WAR
The Journey of Martial

Dark

The sun hung high in the sky and cast a warm glow over the bustling streets of Auckland. Today was a momentous day. It was my graduation day from the New Zealand Fight Academy — the most prestigious school in the country. As I stood in the crowd, fully clad in my graduation robes, I couldn’t help but feel proud. There was a sense of accomplishment that was hard to describe.

Mum was right beside me. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she watched me prepare to take the next step in life and I had to lower my gaze just to stop my own tears from falling. For someone who had a quiet disdain for the sport, there wasn’t a shred of disapproval on her face. In fact, despite her reservations, it was her support that had been my rock throughout the years. Today, her presence was a comforting reminder of how far I had come.

I looked around at the faces around me — friends and classmates, even a few wannabe foes. But none of that mattered as I made my way to the grand auditorium of the academy. The air was supercharged with excitement and anticipation as we filed in behind one another, our feet shuffling and echoing off the walls that were adorned with banners and accolades that celebrated the achievements of past graduates.

As the ceremony got started, I listened to the speeches. I had been in that hall before but never had I ever hung onto every word like I was. Every speaker reflected on the years of hard work and dedication that had brought us all to this moment. Each word was a notch on the roster of the sacrifices I had made and the obstacles I had overcome to reach this point.

Finally, I heard it.

“Next up, Martial Wilson,” Coach Duchese called my name.

I stepped onto the stage to receive my diploma and the cheers of my classmates filled the auditorium. It was like a symphony of celebration for my accomplishments — our accomplishments. My chest was filled with emotion. It wasn’t just pride though. There was relief and even a hint of sadness that this chapter of my life was over. I accepted my diploma and held onto it like the tangible symbol of my dedication that it was. This is what perseverance got you.

As I walked off the stage, I was swallowed up by the crowd — engulfed in hugs and congratulations from those closest to me. Feeling that level of admiration — man — it was like nothing else I had experienced. Here we all were with this shared achievement among us. It was incredible.

In the crowd, my mother stood and stared at me as her eyes finally gave way to the tears of joy she had been holding back. She embraced me, and in that moment, I felt an unbelievable sense of gratitude for her encouragement. She had been my source of strength throughout this journey, and I knew that I wouldn't be standing there without her.

As we made our way out of the auditorium, I couldn't shake the feeling of excitement and anticipation for the future. Graduating from the New Zealand Fight Academy was just the beginning of the road for me and for the first time since joining the academy, I actually got to have one primary focus outside of levelling up: seeing where life would take me next.

“I am so proud of you, Martial,” Mum whispered.

Her voice was choked with emotion as she wrapped me up in her arms.

“And I know your father would be proud too,” she went on.

Her words stirred something in me — pride, gratitude, and a tinge of sadness. My dad was once a formidable fighter himself and had spent years watching the game with me — encouraging me and taking me to training whenever he could. That was all before the academy. Then the sickness came. It was hard to believe that he had left this world just four years prior. As I stood there, memories of our last conversation flooded back.

I could see him laying on his hospital bed in that dimly lit room. He had been so weakened by his illness but he was still determined to leave me with a few final words of wisdom.

“Martial,” he said with a voice that was frail yet earnest, “I regret not spending more time with you outside of training. I wish I had taught you more about being a better man, not just a better fighter.”

I could see the sorrow in his eyes — the regret that weighed heavily on him. But I couldn’t bring myself to agree with his regrets.

To me, my father had always been the best father I could ask for. He had instilled a sense of discipline in me. More than that. His determination and support had shaped me into the person I was today.

“Dad,” I replied and instantly heard my voice break. I tried to keep it steady despite the lump in my throat, “the time we spent training together was the best time of my life. You taught me everything I needed to know about being strong, both in training and in life.”

And then he was gone.

My dad’s passing on the 7th of April, 2030, left a void in my heart, but it also reinforced my determination to honour his memory and fulfil the dreams we had shared. As I stood beside my mum, surrounded by the echoes of cheers and applause, I knew that my dad’s spirit lived on in me. Every single piece of advice and loving guidance would lead me forward on this journey called life.

"Wow, this was amazing,” Oli exclaimed. I didn’t think it was possible, but his eyes were shining with even more excitement than Mum’s as he turned to me. “Hey, are you excited about the drafts this weekend?”

