Beatdown averted

The next morning passed in a blur - but one announcement had cut through the haze of dull classes. John’s English lesson, the one usually held after lunch, had been cancelled. That normally would have been a good thing, extending his self-study period to a whole afternoon. Today, however, it wasn’t - due to the form of Frank and one of his buddies waiting for him outside of the cafeteria. "John, I know I told you not to talk to that brunette. But last night my girl called and told me she saw you two walking into the fancy part of town." The meathead was practically eloquent as he and his buddy took flanking positions either side of John, steering him away from the library and down towards the gym.

"What Vanessa wants me to do is 'talk' to you. She says that's a scary part of town, maybe you were just walking the brunette home so she was safe." John blinked at Frank’s words - this was so unlike him, so… verbose that it didn’t make sense until the bully’s next sentence shed light on what was really happening. "Though, could a weed like you really protect anyone? Now Larry here - you know Larry, right? He's a new 'friend' of mine, just joined the boxing club. I asked if he'd have a friendly little spar with you. Just to show you the ropes in case you fancy trying to play hero again..."

Right. So that was the plan - a bare-knuckle brawl not with Frank, but with one of his cronies. One which John would no doubt historically have lost badly, but as it was in the gym, with a reason behind it that the bully had been loudly announcing as they walked… his options were refuse, then get a kicking outside of Ashcroft at some future point, or get a kicking now when the nurse was handy. Either way, the chance of Frank or his buddy suffering any repercussions for any injuries John sustained was precisely zero.

The whole plan smacked of Vanessa rather than Frank, being vaguely clever and requiring more than one action at a time as well as probably serving as an initiation for Larry into the bullies’ circle. Sure enough, the cheerleader was lounging on one of the benches reading a magazine when they entered the gym. Refusing the fight now would be stupid, not now he’d been steered down here, isolated and alone. And besides, Observe had given John more than enough reason to be confident that this was the better option over another beating from Frank.

Not having a weapon was going to make this a tough fight given his opponent was the same level as him and built for essentially unarmed combat. John knew it’d be a challenge as he was more or less forced through the ropes and into the boxing ring, but unlike squaring off against Frank, it wasn’t impossible. Opposite him, Larry was busily applying tape to his hands; John tugged off his blazer. What would be the better option here, try and win, throw the fight quickly, or just eke out a draw? He stood a slim, but definitely still possible, chance of winning… but would Frank really keep it to a friendly spar, or would the heavyweight in the room just jump in if it looked like John wasn’t being turned into nerd-paste? Equally, if he took too many hits, it’d present an easy justification for them to return to wail on him should he end up getting spotted visiting the Brighton estate or talking with Rebecca again - something he didn’t really feel he had any control over.

The best option, he decided, was to land at least a couple of blows - enough to ensure that he presented more of a challenge than Frank’s buddies would want to deal with just to score points, while not enough to risk drawing the ire of the ringleader of the group. That meant taking advantage of the one combat Stat he had going for him - Agility.

From the very first punch, John realised that Larry was going to make this hard. Not because the man was a master fighter - the opposite in fact. Larry’s fighting style owed more to tenderising meat than any kind of fancy footwork - he planted himself in range, slammed a punch straight forward, repositioned and repeated. Methodical but powerful blows that sent air whistling past John’s ears as he dodged. He didn’t need to know his opponent’s specific Stats to recognise that the man must have them almost entirely in Strength, with Endurance probably in second… which was great. Against an Agility based fighter, a build like that would hopefully be a major weakness.

Dodging each punch was trivially easy. Even prior to his growth after joining the Abyss, John would have been able to avoid the majority of the impacts. That was definitely a good thing he noted as he felt the force of the air whistling past his ear yet again after a particularly close dodge. Ducking and weaving were easy enough, but sliding sideways and letting Larry’s punches pull past him gave John more than one opportunity to counter-attack.

