Decline. You want to climb the ranks on your terms.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” you tell her. “If I manage to make it big in this league, I want it to be because I was a good fighter, or at least managed to become one—not because someone bent the rules to help me.”

“Rookies in this league get training from the pros all the time,” she points out.

“That’s different,” you say. “Getting a trainer isn’t like deliberately throwing a match. Even if it’s not cheating for you to put me over...it sure feels like it.”

Roxie doesn’t reply immediately, mulling over your answer. After a little while, she says, “That’s a hell of a moral compass you’ve got. And I think you can definitely make it on your own. But you do realize, if I don’t throw the match, I’m gonna have to keep doing what I do best.”

“Bring it on,” you shoot back with more bravado than you really feel.

“Be careful what you wish for,” the Champion says as her usual persona slips back into place. It’s the only warning you get before she leans back and tightens her camel clutch, stretching your back to an unbearable position.

You spend what feels like an eternity trapped in her hold, feeling the rough canvas against your legs and her warm breath on your ear, before she lets you drop to the mat and stands up.

You’ve turned down her offer, but the match is far from over.