If I was meant to get butterflies, I think I got a swarm of hornets instead as my nerves picked up as soon as I heard the question. The drafts were the pivotal moment where our futures as fighters would be decided and it was coming up fast. I was awash with everything from excitement to sheer anxiety.

“Excited? Yes. Nervous, definitely,” I admitted as I tried to mask the apprehension in my voice.

Oli’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Nervous? Come on, Martial, you’re touted as the best Super Welterweight in our senior year! You’ve won the regional MMA championship six times in a row—that’s unheard of!”

I offered him a wry smile. To be honest, I was just grateful for his vote of confidence.

“Thanks, Oli. But you know how it is—the drafts are unpredictable, and anything can happen.”

Oli nodded in understanding and I could tell that there was a thought brewing behind his eyes.

“Yeah, I get it. But hey, you’ve got this, man. You’ve worked harder than anyone I know, and you deserve to make it.”

I appreciated Oli's words of encouragement, but the reality of the drafts still weighed heavily on my mind.

“What about you, Oli? Are you nervous about the drafts?” I asked.

Oli chuckled and shook his head.

“Not really. I mean, we all know Phoenix Maia is a shoo-in for the 150 spot. That guy’s a beast—he dominates everyone in training and crushes it at the regionals.”

I couldn't argue with that. Phoenix Maia was a force to be reckoned with and his reputation preceded him.

“Well, here’s hoping we both make it onto the team,” I said as I tried to inject a note of optimism into the conversation.

As my mum called out to me from across the room, I knew it was time to leave. Oli and I exchanged a final glance before I walked away. We had been friends since we were scouted into the New Zealand Fight Academy at the age of 13, bonded by our shared dreams of becoming teammates in WAR.

“What, no hug?” Oli called out after me, sounding both surprised and hurt.

I stopped, turning back to face him with a smirk. “I’m only joking. Get over here.”

Oli grinned, and we shared a long, brotherly hug, a bond forged from years of shared dreams and challenges.

“No matter what the future has in store for us, you keep in touch ok?” Oli said.

I really was grateful to have Oli by my side throughout all of this.

“You know it, brother,” I replied as I broke away from our embrace. “We always stick together. We’re a team—forever.”

A wave of bittersweet emotion settled over me. I still couldn’t believe my time at the New Zealand Fight Academy had come to an end.

As we drove back home, the familiar hum of the engine filled the car. The soft glow of the dashboard lights was soothing as Mum and I settled into a comfortable silence.

I looked at the screen that was embedded in the car’s console, where NZFIGHTNEWS was broadcasting the latest updates in the world of MMA. The breaking news banner caught my attention, and I leaned forward as I was eager to see what was happening. Before Dad’s passing, Mum would have likely complained about the constant NZFIGHTNEWS feed, but she had really stepped up for me and my hopeful career.

“The breaking news tonight,” the news anchor announced, “Team New Zealand has announced its new head coach for WAR 34, set to take place in three months.”

My heart skipped a beat as the image on the screen changed to reveal the new head coach — former Team New Zealand Captain, Carter Flynn. I couldn't believe it. Carter Flynn! The man was a legend in the world of MMA and he was going to be leading our national team into the next WAR tournament.

“Wow,” I murmured as my eyes widened in surprise. “Carter Flynn as the head coach. That’s incredible.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Mum’s lips.

“I recognize him,” she said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “He was always your favourite fighter growing up, wasn’t he?”

I nodded as memories flooded back of watching Carter Flynn’s epic battles in the WAR arena. I remembered sitting and watching him with Dad — especially his last stint in the arena.

“Yeah, he was. It’s surreal to think that he’ll be coaching the next generation of fighters… hopefully including me.”

As we continued on our way home, I couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement and anticipation that swirled within me. With Carter Flynn at the helm, the future of New Zealand’s WAR team looked brighter than ever.

By the time I stepped into my room later that afternoon, the familiar sight of trophies and medals adorning the shelves made me smile. They were reminders of the countless hours spent training and competing. The posters on the walls that featured my favourite fighters and iconic moments from past tournaments remained unchanged. They were the material embodiments of the dreams and aspirations that fuelled my passion for MMA.

