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Have you ever faced the crushing weight of a hangover while knowing millions of fight fans would be tuning in to scrutinize your every word? That was me — struggling through a live interview with Emma from NZFIGHTNEWS.

Despite the remnants of last night’s reckless decisions pounding in my head, Emma’s warm and professional demeanour somehow cut through the fog. In a funny kind of way, it helped me to stay composed. If you had to ask me, I would have said that her presence was both reassuring and sharp. I think that’s what made it easier to focus on the questions while ignoring the dull throb in my skull.

“Good morning, Martial,” she began.

Her voice was as smooth as butter and confident. I could just see over the edge of her clipboard and I could tell that we were coming to the last couple of questions.

“How are you doing with training and how’s life treating you on Fight Island?” Emma smiled and leaned in slightly.

I paused for a second and thought of my words carefully, but before I could respond, she was off again.

“You’ve gained a lot of fans and support on SocialX. People are calling you the new local hero in your neighbourhood in Auckland. How does that feel?”

I chuckled and scratched the back of my head.

“It’s surreal, honestly,” I replied. “I’ve dedicated my life to this game. Knowing people back home are rooting for me — it’s… it means the world. I just want to prove myself. You know, show everyone that their support isn’t wasted.”

Just then, a staff member from Team New Zealand interrupted.

“Martial, training starts in 30 minutes. You need to get ready.”

Emma nodded with an expression that was overwhelmingly encouraging. This was definitely her field. And this sport is mine. I guessed that this was the confidence I’d have in a couple of years on the job.

“Well, you’re definitely making waves. Good luck, Martial,” she ended off.

I nodded, but I felt an instant wave of regret for the late-night partying. My head was hammering and my body felt sluggish. I had my little pinch-me moment and it was straight back to reality. Still, I had to push through it. This was what I had signed up for.

I hurried back to my room, splashed some water on my face, and got changed into my training gear. The reality of being a professional fighter meant there was no room for excuses. Hangover or not, I had to show up and give it my all.

As I trudged into the gym, the fluorescent lights seemed harsher than usual. To be honest, they were so eerily bright that I had to stifle the rumbling of a potential vomitron situation. The noise of my teammates warming up felt like an assault on my senses. I could see Coach Flynn at the far end of the room and his sharp eyes were scanning the group. When his eyes locked onto mine, I could tell he wasn’t pleased.

‘How would he know, though?’ I thought. ‘I’m just being paranoid.’

But that’s when I saw my reflection. I looked like a Victorian child sick with influenza.

The main fighters were warming up and even the backups were focused and ready. I winced. Wrestling practice was the worst possible timing for me. The thought of shooting for double-leg takedowns made my head spin.

“Front and centre, Martial. What are you waiting for?” Coach Flynn barked.

I quickly set my stuff down and hurried to the front.

As we started the drills, it became painfully clear that I wasn’t at my best. My movements were slothful and my reactions were visibly slow.

“Wilson! Those double-leg shots are sloppy! Get it together!” Coach demanded.

I gritted my teeth and tried to push through the haze in my head, but my body wasn’t cooperating. My legs felt like lead.

‘Just a few more reps,’ I told myself.

I kept my mouth shut and breathed heavily through my nose to steady myself. I was actually trying to prevent something from finding its way back up and out the way it had gone down, but it helped nonetheless.

During a brief break, I stumbled to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet bowl before I started hurling chunks. I threw up what felt like the entirety of the contents of my stomach. I had never heaved so hard in my life. It felt like a workout on its own. But it came with sweet relief. I wasn’t feeling like I had booze seeping out my pores anymore and although the tiredness was still there, I felt at least the tiniest bit better.

But I hadn’t closed the door behind me when I made it into the stall. How could I? I was about to blow.

“You okay, man?” Ari Morgan asked with worry as he stood behind me.

“Yeah,” I lied and wiped my mouth. “Just not feeling my best today.”

I got up and walked over to the sink where I pooled cold water into my hands and buried my face in for what must have been 30 seconds at a time. Over and over, I did this until I felt a little livelier.

But when I got back to the hall, my heart sank as I realized that I had been paired up with Caleb Scott — the backup 1 Super Welterweight who had made it clear that he didn’t think much of me. We squared off and it was immediately obvious that I was outmatched. Caleb shot in for a double-leg and before I could react, I was on my back, staring up at the ceiling.

