Dark

“Wow, a private jet,” I muttered in disbelief as we approached the private entrance on the far side of the airport.

The airstrip was quiet — clearly reserved for the ‘who’s who’ that had their aircraft tucked away in hangars there.

The Team New Zealand security crew let me know that the aircraft was ready for departure just as soon as the car came to a stop and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. Well, that and disbelief. This was a first for me. The leather seats felt buttery smooth under my fingertips and the faint scent of citrus cleaner mixed with something musky hung in the air. The polished wood glinted under the warm light and created faint reflections of the flight attendant as she moved down the aisle.

To be honest, the luxury of it all was overwhelming.

“Martial Wilson, please follow us,” they said as they guided me toward the gleaming aircraft. The jet looked majestic on the tarmac. Its sleek lines and polished exterior reflected the early morning sun and the heat in the air made it all the more exciting.

It was like that warmth that hits you square between the eyes when you hop off a plane at your holiday destination after months of anticipation. Only, for me, I was getting on not hopping off. As I climbed the steps, I got this weird sense of stepping into a new world. Good weird.

I looked around for a second and then stepped onto the jet. When I did, I was immediately swallowed up by a world of luxury beyond my wildest dreams. The interior was so sophisticated — plush leather seats, polished wood accents, and ambient lighting. If there’s one thing about good lighting it’s that it has the power to set a calming but extravagant mood. I ran my hand over the soft leather of the seat and just marvelled at the comfort it provided.

A flight attendant in a perfectly tailored uniform greeted me with a warm smile.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Wilson. May I take your bag?” she asked, but it wasn’t really a question because before I could answer, my bag had already been swept off my shoulder.

“Is there anything I can offer you to drink or eat?” she went on with impeccable hospitality.

“Just a glass of water, thank you,” I replied. I figured going for simplicity amidst the grandeur would make me seem less out of place. And man, did I feel out of place!

I settled into my seat and took a moment to absorb the surreal experience. The jet engines roared to life and I clutched the armrests.

“Excited?” one of the security crew asked.

“As excited as I was yesterday and this morning,” I responded with an anxious grin.

We made it to the end of the runway and soared into the sky. We were bound for Fight Island. I looked out of the window to my left and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being part of something extraordinary as I watched everything that I had known throughout my entire life shrink into the distance below.

Glancing at one of the screens onboard, I noticed that there was a breaking news update from Fight Island News. The announcement shook me to my core.

“Breaking news from Fight Island: Head Coach of Team USA announces the new captain, marking the first time a draft pick has been named Captain immediately,” the anchor said.

The scene transitioned to a bustling press conference room. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation. Cameras flashed and reporters jostled for position as Bobby Max, the head coach of Team USA, took the stage. I watched as Bobby Max commanded the room with his presence. Journalists from various media outlets eagerly awaited their chance to pose questions. They had their microphones poised and cameras at the ready.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Bobby Max began. His voice was steady and authoritative, but like in an arrogant way. He just had a way of staking his claim on the stage if you know what I mean.

“I appreciate you all joining us today as we prepare for the upcoming WAR 34 tournament. Before we begin, I’m excited to announce that 2 THE MAX, the premier sports drink brand, is now one of the official sponsors of Team USA. 2 the Max! The best sports drink in the game! Refuel today and take it 2 the MAX!” he said emphatically.

If you ask me, it was a bit of a cheesy money-grab and a buzz kill, but I guess things like that paid for private jets like this.

The journalists leaned forward. They were practically chomping at the bit as they waited for Bobby Max’s announcement regarding the captaincy of Team USA.

“Now,” he said, pausing for effect as he scanned the crowd, “for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. It is my honour to introduce the new captain of Team USA for WAR 34.” His voice softened, and a surprising glint of emotion crept into his expression. He took a deep breath and placed a hand on the podium as if grounding himself.

“This man will make the United States of America proud and this man will bring glory back to the great flag of our homeland: the red, the white, the blue,” he said, his voice faltering just enough to betray a hint of emotion.

The room went silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Then, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, a subtle but deliberate move that seemed to catch the cameras perfectly.

“Please welcome... "2 The Max" Bobby Max Jr.” he finished, his voice booming with pride.

