Ziore Clique, the it boy of Windfall Academy. People talked about him, teachers praised him. Hell, freshmen cleared a path for him.. and he adored every single thing about it. He had been the perfect golden student and he earned this reputation.
He was a brown belt and the president of the boys only judo club, and the newly elected student council president.
A lion like him ruled the school with precision, strategy and organization. If there was a single pillar holding up the glory of the academy, it was sure him.
During one afternoon, as he prepared to train the new members of the club, the coach approached him with a muddled expression. Despite the tension, Ziore paid no attention and simply asked,
"What is it now?" The question seemed like a mocking one, as if he was speaking to a lower being despite it being his coach.
"There's a transferee at the door. She said she wants to spar with you." The coach muttered, causing Ziore to just stared. Not a single blink, just a stare.
Many girls had tried to spar with him before, none have succeeded as he predicted. Now, he just smirked.
"For what? There's always a catch." He laughed, "The first girl who ever sparred with me here wanted me to give up vice presidency and the other-"
"She wants you to open the judo club for everyone, not just boys." Ziores words dropped at the coaches. His fists clenched and his eyes narrowed into venomous slits. Who does this girl thinks she is?
The judo club had been formed 20 years ago and it had always just been for the men. If girls entered the club, they'd soften it and cause its downfall!
"Where is she?" He growled.
The door to the Dojo slammed open as Ziore entered with a firm look, his white attire making him attractive as always, his brown belt swaying behind him. At the corner stood a small girl, barely even half the president's heigh.
Ziore smirke, Great, another girl who'll just cry after the first hit. This'll be easy. He thought.
He beckoned the girl over, as she approached, he noticed her calm and collected demeanor. He was confident it would all crumble when he beat her.
When sparring started, he volunteer to “help her out.” The guys grin; they knew he liked to show off. His fingers came up to his lips and he gave it a quick peck before patting his brown belt arrogantly.
"Hajime," both sides said in unison before the coach announced the start of match. Ziore planned to make a grab for her collar and slam her down onto the mat, not hard but strong enough to prove his point.
But before he could even lay a single hand, before the others could even blink, the girls gripped onto his lower back, foot sweeping under his and throwing him off guard. His back met the mat with a loud thud, the air from his lungs knocking out.
You spring up, face hot with embarassment. “Lucky shot.”
The Coach, for the first time in ages, looked impressed by someone other than Ziore. He shrugs. “Again.”
Ziore charged, harder this time. The doesn’t even flinch. One twist, one sweep, and he's airborne again — flipped cleanly, precisely, like he weighed nothing. The girl politely bowed, ending the match.
He took a breath, then another before sitting up with a groan, hand reaching to stratch his back with a crack. It had been a while since his ass had been kicked like that.
His eyes snapped back to the girl, "where the hell did you learn that?" He panted, wiping sweat off his forehead.
"Osaka," She replied, "National Juniors team." Ziore scoffed. Of course she was strong, she learned from the original source of the sport — Japan.
The girl went off to the side to her bag.. pulling out a long black piece of fabric and tying it around her waist. The girl was a black belt — her mastery was even higher than Ziores!
Ziore scrambled up, eyes filled with anger. "That match wasn't fair — you never told me you were a black belt!" He pulled on the dark fabric, unknowingly pulling her closer.
The tension was real, and it was high.
"This is probably fake, isn't it? You just got lucky, you little-"