With a sigh, I collapsed onto my bed as the exhaustion that had been seeping into my limbs finally took over. It was almost as if the entire semester’s aches and pains were catching up with me now that my body knew school was over. But tomorrow was the day of the drafts. It was the moment I had been both eagerly anticipating and dreading. It was a day that would determine the course of my future in the world of MMA — where dreams would either be realized or shattered. I took a moment to reflect on the journey that had brought me here. Graduating from the New Zealand Fight Academy was no small feat. It was a testament to years of hard work, dedication, and sacrifice. Regardless of the outcome of the drafts, I would be content with the fact that I had laid a solid foundation for myself both in my education and in life.

As I lay there, my mind buzzed with thoughts of what the next day would bring. Would my name be called, earning me a coveted spot on Team New Zealand? Or would I watch from the sidelines as my classmates celebrated their victories?

When sleep finally came that night, I was ready for it. No amount of anxiety could keep the exhaustion from taking hold. And the next day arrived all too quickly. Before I knew it, Mum and I were seated in front of the television and anxiously awaiting the start of the drafts. It had been a hot minute since I had felt that much tension in our living room and every passing moment was filled with nervous energy.

Finally, the anchor on NZFIGHTSNEWS appeared on the screen. His voice was steady as he announced the beginning of the drafts and my heart hammered in my chest as she explained the process. The selection would include seven fighters out of the two hundred and ten graduates from the New Zealand Fight Academy. Each one would receive a one-tournament contract.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for! It’s time to announce the draft picks for Team New Zealand in the upcoming WAR 34 tournament. We start with the heavyweight division!” Clint said excitedly.

I glanced at my mother, who was sitting on the edge of her seat… literally. Her eyes reflected the same mixture of hope and apprehension that I felt. We held our breath as the anchor began to announce the names, one by one. Each fighter’s fate hung in the balance. And then, it happened. The moment of truth had arrived. The anchor called out the names of the seven fighters selected to represent Team New Zealand. Their faces appeared on the screen in rapid succession.

Laura stood poised to announce the Heavyweight pick:

“And now, for the heavyweight pick—let’s see who will be representing Team New Zealand.”

The anticipation in the air was thick as the broadcast from NZFIGHTSNEWS echoed through the room. Each weight class was called out in order. My heart raced with every name announced, knowing that my fate would soon be decided. The anchor’s voice boomed through the broadcast as he prepared to unveil the Super Middleweight pick:

“Now, it’s time for the Super Middleweight pick, a weight class known for its explosive action and athleticism. Let’s meet the newest addition to Team New Zealand!”

As the draft progressed, my nerves only intensified. The anchor on NZFIGHTSNEWS moved through the weight classes methodically, building the tension with each announcement. I tried to stay calm and remind myself of the countless hours of training and preparation I had put in. Finally, it was time for the Super Welterweight pick — my weight class. My heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest as the anchor prepared to announce the selections. I held my breath and kept my eyes fixed on the screen. You could have heard a pin drop as I waited for my moment.

“Next up is the Super Welterweight pick—a tough weight class. Let’s see who will be representing Team New Zealand at WAR 34!”

“Martial Wilson,” Clint said.

I could hear Mum shouting beside me — could see her jumping up and down in my peripherals. But the room had gone silent. I was staring at my own face on the TV and that young man felt unrecognizable to me. In that instant, a wave of disbelief washed over me. But before I could fully process what was happening, Mum had stopped jumping and grabbed me by the hand to pull me to my feet. The sound all rushed back in as I stood jumping for joy along with her.

“YES! YES! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!” I exclaimed.

“WE DID IT, MARTIAL! I’m so proud of you!” Mum shouted. Tears of happiness streamed down her face.

“You’ve worked so hard for this moment, Martial. I knew you could do it.”

Not even seeing my face on TV could eclipse the feeling of accomplishment that those words gave me. I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with appreciation.

“Thank you, Mum,” I said. “Thank you for always believing in me.”

We basked in the incredible moment and I knew that this was just the beginning of an exciting new road ahead. It was nerve-racking but I was ready to take on whatever challenges awaited me.

“Now, let's move on to the Super lightweight pick—a weight class known for its speed and technical prowess,” Clint went on in the background. “These fighters have honed their skills for this very moment. Let's find out who will be joining Team New Zealand.”

As the realization sank in further, a surge of emotions swept through me. My name had been called. I was going to be a part of Team New Zealand. I was beside myself and the feelings running through me ebbed like ocean waves. If anything, I think there was also a wave of relief washing over us both.