The response seemed to satisfy some in the audience, while others remained unconvinced. Their scepticism was plastered all over their faces.

Bobby Max maintained his composure and kept his gaze steady as he prepared to field questions. Bobby Max Jr., who was standing beside his father, beamed with pride at the acknowledgement of his new role. Of course, reporters immediately began firing questions. Their voices overlapped in a cacophony of curiosity and who could blame them; this was nepotism at its finest.

“Coach Max, do you think your son’s appointment as captain is influenced by your relationship?” one journalist asked pointedly.

It was the thought that everyone had in their minds and Bobby Max’s expression hardened.

“Absolutely not,” he replied firmly. “To be a captain, you have to be the best on your team and Bobby Max Jr. is the best. His skills and dedication are why he deserves this position.”

Another journalist quickly followed up. “But Coach Max, this decision could be seen as biased. How will you address those concerns?”

Bobby Max’s irritation was as clear as day.

“My son earned this position through hard work and talent. Any suggestion otherwise is an insult to his abilities and our team’s integrity. Do any of you have questions about his capabilities as a fighter?”

“Mr. Max, can you clarify the selection of your son as team captain? Some critics might suggest that it may be influenced by your position as head coach and your ownership of 2 the Max, one of the team’s sponsors,” a journalist in the front row pressed the subject. Bobby Sr. wasn’t one to suffer fools lightly and the question prompted a wave of murmurs and nods from the assembled reporters.

Bobby Max’s jaw tightened slightly at the question, but he responded without hesitation.

“I understand the concern, but let me assure you, my decision to appoint Bobby Jr. as captain was based solely on merit. As a coach and a father, I have always valued fairness and integrity above all else. Bobby Jr. has earned the respect of his teammates and coaches through hard work and dedication. His position as captain reflects his leadership qualities and his ability to inspire others to perform at their best. If I hadn’t picked him as the captain because of the fact that he is my son, I would be seen as just as unfair as you think I’ve been… which I have not been. Are there any other questions about my son that aren’t just baseless accusations?”

The barrage of questions continued and each one was more probing than the last.

“Isn’t there a conflict of interest with your dual roles as head coach and sponsor?” another reporter asked.

Visibly angry, Bobby Max cut the press conference short.

“This press conference is over. We stand by our decision. Good day.”

With that, he stormed out of the room with his son following closely behind. The journalists were left in stunned silence but their cameras filled the space by clicking furiously as they tried to capture the dramatic exit.

The screen went dark and I was left to think about the intense scrutiny and pressures that came with being in the spotlight. But I couldn’t go too far down the rabbit hole before the flight attendant returned and broke my daydreaming.

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Wilson?” she asked kindly.

“No, thank you,” I replied with a small smile.

My mind was already racing ahead. I couldn’t help but think about the challenges and opportunities that awaited me on Fight Island. This journey was just beginning and I was determined to make every moment count.

“Our journey to Fight Island will take about 10 hours. Anything to eat?” the flight attendant asked and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of her name badge: Serena.

“Uhm, yes, thank you. What is there?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s a set menu based on the dietary preferences you indicated on those forms you filled out yesterday,” she smiled and walked off.

How could I forget? They were practically a mile long if you had to lay them out end to end.

I enjoyed a meal, which was delicious, and despite my anxiety, I fell asleep quite easily. I guess it was for the best because, by the time I woke up, we were nearing our destination.

The horizon shimmered as Fight Island came into view, and the skyscrapers glinted like jagged shards of crystal under the sun. Holographic billboards flickered with larger-than-life images of fighters as the jet began to descend near the airport. Their faces turned into sponsored brands, WARcoin promotions, and the daily life of Fight Island. Below, the beaches curved in perfect crescents, their sands impossibly white against the turquoise water. The streets were alive with activity, filled with sleek autonomous vehicles and small aircraft zipping through the air for short-distance travel. Delivery drones buzzed efficiently between high-rise buildings, while security drones hovered, projecting an unyielding presence to ensure order. It was like stepping into a sci-fi fantasy brought to life.

All down below, there were luxurious hotels and buildings with green rooftop designs and cutting-edge sustainable features like energy-generating glass, vertical gardens, and self-repairing materials. These architectural marvels were seamlessly integrated with ultra-fast, magnetically driven pod systems that connected key parts of Fight Island for those who preferred not to use personal transportation. The buildings themselves utilized advanced modular designs, holographic facades that could display dynamic visuals, and adaptive shading systems to optimize energy use.

