!” Maverick’s eyes glinted with amusement. He was fully aware of what he was stirring.

I felt another buzz on my wrist. It was Florence again. “STAY CALM”

“Well,” I said loudly and firmly as I met Sizwe’s stare without flinching, “we’ll just have to wait and see on fight week, won’t we? We’re all here for the same purpose. We all train. Sizwe can tell you himself how much discipline it takes to hit that canvas with the right energy. Nothing more to it.”

The crowd responded with more murmurs. They were clearly hoping for more sparks, but I wasn’t about to give them what they wanted. At least not right at that moment.

Maverick looked beyond disappointed and that gave me a second wind. People like him are energy vampires. They need to get a reaction out of you to stay on air. It’s a good bit, I’ll admit, but I wasn’t going to give either one of them the satisfaction.

He raised an eyebrow and turned to the audience with a smile.

“Oh, I like that. The calm before the storm, folks.”

Sizwe was still smirking and nodded as if to acknowledge the game we were playing. The tension was still there, but I was set on keeping things steady. There was no need to engage in trash talk now. Fight week would bring all the answers.

James had a few more questions and I humoured a couple. It was like watching the worst game of tennis because I gave him roadblocks with each one. He eventually got frustrated and wrapped up. He wouldn’t say it or show it, so instead, he just said, “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, before we close out tonight’s show, let’s have both fighters step forward for a face-off!”

The crowd got to their feet. I got up from my seat and stepped forward with Sizwe Nkosi doing the same. We met in the centre of the stage. Our faces were just inches apart. The atmosphere in the room flipped instantly. Even though no words were spoken at first, everyone could feel it. Security was already on edge. They were hovering nearby and ready to step in if needed.

Sizwe kept his piercing gaze locked on me. He leaned in just slightly with his voice low but clear enough for me to hear.

“I ain’t Ortega,” he said in a tone that was dripping with arrogance.

I didn’t flinch.

“You aren’t,” I replied and matched his energy, “but you’ll go down like him.”

The crowd gasped, but Sizwe and I didn’t break eye contact. His smirk soon faded into something more serious and we stayed locked in that moment for a beat longer before the security team stepped in between us to gently push us apart.

James Maverick smiled. I had thrown him enough of a closing ‘bone’ for him to feel like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. He ended the show with his usual charisma.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know about you, but fight week is going to be explosive! Thank you for tuning in. This is James Maverick, signing off!”

As the lights dimmed and the audience cheered, I turned and headed toward the back. The moment I stepped off the stage, Florence was waiting for me and I could see the fury written all over her face. She was pacing with her fists clenched, and as soon as she spotted the staff, she unleashed.

“You liars! Maniacs! This is ridiculous!” Florence screamed at them as her face flushed with anger. “We trusted you, and you pull this stunt? We will NEVER do this stupid show again!”

She was livid and I knew why. They had promised a controlled environment, but instead, they’d orchestrated a confrontation. She wasn’t just mad. They’d crossed a professional line, and Florence wasn’t one to let that go.

I walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder as I tried to calm her down.

“It’s alright. It was nothing.” I said as I kept my voice low and steady.

But she wasn’t having it.

“No, Martial, it’s not alright!” she snapped in a voice that was still raised. “They set you up, and I won’t let them get away with this! I made you a promise!”

I could see the fire in her eyes. Part of me appreciated how fiercely she was protecting my image, but the other part knew that in this business, things like this were inevitable. Still, I wasn’t going to argue with her right then. She was right to be angry. I just needed to make sure we moved forward without letting it derail our momentum. As we left the studio, Florence was still fuming, but I knew we’d manage.

After all, fight week was just around the corner, and that was where the real battle would happen.