“It’s time for the Super Featherweight pick. This is a weight class that is defined by speed and agility. These fighters are set to make a statement on the global stage. Let's meet the newest member of Team New Zealand for WAR 34!”

My heart sank as Phoenix Maia was announced for the Super Featherweight spot. Disappointment washed over me, knowing that my best friend Oli Smith had missed out. I had hoped to share this journey with Oli, but now, that dream seemed shattered.

“Oh no, Oli, no!” I muttered under my breath as my thoughts turned to my best friend.

He had been by my side since the beginning — sharing the same dreams and aspirations as me. Knowing that he hadn’t been picked alongside me filled me with a sense of sadness.

“That was his weight class, wasn’t it?” Mum tried to confirm.

The anchor revealed the Women’s Super Bantamweight pick:

“And now, the Women’s Super Bantamweight pick. Let’s welcome the newest addition to Team New Zealand.”

“Last but certainly not least, the Women's Super Flyweight pick — a weight class known for its grit and resilience. These fighters are ready to show the world what they’re made of. Let’s meet the final pick for Team New Zealand at WAR 34!”

As the final picks were announced, the anchor on NZFIGHTSNEWS began to wrap up the broadcast.

“Well, folks, what an incredible draft day it has been! We’ve witnessed dreams realized and hopes tested. The next generation of fighters is ready to take on the world. From all of us here at NZFIGHTSNEWS, we wish the selected fighters the best of luck as they step onto the WAR canvas for WAR 34. And to those who didn’t make it this time, remember, this is just the beginning of your journey. Keep training, keep fighting, and who knows? Maybe we’ll see you in the famous 4-ounce gloves under the bright lights of the Octagon or in other traditional MMA promotions around the world. Thank you for joining us, and good night!”

As the anchor wrapped up the broadcast, I turned to Mum with a grin.

“Well, Mum, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” I said with a twinkle of excitement in my eyes.

She smiled back at me and her pride clearly shone through.

“That we do, son. But I have no doubt that you’ll make New Zealand proud.”

As the excitement of the drafts began to subside, Mum and I settled back into our seats. We were still buzzing with adrenaline and joy. The room was filled with an electric atmosphere. With that, we turned off the TV.

The rest of the day passed in a strange blur. The initial thrill of making it to Team New Zealand was still there. But the more I tried not to think of Oli, the more I did. He’d worked so hard, just like me. I spent most of the day wandering around the house aimlessly. I drifted through the kitchen, where Mum was busy preparing lunch, but even the smell of her cooking couldn’t distract me. My feet carried me to my bedroom, where the posters and trophies felt like they were staring at me. The sun eventually got low enough in the sky for me to head out back without being baked like a jacket potato. I found myself sitting out there where Dad and I used to barbecue. The grill was still there, though it hadn’t been fired up in ages. I sat on the edge of the porch, looking out at the empty space.

My mind was in a million places and none at all — all at the same time. How was I supposed to celebrate without Oli? Should I call him? Would he even want to talk?

The worst part was, I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? “Sorry you didn’t make it”? That felt wrong. “Maybe next time”? That felt even worse. And he hadn’t called me to congratulate me, so I found myself wondering whether he was kind of angry at me for making it in.

I sighed and my eyes drifted to the setting sun. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, but I barely noticed. I was too lost in thought.

“What would Dad have said?” I thought out loud.

He would’ve known the right thing to do — something reassuring and solid. I wish I could’ve asked him. But Dad wasn’t here, and I’d have to figure this out on my own. Maybe Oli needed space. Or maybe he needed to hear that this wasn’t the end — that there were more chances, more tournaments, and more ways to make it.

Night fell and Mum bid me goodnight. I listened as her footsteps faded on the way to her room. I hung around in the living room for a moment and the glow of the TV lit up the space in an oddly comforting glow. Just as I was about to head to my own room, my phone buzzed. It was Oli. I hesitated, considering whether to take the call or not. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to hear from him. I just didn’t know what to say and it was super late already. Eventually, curiosity got the better of me, and I made my way to my room to answer.

I answered the call and was immediately greeted by Oli’s enthusiastic voice. He sounded a bit tipsy and I thought that he was probably celebrating at the draft party.

“Hey, Martial! Congrats on snagging that 175 spot, man! You’re a superstar!” he exclaimed. Then I heard it. His words were slightly slurred.

“Thanks, Oli,” I replied with a tired smile on my face.