It was a momentous occasion and I felt proud. I had brought myself here.

My talent had got me to this moment. I was ready for whatever came my way. I would make my mark on the world stage.

As the jet touched down, the anticipation was almost unbearable. The door opened, and a warm, tropical breeze hit me.

‘That’s the holiday vibe, I thought to myself.

I stepped out onto the tarmac and was immediately greeted by a team of officials — as well as the stunning view of Fight Island up close.

“Welcome to Fight Island, Martial Wilson,” one of the officials said as she extended her hand. “We’re excited to have you here.”

I nodded and shook her hand as my heart raced. This was it. Everything I had worked for was finally becoming real.

A sleek black, driverless car was waiting to take me to the Team New Zealand training facility. As we drove through the city, I had to stop myself from gawking at the sights: the towering buildings, pristine beaches, and high-tech arenas where legends were made. It felt like stepping into another world. I was just glad that I had a pair of shades on to hide how geeked out I was.

The streets buzzed with life. They were filled with people from all over the globe — athletes, fans, and the citizens who kept Fight Island running. Lawyers, doctors, administrators, binmen, and teachers walked alongside the crowd but you would never be able to tell who held what job. Their collective high-paying jobs were a testament to the island’s thriving economy. It felt like everyone here had a purpose. They were all just a part of the intricate system that made Fight Island more than just an arena for legends. It was a little world of its own. Billboards projected holographic images of upcoming matches and featured larger-than-life fighters I had admired for years.

As the car pulled up to the Team New Zealand training facility, the nerves set in. This was the place where I would transform from a promising fighter into a competitor on the world stage. The sleek, modern architecture of the building, with its glass and steel facade and glowing neon accents, was both intimidating and awe-inspiring.

“Welcome to your new home,” yet another one of the officials said after opening the car door for me. I stepped out and took a deep breath. That heat and the seaside smell were like Christmas had come early. It made me feel ready to embrace this new chapter.

Inside, the facility was even more impressive. Every corner was designed with precision and purpose — from the training rooms that were filled with the latest equipment to the recovery areas that looked like high-tech spas. There were advanced simulation rooms for virtual sparring and state-of-the-art AI systems to analyze our performance. I was led through a maze of hallways until we reached the residential wing.

“Here we are, Martial,” the official said as he opened the door to my room. “I hope you find everything to your liking.”

That was an understatement if ever there was one. The room was beyond anything I had ever imagined. It was luxurious with a large bed, a private bathroom, and a stunning view of the island. There was even a small kitchenette and a comfortable seating area. My stuff had already been brought up and neatly placed in the room. My old backpack and Mum’s dinged-up hardshell looked a little out of place in a room this grand, so I got to work on unpacking everything before shoving the pack into the suitcase and then shoving that into the back of a cupboard.

I noticed an envelope on the desk with my name on it, so I opened it and found my schedule for the next few weeks. It included a rigorous training regime, daily workouts, sparring sessions, and media obligations. Every minute of my day was accounted for, but that was exactly what I needed.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a call from my mom.

“Hey, Mom,” I answered as I tried to keep my voice steady against the whirlwind of emotions I was feeling.

“How’s everything, sweetheart?” she asked lovingly. But there was concern mixed in there, too.

“It’s amazing here, Mum. The facility is incredible and my room is really nice. I can’t believe this is all happening,” I said, but I could never have found the words to convey just how surreal it all felt.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” she said.

“Are you alright?” I asked as I thought back to how the paparazzi had hounded our home.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m safe and everything’s fine here. Just focus on your training and do your best,” she reassured me.

“I will, Mum. I’m pretty tired from all the excitement today, so I think I’ll get some rest soon,” I replied. It was clear that the exhaustion was starting to catch up with me.

“Alright, honey. Get some rest. Call me when you have time, okay?” she said.

I thought about how grateful I was for her in that moment as I listened to her voice, which was so soothing and comforting.

“Will do. Love you, Mum,” I said.

“Love you too, Martial,” she replied.

I cut the call.

