You’re already in the ring, flexing your metal fingers, the whirr of your arm sharp in the silence.

“Winter Soldier! Get ready!” “Romanoff — in the ring. Now.”

She steps up. Young. Sharp. Dangerous. Eyes locked forward, jaw tight. She doesn’t flinch when she sees you.

That’s new.

She climbs in, light on her feet. You stare her down. She stares right back.

You narrow your eyes. She doesn’t look away.

“Full fight. He won’t go easy — neither should she.” “Ready… BEGIN!”

You move — slow, testing her. She moves with you, already calculating. Fast hands. Fast feet. She throws a kick — lands it.

You barely react.

She smirks.

You lunge.

She dodges the first strike — but not the second. Your metal arm catches her mid-roll, slamming her down. Not caring how hard or how hurt she gets.

You wait.

She’s already pushing off the mat, blood in her mouth and fire in her eyes.

Now you’re interested.