I tried to push Caleb off, but my limbs felt like they were made out of plastic bags that had been stuffed with rubber ducks. Every movement was cartoonishly weighted and I couldn’t seem to find my balance. Caleb took me down again and again. He made sure that he took me to the floor harder than the last.

The rest of the session was a blur of frustration and pain. Every time I got taken down, Coach Flynn’s voice boomed, “Wilson, get to your feet! You’re better than this!”

But my body was like, ‘Oh no we aren’t!’

Eventually, it became as though I was moving through molasses. Each attempt to scramble up was thwarted by my own lethargy.

Finally, mercifully, the session ended. I was exhausted — both physically and mentally. As I lay on the mat, catching my breath, I looked up to see Coach Flynn. His expression was a mix of disappointment and concern.

“There are people who would kill to be here,” he said before walking off.

“I know,” I said to myself as I planted my head in my folded arms.

I had to get out of there. I felt like an idiot. But I managed to catch up with some of the guys on the way out.

Misery loves company.

“Hey, Martial,” Liam said. “You look like you had a rough night.”

I laughed and winced again at the pain in my head.

“You could say that. But hey, we’re here to work, right?”

Liam grinned.

“That’s the spirit,” he said as he planted a heavy hand on my back and nearly knocked the little wind I had left right out of me. “Just remember, no more late-night adventures before training. It’s all about balance, mate.”

“Yeah,” I said as I hung back a little and let him march off with the others.

I had to find my way to recovery. The training facility was a masterpiece of modern design and technology that blended practicality with innovation. From the moment I stepped through the sliding glass doors, the sheer scale of the space took my breath away. The lobby stretched upward in a three-story atrium, with natural light cascading through skylights. It lit up the sleek glass railings and polished concrete floors. The walls were lined with interactive screens that displayed everything from schedules to data on recovery techniques.

There were quiet zones for reflection and open spaces that encouraged movement and flow. Every detail seemed meticulously planned — from the ergonomic furniture to the subtle and calming scent of cedar that hung in the air.

I needed ice of some sort.

CRYOTHERAPY.

It was printed in bold and I knew it was what I needed. The chamber was housed in one of the state-of-the-art recovery suites on the second floor. The suite itself was spotless and advanced and, at the centre of the room, there was a gleaming cylinder of brushed metal and frosted glass. It looked imposing but oddly inviting. It was like relief in a nutshell.

When I stepped inside, the temperature dropped instantly, and a cloud of icy vapour swirled around me. The cold stung at first because it quickly seeped deep into my muscles and bones, but I welcomed it. Each second felt like a battle against exhaustion, but also a surrender to healing. I stood in the cryotherapy chamber with the cold air biting into my skin. It was my way of trying to numb the pain and exhaustion.

After that, I headed for a massage. The therapist worked on my sore muscles. She eased some of the tension and helped me relax. But as I lay there, I couldn’t help but think about how I needed to get my act together. This was my chance to prove myself and I couldn’t afford to let anything, especially a hangover, get in the way. The road ahead was tough and I needed to be tougher — more mentally than physically.

As I lay on the massage table, trying to let go of the day’s tension, I heard a familiar voice, “Wilson, my office. Now”

I looked up to see Coach Flynn standing there with a stern look on his face. My heart sank. What did I do? How did he find me? Was I not meant to be in here?

I quickly threw on my clothes and followed him as my mind raced with possibilities. That was the longest walk of shame I have ever done in my life.

Inside his office, Coach Flynn sat behind his desk and gestured for me to sit down. I did, but I felt a knot tighten in my stomach.

He leaned forward with a look of disappointment on his face.

“Do you know why you’re here, Wilson?” he asked as he pointed to a screen. I looked at it and felt my blood run cold. The CCTV footage showed Jessica leaving my room early that morning.

I hung my head in embarrassment.

He sighed.

“That right there! That’s not why you’re here,” he said and I looked up just in time for his eyes to bore into mine. “You’re here to change your life, not just to compete and earn honour for yourself and your country. You’re here to financially change your family’s life. You need to focus on what got you here in the first place.”

“I understand, Coach. I promise I’ll improve. It was one stupid night.”

Coach nodded, but his expression remained stern.