Actually taking those counter-punches was a risk. Too much aggression, and he was in danger of actually looking close to winning the fight and dragging Frank in - but rapid strikes to the man’s side, light blows that individually did little but make him laugh added up. As the battle progressed, John could see the sweat building on Larry’s brow and had to fight to suppress a grin. Then, he realised he needed to take at least one hit or this would look too easy… and almost fell backwards as he allowed one of the punches to strike a glancing blow on his weaker arm.

He’d angled the hit to do as little damage as possible but even so he felt the impact reverberate through his shoulder, the arm feeling half-dead from that single strike. A glance at his HP showed that it’d shaved off way more than he was comfortable with; it turned out that Larry’s Strength-heavy build was a monster if he was allowed to actually land a punch.

Just as he realised he would have to win the fight or risk serious injury from those rock-hard fists, the doors to the gym swung open. Moira stepped in, her eyes icy. “John, it is almost the self-study period. I believe we had an appointment to discuss the project I requested your help with… I do hate tardy assistants.”

The room froze. Larry’s fist came to an abrupt stop, the boxer’s arm hovering halfway through another strike. John’s foot landed where he’d been shifting to dodge the blow, and even Frank who had until this point been jeering from the sidelines fell silent. Only one voice was raised in reply. Sitting up from where she’d been lying, Vanessa rolled her eyes and whined, “Oh gods, Moira, he’s not one of yours is he? Why on earth would you want a loser like him hanging around you?”

The redhead stepped forward, shrugging. “He’s got one of the highest scores in the year for anything to do with computers, and I need that for my next project, not that it’s any of your business, Hawthorne. If you dislike it, I suggest you take it up with Mrs Wentworth. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear about your petty drama - but for the time being, I’d ask you not to interfere with my choice of staff.” At that, Moira strode forward and held up the rope at the edge of the boxing ring. “John? Come along - we’re wasting time here.”

Unsure whether to thank his stars or not that he’d somehow become a pawn between the undisputed queen bee of campus and the Warden of the Order in whatever struggle they could possibly be engaged in, John hurried to comply. Larry held up a fist. “Wait! This was a proper match, even if it was unscheduled. Gotta say good fight afterward. Coach insists.”

John paused, turning. To his surprise, Frank of all people was nodding, and his expression wasn’t the vicious mockery John was used to. The bully clearly wasn’t happy, however; his tone was one of barely suppressed annoyance and his brow wrinkled as he slowly worked his way through conflicting thoughts as he spoke. “Yea... It was a match, right, Larry, that’s what we said. Coach says you gotta be a good sportsman, even if you’re crushing weeds into the dirt...” He glanced up and seemed to decide that given the potential risk of Larry telling the coach he wasn’t behaving, Moira as a potential witness to any aggression towards John, and Vanessa being angry with him, sportsmanship was the best of a set of bad options. With a face like sour grapes he managed to grunt out, “Good fight, Newman.”

Hesitantly, John raised his own fist and swallowed. “Good… Good fight… Larry. Frank.” Then, before whatever weird spell had suddenly been cast on the jocks could break, he turned and hurried after the departing paladin. Behind him, as the doors swung shut, he could hear a huff from Vanessa, followed by petulant complaints about ‘that sportsmanship rubbish’ - along with Frank’s gruff apologies.

Moira didn’t say a word as she led him from the gym, the redhead moving briskly through the building until at last she arrived at one of the least used rooms in school. John glanced at the crucifix hanging above the door and sighed. He should have guessed she’d bring him here; in a school filled with people obsessed with the world of business and leadership, even the devout rarely used the chapel. As for the habits of the less devout… the room was fitted with CCTV, to avoid people making a mockery of the religious nature of the space.

Pushing the door open, Moira gestured him inside, before letting herself sag as soon as the door closed. “We seem to be having meetings in religious locations quite often, Newman. Perhaps next time we talk, it will be in this temple of yours I’ve heard so much about.”