I put my phone down and took one last look out the window. The view was breathtaking and it brought such a smile to my face. This was the life I had dreamed of and now it was finally here. I unpacked my things and placed the picture of my father and me training together on the nightstand. It felt right to have him close, even in this new and unfamiliar place.

I remembered a time eight years ago — the day before my first New Zealand Fight Academy MMA regional tournament. Dad and I were in our makeshift gym at home. Well, we called it a gym, but it was really a converted garage that was filled with old equipment. It still worked and that was what counted. Besides, as Dad always used to say, “A good workman never blames his tools.”

The smell of sweat and leather often filled the air in our little gym and that day had been no different.

“Come on, Martial, keep those hands up,” Dad instructed, holding the pads steady. His voice was firm but encouraging. In my opinion, he was the perfect balance of coach and father. “Trust in your training. You’ve got this.”

I threw a series of punches and each one landed with a satisfying thud against the pads. My muscles burned with exertion, but I enjoyed the feeling. It was a sign of the hard work and hours of practice we had put in.

Dad nodded and a proud smile spread across his face.

“You're doing great, son. Remember, it's not just about strength, but technique and heart. Always keep your head in the game.”

I paused for a moment to catch my breath.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said as I felt a swell of pride and grit. “I won’t let you down.”

He lowered the pads and placed a hand on my shoulder. His eyes shone with the very same pride that I felt. “You never could, Martial. Just remember, every punch you throw and every move you make is all a part of you. Trust in your training and trust in yourself.”

Dad’s words echoed in my mind. Over the years since his passing, they had been a constant reminder that I had everything I needed to succeed. As I lay down to rest, I knew that the next day would be the first step in a journey I had dreamed of for years. I closed my eyes with the belief that I was prepared planted firmly in my mind. I knew that Dad’s spirit was with me — guiding me through the unknown.

The next morning, the sharp blare of my alarm yanked me from the comforting goodness of sleep. The morning light seeped through the curtains and stung my eyes. It was my first day of training at the Team New Zealand facility on Fight Island and I felt a mix of excitement and nerves. I quickly got ready with my heart pounding uncontrollably. No amount of deep breathing was going to ease the excitement.

There was a knock at the door and it made me jump a little.

“Yes,” I called out.

“Martial Wilson. We’re here to show you to the training centre.”

I was escorted down winding hallways and bumped into a couple of my fellow fighters along the way. Everyone seemed just as excited and we exchanged some pleasantries in the hallways, although my focus was on making it to the centre. I wanted to see what I’d be working with.

“Here we are,” the security crew member said.

The doors slid open as we got there and revealed a sprawling training hall bathed in soft, white light that reflected off sleek glass walls and polished steel. Fighters moved with precise intensity. Their shadows sliced across the pristine mats. The faint sound of advanced equipment mixed with the sharp crack of gloves meeting pads created an atmosphere thick with emotions I can’t even begin to describe.

The long and short of it? The training center thrummed with purpose. Fighters were warming up, coaches were discussing strategies, and the atmosphere was electric with the promise of hard work and competition. My eyes scanned the room until they landed on a figure I recognized immediately — Carter Flynn, the head coach of Team New Zealand and my childhood hero. I couldn’t believe I was about to train under him.

I felt a wave of nervous energy as I approached him, wanting to introduce myself. “Coach Flynn, I’m Martial Wilson—”

He cut me off with a confident smile.

“I know who you are, Wilson. I watched your last regional tournament. Impressive work.”

My heart skipped a beat. Carter Flynn had watched me fight. I grinned as he fell back and addressed the group.

“Welcome, everyone,” Carter began. His voice was commanding and confident. “I’m Carter Flynn and it’s an honour to have you all here. Today, we begin our journey to WAR 34. Each of you was chosen because you have what it takes to be the best. You’ve made it this far, but the hard work starts now. We’re here to push you beyond your limits — to make you the best fighters you can be. Sound good?”

“Yes, Coach,” we all shouted back in unison.

“Well, alright then. Let’s get started.”

The room was filled with a mix of excitement and tension. I stood among the official fighters and the backups. There was this odd blend of both camaraderie and competition in the air. The list of Team New Zealand fighters was displayed on a large screen.