“Listen, you have to come to the draft party. Everyone’s here, man! Even Jessica,” he added as his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

For a second, I felt stupid for thinking my best mate would ever feel otherwise about my success. I chuckled.

“Jessica?” I said and I could literally feel my pulse quicken at the mention of her name.

Jessica was the one girl I had liked for years, but I had never found the courage to tell her how I felt. Now, with me being drafted, I thought things might be different. Maybe I could shoot my shot.

“Yeah, and guess what? I told her you have a crush on her!” Oli laughed and was clearly amused with himself.

My idea was instantly shot down.

“You did what?” My heart sank. “Oli, you shouldn’t have said that.”

“Come on, man. It’s not a big deal. She’s waiting for you, everyone’s waiting for you. This is your night!” Oli shot back.

I sighed. I had been doing emotional gymnastics the entire day and had no desire to be anywhere but home.

“I appreciate it, Oli, but I’m really tired. I had a long day.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Alright, man. I get it. You need your rest. But just so you know, everyone’s proud of you. Get some rest and I’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks, Oli. Goodnight,” I said, but I felt a mix of relief and regret as I hung up.

After the call, my thoughts drifted back to Dad and the lessons he had taught me. I could almost hear his voice reminding me that there would always be time for parties and celebrations, but hard work and dedication were what truly mattered. I made like Mum and retreated to my room, but the excitement of the day still played on in my mind. As I lay in bed, thoughts of the draft and the upcoming tournament raced through my head. Despite the fatigue that was coursing through my body, my mind buzzed with anticipation and nervous energy. I couldn’t help but replay the moment my name was called.

The soft light from my bedside lamp mingled with the familiar surroundings of my childhood haven. It was my little piece of solace in the world. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I tried to calm the fluttering butterflies in my stomach. Tomorrow would bring new challenges and opportunities, and I needed to be well-rested and prepared. With a final sigh, I let sleep gradually claim me in the same thieving manner it had come for me the night before. But this time, I drifted into a peaceful slumber filled with dreams of triumph and glory.

“MARTIAL! Get up, come down now!” My mum’s urgent tone sliced through the haze of sleep and jolted me awake. I woke up to the sound of Mum’s panicked voice. I could tell that her tone was filled with alarm. Confusion clouded my mind as I struggled to grasp the situation. My phone was lying on my bedside table, and I quickly realized that it had been buzzing incessantly. Each notification added to the cacophony of noise going on around me.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I glanced at the screen and was stunned to see over a hundred notifications and a string of missed calls, most of which were from Oli. Something was definitely wrong.

I stumbled out of bed and my heart raced with confusion.

“What’s happening, Mum?” I called out and I could hear that my voice was still thick with sleep.

She didn’t answer immediately. Her footsteps hurried as she moved downstairs.

“Just come down, Martial! Quickly!”

Her urgency mounted and sent a shiver down my spine.

I rushed downstairs and found Mum already at the door. Her face was a mask of bewilderment as she peered through the curtains. Outside, a swarm of media vans and journalists had descended upon our quiet neighbourhood. Their cameras flashed and voices clamoured for attention.

“What’s going on?” I repeated.

My mind was racing with a thousand possibilities.

But before my mother could respond, the sound of loud voices and banging at the door echoed through the house. It just intensified the chaos.

Mum’s voice rose above the clamour — sharp with disbelief and concern.

“Who are you people?” she demanded with a tone that was tinged with unease. The response came in a chorus of voices, each one shouting for attention.

“We’re from New Zealand Herald!”

“TVNZ News here!”

“Auckland Daily, can we get a statement?”

I felt a wave of panic rising within me as I realized the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t just a random gathering of reporters — it was a full-blown media frenzy. In all the chaos, my phone continued to buzz relentlessly. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I answered the persistent call from Oli. His voice crackled with excitement over the line.

“Martial, mate, you won't believe this! Check your SocialX account!”

I opened the app up and my heart pounded so hard that I was sure Mum would hear it. As the page loaded, I was greeted by an explosion of notifications and a skyrocketing follower count. My eyes widened in disbelief as I realized the magnitude of what had happened overnight.

“Wow, this is insane,” I muttered to myself as I struggled to process the sudden influx of attention. But there was no time to dwell on it. The commotion outside grew louder as the voices of reporters mingled with the incessant buzzing of my phone in my ear.