“You have a lot of potential, Wilson. Don’t waste it on things that don’t matter. I’ve seen too many fighters throw away their careers because they couldn’t focus on what’s important. You have a rare opportunity here. Don’t let distractions take that away from you.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

“Coach, I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand. I just… I got caught up in the moment.”

“I get that. Fight Island can be overwhelming. But you have to remember why you’re here. Every decision you make affects not only your career but also your future and the future of those closest to you. Do you think they’d want you to throw this chance away?”

I shook my head.

“No, they wouldn’t,” I began. “My mum...my dad…they always believed in me. I can’t let them down.”

Coach Flynn’s expression softened slightly.

“Then show me you mean it. Show me you’re here for the right reasons. Show THEM. You’ve got talent, Wilson, but talent isn’t enough. You need discipline and focus. You need the drive to push through the tough times. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Coach,” I said as I composed myself. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Coach nodded — seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Now, get some rest and come back tomorrow ready to train like you mean it. And remember, ....this isn’t just about you, Martial.”

I left his office feeling a weird combination of shame and outright determination. I got back to my room as quickly as I could and dropped onto my bed in a heap. Its comfort swallowed me up. As I rolled over to get more comfortable, the photo of my dad caught my eye. The tears came as the weight of everything settled on my chest. I knew I had to do better for him and Mum.

After a few hours, I received my meal prep delivery. The smell of the freshly prepared food pored under the doorway and a knock followed soon after.

“Dinner,” a voice called out.

I practically ran to the door. I was starving.

The aromas filled my room as I opened the containers to find a perfectly balanced meal: grilled chicken breast seasoned with herbs, a generous serving of quinoa, and a colourful array of steamed vegetables, broccoli, carrots, and bell peppers. On the side, there was a small container of mixed nuts and a smoothie made from kale, spinach, and assorted berries. It was nutritious and designed to fuel my body for peak performance.

As I sat on the sofa, savouring my meal, the TV screen flickered to life with the familiar logo of Fight Island News. The excitement in the air was tangible. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for: the announcement of the WAR 34 group stage draft.

The camera zoomed in on the host.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the official group stage draw for WAR 34! Tonight, we will determine which teams will face off.”

My heart raced as I watched the screen. This draw would shape our path in the competition and I couldn’t wait to see who we would be up against. The host began drawing names from a large screen. The first few groups were announced, and then it was time for Group E.

“First, we have Team New Zealand!” the host boomed.

My heart skipped a beat. This was it. Our group.

“Joining Team New Zealand,” the host continued, “we have Team Ireland!”

The screen flashed to highlight the Irish team that was known for its fierce fighters and never-back-down spirit. They would be a group of tough opponents. There was no doubt about that.

“Next in Group E, we have Team South Africa!”

The South African team was renowned for their strength and agility. They popped up on my screen as yet another formidable challenge.

“And finally, rounding out Group E, we have Team Mexico!”

The Mexican team was celebrated for their technical skills and speed. They would be just as tough to take down.

It was a diverse and competitive lineup. Each team had unique strengths that they brought to the table.

“Group E promises to be one of the most exciting and competitive groups in this year’s tournament. We can't wait to see these teams in action!” the host’s voice bounced off the walls in my room.

I sat back and let the reality of the upcoming battles sink in. Ireland, South Africa, and Mexico. One for the record books. This was what we trained for. This was what we had sacrificed so much for.

The rest of the draft continued, with other teams finding their places in their respective groups. The excitement and tension built with each announcement as the anticipation of the upcoming fights electrified the air.

As the broadcast ended, I felt nervous and excited. I got up and paced around the room a little. The food had done me some good and I had a bit more energy to spare. Our group was tough, but I knew that Team New Zealand had the talent and drive to compete at the highest level. This was our chance to prove ourselves on the world stage. Watching the group stage draft filled me with that sense of purpose that I had walked through these doors with. This was exactly what I needed to ignite the fire within myself. I sat back down and finished my meal, but an urge to clear my mind took over. I needed to feel the ground beneath my feet and to let the cool night air refresh my thoughts.

It was time for a run.

I quickly changed into my running gear, laced up my shoes, and stepped outside. The vibrant streets of Fight Island were alive with the energy of the night. Jogging had always been my escape.

It was a way for me to reset and find clarity when I felt like I was drowning in chaos.