Team New Zealand Fighters

Weight Class	Official Fight Team	Backup 1	Backup 2
Heavyweight	Liam Tahana	Zane O'Connell	Jacob Bennett
Super Middleweight	Niko Houghton	Kahu Walker	Daniel Irwin
Super Welterweight	Tama Rangi	Caleb Scott	Martial Wilson
Super Lightweight	Ari "Ace of Clubs" Umaga	Ethan Ngata	Simon Patel
Super Featherweight	Kieran Fitzpatrick	Mason Evans	Phoenix Maia
Women’s Super Bantamweight	Tia Clarke	Amelia Aroha	Jessica Lee
Women’s Super Flyweight	Lola Williams	Stacey Tui	Sarah Roberts

The day’s training regimen was intense and meticulously structured. We began with strength and conditioning that pushed our bodies to the limit with a series of gruelling exercises that were designed to build stamina and power. Carter’s voice echoed through the gym. It was sharp and motivating.

“Remember, strength is the foundation of every good fighter. Without it, your techniques are useless.”

Next, we moved on to striking techniques. I paired up with a fellow Super Welterweight and we drilled various combinations. Carter moved around the room and corrected our stances as he provided us with tips.

“Wilson, keep your guard up and don’t telegraph your punches,” he said. Then, he gave me a nod of approval when I adjusted my stance.

The sparring sessions were intense. We rotated partners, which gave us a chance to experience different styles and strategies. I sparred with Tama Rangi, the official Super Welterweight fighter, and was impressed by his speed and precision. We pushed each other and it felt like each exchange sharpened our skills.

During a brief break, I got to know some of my teammates. There was Liam, a Heavyweight with a wicked sense of humour, and Lola, a fierce Super Flyweight who moved with incredible speed and precision.

“Hey, how’s it going?" Lola asked as she sat next to me. “First day nerves?”

“Yeah, a bit,” I admitted. “But it’s also exciting. This place is incredible.”

“Just wait until you meet the media. They can be a handful,” she laughed.

I chuckled and felt a bit more relaxed.

“I can imagine.”

Liam overheard our conversation and grinned as he chimed in, “If they annoy you, just snap their necks.”

Lola rolled her eyes playfully.

“You’re terrible, Liam,” she said.

He just shrugged with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Hey, someone’s got to keep things honest around here.”

Finally, we ended the day with jiu-jitsu rolling. Grappling on the mats, we practised submissions and escapes. It was exhausting but exhilarating. I rolled with several teammates and each match taught me something new.

“Nice moves,” Ari Umaga said after a particularly tough round. “You’ve got potential.”

“Thanks,” I replied as I caught my breath. “Still got a lot to learn.”

“Don't we all,” he said as he clapped a friendly hand on my back.

As the session concluded, a few of the fighters came over to talk. Tama Rangi wiped the sweat from his brow as he said, “Good work today, Martial. Keep it up.”

“Thanks, Tama. It was great sparring with you,” I replied.

I felt a sense of belonging here. It was incredible.

“You’re looking solid out there,” added Niko Houghton, the Super Middleweight fighter. “Just keep grinding.”

“Will do,” I said with a smile and a nod.

Everything was clicking into place so naturally. I just wanted to bond with everyone there. I turned to Caleb Scott, who was the first backup for the Super Welterweight spot.

“Hey, Caleb. You looked great out there. You’ve got some serious skills.”

Caleb shot me a cold look that threw me off.

“Listen, this is my second tournament. I’m not losing my spot to someone who’s just arrived. Got it?”

I was taken aback by his hostility but nodded.

“…Got it.”

The tension between us was off-putting and I knew a rivalry had just begun.

Soon after, Carter announced, “Official fight team members, head to the media room for your scrum. Backups, you’re free to return to your rooms.”

As the official team members headed off, I thought long and hard about why I was there. I didn’t need everyone to like me. That was irrelevant. I knew I’d have my chance to shine so I headed back to my room to reflect on the day.

As I stepped into my room, I was immediately struck again by how glamorous it was. The soft glow of recessed lighting reflected off the glass walls, and the heated wooden floors added luxurious warmth underfoot. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Fight Island stretched out like a glittering jewel, alive with energy. The pristine space felt like a world away from anything I’d known before. I dropped my bag near the door and stretched out, feeling the aches from training and travel settle deep into my muscles.