“Martial, are you okay?” Oli’s voice cut through the chaos with concern.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I replied.

My mind was still reeling from the whirlwind of events. As the confusion reached a crescendo, Mum’s voice cut through the commotion like a knife.

“I’m calling the police!” she shouted.

Her words echoed with authority as she moved to confront the horde of reporters outside.

Meanwhile, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from an unknown number. I answered, but I was entirely unsure of what to expect on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” I greeted cautiously.

The voice on the other end was firm and authoritative.

“Martial Wilson?” they inquired.

“Yes, that’s me,” I confirmed.

“I’m calling from Team New Zealand’s security team,” the voice continued. “We need you to pack your belongings immediately. You’re being called up to Fight Island.”

The words hit me like a thunderbolt.

‘Fight Island? Now?’

Before I could gather my thoughts, the security team instructed me to open the door. Two imposing figures clad in suits entered the house. Their presence commanded attention as they delivered their message with precision.

“You have 30 minutes to get ready,” they informed me. Their tone brooked no argument. “The flight leaves soon.”

But Mum was indignant as she confronted the security team.

“Who do you think you are, barging into our home like this? I demand to see some identification!”

The security team was unflinching in the face of her fury.

“Ma’am, the area is swarmed with journalists and fans from all over the world,” one of them explained calmly. “Your son is a member of Team New Zealand, and his safety is our priority. He needs to leave immediately.”

The security team swiftly produced their identification to reassure my mother of their legitimacy. As she scrutinized their credentials, they also played a recorded message from none other than Head Coach Carter Flynn himself. In the message, Coach Flynn requested all fighters from the draft to be relocated to the Team New Zealand training facility on Fight Island. He cited the overwhelming attention and potential security risks that the fighters might face in the wake of their selection.

The gravity of the situation began to sink in as my mother listened to Coach Flynn’s words. With a heavy sigh, she turned to me again.

“You better get going, son,” she said.

I could hear that her voice was tinged with concern, but she and I both knew that this was safer for all of us — especially her. Still, as the reality of the situation sunk in, I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Fight Island awaited and I had to be ready. I got to packing my belongings as fast as I could but my mind was moving even faster. It was filled to the brim with questions and anticipation for the journey ahead.

The atmosphere was drenched in a bittersweet feeling as I made my way around my room. Then my eyes fell upon a cherished photograph of my father and me training together. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for his guidance and support in this moment. No doubt, he would be revelling in all of the attention, shouting ‘That’s my boy!’

I clutched the photo tightly and carefully stowed it away in my bag alongside the rest of my essentials.

I walked down the stairs and saw Mum waiting for me. Her eyes were full of concern, but I could still see the love there.

“Be safe, my son,” she said as she kissed me on the forehead.

The Security Team Leader was already giving orders and telling the team to clear a path. Reporters were everywhere, trying to get to me. Mum wasn’t having it. She stepped in and told them to back off and give me space. The security team nodded at me, and I tried to calm myself. I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves. Before I stepped outside, Mum gave me one last piece of advice:

“Call me as soon as you can. And don’t forget to eat!”

“I’ll be okay, Mum. I love you,” I said.

With a final word to the security team, she said, “Take care of him!”

The path was clear and the security team moved fast as they guided me to the waiting van. They shielded me from the reporters, who kept pushing for attention. They threw a blanket over me and blocked out the camera flashes and questions. As we got ready to leave, I braced myself for what was ahead.

One of the security team members spoke to me.

“Your mother will be moved to a safe place until things calm down,” he said. I felt foolish to have thought they’d allow her to stay at the house by herself with everything that was going on. It helped ease my mind, knowing she would be okay in all this fanatical energy.

As the van sped toward the airport, the Security Team Leader gave me an update.

“We’re on our way to the airport now,” he said over the noise of the engine. “By tomorrow, we’ll have you settled at the Team New Zealand Training Facility on Fight Island.”

I nodded and took it all in while I looked out the window at the passing scenery.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

Another member of the security team congratulated me.

“You did it, kid. You made the drafts,” he said with pride in his voice.

“Now it’s time to show the world what you’re made of,” another added in agreement.

I nodded and for the first time since my name flashed across the screen in our living room, my nerves melted into a pool of determination.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” I said as I mentally prepared myself for the challenges ahead.

This was the next chapter in the book of my life.