As I started my run, I was immediately captivated by the sights around me. Fight Island was unlike anywhere else. Luxury cars and supercars roared past as their engines echoed through the streets. The neon lights of high-end boutiques and restaurants illuminated the night and made everything seem like it was transitioning between colours.

I passed by a group of celebrities that I knew. I couldn’t tell you their names now for the life of me, but I recognized them. Clearly, they were somebodies because the paparazzi flashed their cameras like crazy. All I could hear was their shutters. These ‘who’s who’ were on cloud nine as their laughter filled the air while they enjoyed the nightlife.

Wealthy patrons moved in and out of exclusive clubs. They were dressed in the finest clothes and their lives seemed perfect.

‘I can have that all one day,’ I thought to myself. ‘I will have it all. I just need to focus.’

The rhythmic sound of my footsteps on the pavement and the steady rhythm of my breathing put me in a meditative state. The further I ran, the more I felt the tension and frustration of the day melting away. As I continued, the streets began to quiet down. I found myself running along a less crowded path, where the noise of the city faded into the background. Here, I could truly focus on my thoughts.

I thought about the team, about Coach Flynn’s words, about my mum, and about the responsibilities that I carried. I thought about my dad and the sacrifices he and mum had made for me to be here. Each step I took was a reminder of why I was doing this — why I had to stay focused.

Before I knew it, I had run for miles and my body felt the satisfying burn of exertion. The night air was cool against my skin and my mind felt clearer than it had all day. This run was exactly what I needed. It was a reminder of my strength.

I hitched a ride on the last autonomous bus back to the facility but I hopped off two stops away to get one last sprint in. Back at the facility, I slowed to a walk to cool down and take in the stillness of the night. I stretched out my muscles and felt the satisfying pull and release of tension. I walked into my room that night with a sense of peace washing over me. I had found my focus again and reminded myself of my goals and the journey ahead.

I showered and plopped myself down on my bed, but just as I was about to relax, my phone buzzed with a text.

It was from Jessica:

“Hey, how are you? x”

I stared at the message for a moment with the events of the past night still fresh in my mind. I knew I needed to stay focused and to avoid any distractions, but I didn’t want her to feel like I was ghosting her either — like I was some tool that got drunk and used her.

I looked at the time. It was late anyway. I could probably get away with saying I didn’t see her message.

I put my phone down.

I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. I was ready to face whatever challenges the next day would bring.

The next day in training, Coach Flynn gathered everyone together. He announced that the first match was 6 weeks away and it was against Team Ireland, so everyone needed to be in the best shape of their life.

“We need to be focused in training and work together as a team,” he said firmly. “The Team Ireland Captain is Super Flyweight "The Only Survivor" Saoirse McGeady, so women’s Super Bantamweights and women’s Super Flyweights backups need to keep Lola Williams sharp. Lola Williams needs to be ready, so you all need to push her in training. Also, Captain Ari "Ace of Clubs" Umaga needs a lot of work too, so Tami Rangi, the backup Super Welterweights, the backup Super Lightweights, and all the Super Featherweights need to give Ari Morgan the attention he needs.”

We nodded. There wasn’t a soul in that room that didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. This was more than just individual preparation. It was about strengthening the team as a whole.

I put on my sparring gear: headgear, 6-ounce MMA sparring gloves, shin guards, and my mouthpiece. I was ready. Unfortunately, my jockstrap felt too small, which made it uncomfortable, but I didn’t let it distract me. This was important and I needed to stay focused.

The sparring rounds with the two Super Lightweights went well. We had good exchanges and I felt sharp. But there was a noticeable tension when it came time for my last round with Caleb Scott. We touched gloves and the sparring began.

The initial striking exchanges were even. Both of us landed solid shots. Then, Caleb shot for a takedown. I timed my sprawl perfectly to gain top control and work some light ground and pound. Caleb managed to get back to his feet, but he was clearly frustrated. He threw a hard low kick and a heavy left hook that took me by surprise. He was going full force and it was clear he wasn’t holding back.

“Come on, Caleb, keep it under control!” someone shouted from the sidelines.

Caleb grinned and I knew he was testing me. I retaliated with a fake jab followed by a teep kick to his chest, which sent him to the ground. I quickly transitioned to a front headlock and secured a D’arce choke.

Caleb struggled but eventually tapped.