A long, hot shower was exactly what I needed.

Stepping into the marble-tiled bathroom, I turned on the rainfall showerhead. Warm water cascaded over me, washing away the tension as steam filled the air. The sleek black tiles and ambient lighting made the entire experience feel like something out of a five-star spa. Afterward, I wrapped myself in a fluffy robe and took a moment to just breathe, savoring the quiet luxury around me.

I decided to lie down for a quick nap before diving into anything else. The bed was massive and impossibly comfortable. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I felt the pull of exhaustion, and within minutes, I was fast asleep.

I woke up a couple of hours later, groggy but refreshed. The soft evening light outside bathed the room in golden hues, making the view even more breathtaking.

I grabbed a cold sparkling water from the minibar and settled into the sleek gaming console setup, I powered up the WAR video game. The adrenaline from playing was exactly what I needed to shake off the haze. I started with Team Brazil, a powerhouse lineup, and managed to score a strong 4-1 victory against Team South Africa, thanks to their relentless captain. Feeling confident, I went head-to-head with Team France. This time, though, their captain, “Roi De Lyon” Jacques Moreau, handed me a humbling 4-2 defeat. Frustrated but determined, I took on Team Japan next, but their precision and strategy outmatched me, leading to another 4-2 loss. With a resigned sigh, I shut the game off.

I instinctively reached for my phone to check SocialX but hesitated. I’d already seen the flood of notifications earlier and decided to make a rule for myself: no SocialX while on Fight Island. The last thing I needed was the constant noise of fans, critics, and commentators clouding my focus. My job was to perform, not to get caught up in what everyone thought of me.

To clear my mind, I pulled up the WAR archives on the massive flat-screen TV. Iconic matches from past tournaments played out before me. These legends inspired me.

Needing a change of scenery, I stepped out onto the balcony. The heated floor kept the chill away as the ocean breeze brushed my face. It was an amazing feeling, a reminder of how far I’d come.

I leaned on the balcony railing, soaking in the moment, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Oli.

“Hey, Oli! How’s it going?” I answered it immediately. I was just glad to hear a familiar voice.

“Martial! Man, everyone here is talking about you. What’s Fight Island like? How’s the training?” Oli’s excitement was clear — even through the phone.

“It’s surreal, man. The place is incredible! Luxurious, like nothing I’ve ever seen. The training is tough but amazing. And meeting Carter Flynn? Unbelievable.”

“Wow, that sounds friggen awesome! What’s it like training with the main squad?” Oli asked eagerly.

“Intense,” I said. “These guys are the best of the best. It’s a whole new level of skill. But it’s also inspiring. You can feel the energy.”

“That sounds incredible, bro. I’m so happy for you. And a bit jealous, you lucky punk,” Oli said with a laugh.

Before I could respond, there was a knock on my door.

“Hold on a sec, Oli,” I said, getting up to answer it.

I opened the door and was surprised to see Jessica Lee standing there. I’d had a crush on her back at the New Zealand Fight Academy, even though we never really spoke much. I was just shocked to see her at my door. I wasn’t even aware that she had made it in!

“Hey, Martial,” she said.

“Jessica? You’re… here?” I asked as my face flushed.

“Yeah, but sucks to be backups, huh?”

“Ah, it’s not so bad,” I said as I rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand.

“Well, I’m bored out of my mind. Want to go out?”

I was taken aback and my heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, go out? Yeah, sure,” I stammered, before realizing she probably meant going out with the rest of the drafts on a night out in Fight Island.

She laughed softly as she probably picked up on my confusion.

“Yeah, with the rest of the drafts,” Jessica confirmed, “we’re all heading out for a night in Fight Island. It’ll be fun.”

“Sure, that sounds great,” I said as I tried to play it cool.

Oli’s voice came through the phone, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Sorry, Oli, I got to go. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Alright, have fun, superstar,” Oli said with a chuckle. “Talk to you soon.”

I hung up and turned back to Jessica.

“Give me a minute to get ready,” I said hurriedly.

“Sure thing,” she said as she leaned against the doorframe.

I quickly changed and headed out with Jessica. We walked to an autonomous sprinter van where the other drafts were waiting. The atmosphere was buzzing with the sounds of lively chatter. As I climbed in, I greeted the guys.

“Hey, guys,” I said as I took a seat.

“Martial! What's up?” Daniel Irwin greeted me with a nod.

I noticed Simon Patel sitting at the back and looking upset. Before I could ask him what was wrong, Phoenix Maia leaned over and whispered to me, “Simon’s only upset because a journalist ran over his dog by accident during the media outrage.”

“What?” I whispered back.

“Dog’s fine though. He just wants an official apology ‘on principle,’” Phoenix said to me before raising his voice to add loudly, “Man up and let it go, Simon.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Simon’s face turned red with anger and he shot up from his seat.

“What did you just say?” he demanded as his voice shook with fury.

Phoenix stood up too with his expression defiant.

“You are bringing the energy down. Are you going to be sad the whole night? It’s a dog, not the end of the world. You are meant to be a fighter. At least act like one.”

The van erupted into chaos as Simon lunged at Phoenix. The rest of us scrambled to break them up. I grabbed Simon and tried to pull him back.

“Hey, calm down!” I insisted. “This isn’t the place for this!”

Jacob and Daniel managed to help me separate the two and we held them back on opposite sides of the van.

“Enough! Both of you!” Jacob shouted. “We’re a team. Did you forget? Phoenix, shut up. And chill out, Simon.”

Simon was still seething but he sat back down and Phoenix reluctantly did the same. The atmosphere in the van was tense, but gradually, the conversation picked back up — although it was definitely more subdued than before. Jessica, who had been watching the whole scene unfold, looked at me and shrugged.

“Boys will be boys, I guess,” she said with a small smile.

We finally arrived at an upscale restaurant, which was a true gem with opulent decor and a breathtaking view of the ocean. As we were seated, I couldn’t help but glance at the prices on the menu. Everything looked ridiculously expensive.

“Don’t worry about the prices,” Sarah Roberts said quietly as she noticed my concern. “Everything is free for fighters on Fight Island. All expenses are covered by WAR.”

“Really?” I asked with starry eyes. “That’s great!”

I felt a bit more relaxed after that.

We enjoyed a lavish meal and savoured every bite of the gourmet dishes. The conversation flowed easily and the earlier tension started to dissipate. It was a perfect evening.

That was until two fans approached our table.

“Hey, are you guys fighters?” one of them asked — their eyes wide with excitement.

“Yeah, we are,” Jacob Bennett replied with a grin.

“That’s awesome! Are you guys drafts?” the first fan asked with obvious excitement. “There’s a draft party at Meltdown tonight — North East of the island. It’s where all the new recruits hang out before things get serious.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow.

“Another draft party?” she questioned.

“Yeah,” the fan nodded. “It’s a great vibe. Food, music, and lots of other drafts mingling. You should check it out — it’s where the future stars hang out. Surprised you haven’t heard of it ‘til now.”

‘Probably because it’s off campus and unofficial,’ I thought to myself.

“You are drafts right?” the fan went on.

“Of course,” I interjected. “We’ll be there.”

“Yeah, but you can’t go dressed like that,” the first fan said, looking at our casual attire. “You need some better clothes.”

We all exchanged glances and Sarah shrugged before saying, “Why not? Let’s do it.”

We thanked the fans for the tip and headed over to a boutique store nearby. The store was filled with designer clothes and we quickly picked out smart outfits. I chose a sleek black suit that made me feel like a different person. It was all unreal.

After we all changed, we looked at each other and nodded in approval.

“We look good,” Phoenix Maia said as he adjusted his tie.

Jessica Lee smiled at me.

“Very handsome, Martial,” she said with her eyes sparkling.

“Thanks, Jessica. You look beautiful… as usual,” I replied and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks.

“Ready to go?” she asked as her smile widened.

“Absolutely,” I said as I playfully offered her my arm.

We stepped out of the boutique, looking sharp and feeling confident. The night was just beginning and we were ready to experience everything Fight Island had to offer. The autonomous sprinter van arrived and, as we climbed in, the doors slid shut with a quiet hiss. The van smoothly pulled away and navigated the streets with AI precision.

“I never got to take this all in before, but this is an impressive ride,” I said as I settled into the comfortable seats.