As we stood up, Caleb angrily ripped off his headguard and threw it at me.

“What is your problem!?” I shouted as it hit me square in the chest.

“You!” he shot back as he lunged at me.

The Super Lightweights and a couple of striking assistant coaches stepped in and separated us before things escalated further.

“Enough!” one of the striking coaches barked, stepping between the two of us. “This isn’t a street fight. Get your heads on straight or leave.”

Coach Flynn stormed over and I had to stifle a laugh as his face went beet red with anger.

“What is going on here?” he demanded.

Caleb pointed at me.

“He was trying to win the round instead of cooperating,” he said.

I shook my head as my frustration boiled over.

“I was just following through with the training. We’re supposed to push you! You’re the one who went full force,” I snapped.

Coach Flynn looked between us and his eyes narrowed. I could tell that he didn’t know who to believe.

“This is not how we operate,” he said. “We’re a team and we support each other. If you can’t control yourself, you’re out of the sparring sessions. Understand?"

We both nodded, but the tension between us remained as thick as peanut butter. This rivalry was far from over, but for now, we had to channel it into something productive. The session continued, but the incident lingered in the air as a reminder of the fine line between competition and cooperation.

After the intense training session, I was exhausted and headed towards the locker room. That’s when I saw Jessica approaching me with a worried look on her face.

“Hey, Martial, are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied bluntly and barely made eye contact.

“Are you busy tonight? I was thinking we could go to the movies or something,” she began and I could hear the hope in her voice. “There’s this new movie, I think it’s called —”

I cut her off mid-sentence.

“I’m busy, Jessica. I need to stay focused and…maybe you should too.”

She looked visibly upset. I wanted to kick myself. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but it was the honest truth. Her eyes welled up and, without another word, she turned and walked away.

Guilt twisted in my gut, but I knew I had to stay grounded. I had to focus on why I was here in the first place, even if it meant pushing people away. The upcoming tournament was a chance to prove myself and to show everyone — including myself — what I was capable of. I couldn’t let anything stand in my way.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to myself as I watched her walk away.

I had to get away, so I went back up to my room. Yet another day had ended with me feeling tired and with my muscles sore. I crashed onto the couch and looked out at the breathtaking view of Fight Island. The distant sound of waves crashing on the shore usually brought me some peace, but tonight, I felt hollow. I knew that it would all be worth it one day. Coach said so. And he wouldn’t lead me astray. I trusted him. I just had to deal with these feelings for now.

Just as I was beginning to relax, my phone rang. I looked down at the screen.

Mum.

“Hello?” I said as I picked up the call immediately.

“Hi,” she replied with her voice trembling. I noticed she was crying right away and sat bolt upright.

“Are you okay, Mum?” I asked. “What’s happened.”

“Yes, it’s just... I’m so lonely,” she sobbed. “I miss your father so much. I was just thinking about him, and then I realized it’s his birthday this coming weekend.”

I was relieved that she wasn’t in any danger, but hearing her pain brought back my own memories. I tried to comfort her.

“I know, Mum,” I said softly. “I miss him too. But he’s always with us — in our hearts and in everything we do.”

“Where’d you get that from?” she managed a laugh.

“You,” I chuckled.

She sniffled.

“I know,” she said with her voice sounding a little steadier.

“Remember the last one, Mum?” I asked gently. “He was so happy.”

As I spoke, a vivid flashback took hold of me.

It was my father’s last birthday. The family was gathered around the dining room table. It was filled with food and Mum had ordered a beautiful cake from Winston’s Sweet Delights. I had gotten my father a special gift — a framed picture of the two of us training together. I remembered handing the wrapped gift to him and my heart pounding with anticipation. He opened it and smiled. I could see tears glistening in his eyes.

"Martial, this is beautiful," he had said.

He was so choked up with emotion.

“But you know Martial I don’t need new gifts. The best gift I’ve ever gotten is you.”

“That was a beautiful day,” Mum said.

“Yeah. It really was,” I replied as tears stung the corners of my eyes.

Mum and I talked a bit longer. We got to share more memories and comfort each other as best we could. After we hung up, I lay on the couch and stared out that beautiful bay window. My father’s words and my mother’s pain made me feel nostalgic in such a sickly and unshakeable way, but they also refuelled my passion.

‘I have to stay focused.’