“Only the best for us,” Daniel Irwin replied with a grin.

The van zipped through the neon-lit streets, and as we pulled up to Meltdown, we could already hear the thumping music and see the line of people waiting to get in. The bouncers let us in without a second glance. They recognized us as fighters.

“This is insane,” I shouted over the noise as we walked in.

Inside, the hall was electric. Lights flashed in every colour and the dance floor was packed with people. The energy was infectious. We made our way to the VIP section where we were greeted with cheers and applause. It felt like we were celebrities. Drinks were handed to us without us having to ask and the night truly began. For a moment, all the pressure and tension of the competition melted away. It was just us — enjoying the night and living in the moment.

Meltdown was massive — even more so than I had imagined. The building was a labyrinth of dazzling lights, pounding music, and pulsing energy.

As we moved through the crowd, Jessica handed me a shot.

“Here, take this,” she said with a mischievous smile.

I downed the shot and felt the burn as it went down before I joined her on the dance floor. The flashing lights and pounding bass made everything feel like a dream. As the night wore on, I found myself talking to Jessica more. We laughed and danced, and it felt like the perfect end to an incredible day. This moment reminded me of what it meant to truly be alive. Everything had led us here.

At one point, I turned around and I must have accidentally bumped into someone and stepped on their shoe in the process.

“Watch where you’re going!” a voice shouted. I turned to see Bobby Max Jr., the newly announced captain of Team USA. He was glaring at me with the snobbiest look on his face.

“I’m really sorry. It was an accident,” I said as I tried to defuse the situation.

Bobby Max Jr.’s hand shoved me backward and his sneer was sharp enough to cut glass.

“Do you even know what you’re standing on?” he barked with his gaze raking over me like I was some unworthy insect. “These shoes cost more than your entire life.”

“Chill out. It was just an accident,” I repeated as I did my best to stay calm. “I didn’t mean to—”

Bobby cut me off.

“How about I step on your face by accident?”

“Back off, man. It was just a mistake,” Jacob Bennett, our Heavyweight, said as he stepped forward.

Jessica stepped up beside me with her eyes fierce.

“Leave us alone. We’re here to have a good time, not to start fights,” she said steadily.

The tension skyrocketed. Team USA fighters must have recognized the escalating situation because they rallied behind Bobby.

“Is there a problem here, Captain?” one of them asked, looking ready for a confrontation.

“Yeah, these guys think they’re tough,” Bobby Max Jr. replied. His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

Bobby Max Jr. looked like he was ready to escalate things further, but then his girlfriend intervened.

“Bobby, calm down. Think about your dad,” she said as she placed a hand on his arm.

Bobby Max Jr. paused and his jaw clenched. He took a deep breath and finally stepped back.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Next time you get in my way, you’re dead,” he muttered before turning and leaving with his entourage.

The moment passed, but the tension stuck around. We returned to our group with the incident still fresh in our minds and Jessica handed me another shot.

“You handled that well,” she said as she offered me a supportive smile.

“Thanks,” I replied, feeling grateful for her presence.

We wouldn’t let the brief confrontation hold us down, so the night continued and we tried to enjoy the rest of our time at Meltdown.

When the night eventually wound down and we piled back into the sprinter van to head back to the facility, it was almost as if the memory of the moment had become worse than the moment itself. But the van was filled with laughter and drunken chatter and the tension from earlier disappeared into the night air. Jessica noticed I was a bit too tipsy and offered to help me to my room.

“You alright, Martial?” she asked as we neared my door.

“Yeah, just a bit too much,” I admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Take my arm,” she offered her arm around my waist for support.

I chuckled.

With Jessica's help, I made it to my room. As I fumbled with the keycard, she teased, “You’re lucky I'm here to rescue you.”

I shot her a grateful smile.

“Actually, I am. Thanks, Jessica.”

As I entered the room, I turned to Jessica and felt a warmth spreading through me.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked.

The invitation hung in the air and she hesitated for a moment before nodding with a smile.

Jessica stepped in. Her laugh was soft as she closed the door behind us. The night’s chaos melted into the quiet of the room. For a moment, the events of the day hung between us. It was unspoken but heavy. Then, with a glance that said more than words could, she leaned in closer and the rest of the world faded away.