First off - I know there's a Fate fanfiction story on this site that has a similar theme (boxing). However, I had this idea before I saw it and don't want people to think I'm ripping off that story. I think it's good and I encourage anyone who wants to see a similar story to this one that follows a different sport and main character.
Second, there are gonna be a few relationship changes (almost all familial) to better fit the story. If you don't want a story with changes like these, it's perfectly fine; just know I'm aiming to change as little as possible. If you are fine with it, I hope you enjoy the story! This chapter is mostly introductory stuff to get settled in, but I still hope you like it.
A fistful of yen and bag with fighting gear was all Mordred Pendragon brought to Chaldea Fight Team. She sat across Ritsuka Fujimaru, the red-haired owner of the gym, as she thumbed through all of Mordred's paperwork. Ritsuka sat with a focused look in her eyes as she scanned each line. Mordred leaned back in her black office chair, lazily cocking her head to the awards decorating the office walls.
It was not Mordred's first choice of a gym, but she would take any that could let her train far from her old team - the Camelot Combat Company. Her older sister, Artoria, was the star fighter of the team, having won a world championship at just twenty-four years old. When Mordred took long runs through the English countryside, she saw herself standing next to Artoria with a belt of her own. Every time they drilled techniques, Mordred would sneak glances at Artoria and study her movements. During the rare occasion where she would act as one of Artoria's cornermen, she would dump praise and encouragement on her between rounds.
That was why when Artoria told Mordred she did not see her as a professional fighter, the young Englishwoman's heart shattered. The news came after Mordred's fifth amateur fight; one that would not show on her future professional record. She was thankful that it would not show, for she lost by judges' decision. Once Mordred finished showering after the fight, Artoria asked to speak with her in the locker room. No one else was around to hear them.
"Mordred, how much do you think you've grown since your first fight?" Artoria asked as she took a seat on a bench.
"Not enough, I guess," Mordred said with a shrug. "But I'll get better. Once I do, I'm gonna kick her ass when we meet as pros."
Artoria nodded. "About that..."
Mordred raised an eyebrow and took a seat on an opposite bench, straddling her legs over the wood. "What is it?"
"Mordred, you haven't improved at all since your first fight," Artoria said with a cold stare. Mordred's heart jumped in her chest as if she'd been doused with ice water. "Every time you go in the ring, I get worried. Your strikes are sloppy and you throw them without any hint of technique or pacing. On top of that, your grappling-"
"I'm working on it!" Mordred yelled. Her voice echoed around the locker room, making her cringe at the possibility of someone outside hearing them. Artoria simply stared her cold stare. "I saw your first fight, you know. You didn't have much to brag about, either!"
"I'm aware, but I worked to improve myself. So far, I haven't seen any in you at all after five fights." Artoria stood from the bench, brushing stray splinters off the legs of her trousers. "Listen, if you really want to become a professional fighter, I will not stop you. However, I cannot let Camelot officially support you unless something changes."
She turned and left the locker room without a second look back. Mordred sat stunned on the bench, her eyes following Artoria until she left down the hallway. Her fingers curled into fists, carving lines into the bench as her nails carved up its surface. Tears dried in her eyes as she refused to let them fall. A grinding noise churned through her lips as she grit her teeth behind her mouth. As a parting gift to the room where Artoria smashed Mordred's aspirations with a hammer, Mordred kicked a dent into one of the lockers.
Days after her talk with Artoria, Mordred packed her bags for Japan. She got in touch with one of Artoria's past training partners, Shirou Emiya. He directed Mordred to Ritsuka, to whom Shirou was related. Mordred didn't bother to ask how. All she knew was that Ritsuka operated a gym in Shibuya and was willing to bring Mordred to the fold. The day Mordred got her paperwork sorted, she bought a one-way ticket and kissed England goodbye.
She now found herself in Ritsuka's office, staring at the plaques of other fighters who fought under the Chaldea Fight Team banner. Some plaques showed performance awards - knockouts of the nights, submissions of the nights, and fights of the nights. Others showed Ritsuka standing proudly next to other fighters as they held titles over their heads. For a woman who didn't look to be much older than Mordred, Ritsuka's accomplishments stood on a pedestal of their own.
"How long have you owned this place?" Mordred asked as she eyed a news article from two years ago.
"Only a few years," Ritsuka replied with a smile as she looked up from Mordred's papers. "Shirou was looking to move his gym to a larger building, so he left me to run this one."
Mordred nodded. She glanced Ritsuka's way as she asked, "Doesn't his wife run a gym also?"
"Oh, Rin? Yes, she helps Shirou run a gym in Fuyuki and a branch they have in England. She wants to sell the Fuyuki gym, but Shirou's been against it. Apparently his father used to run it."
"I see," Mordred mumbled. The business talk lost her interest faster than watching grass grow. As Ritsuka continued to look through papers, she asked Mordred several questions to ensure everything was in order. Mordred gave simple answers of yes and no whenever she could. Once they cleared the last page, Ritsuka shuffled the papers into a manilla folder and folded her hands on her desk. Her friendly smile from earlier was gone, having made way for a more serious yet considerate face.
"Before I show you around," Ritsuka said. "What is it you hope to gain out of this gym?"
Mordred glared at Ritsuka as she leaned forward in her chair. "I wanna win enough fights to challenge my sister for her title. Then I'm gonna kick her ass and retire her."
"I see..." A nervous smile crept over Ritsuka's face as she tapped her index fingers together. "Do you have any goals more fight-oriented?"
Mordred leaned back and scratched her chin. "Well, I suppose I wanna tighten up my strikes. I've been told my grappling could use some work as well."
Ritsuka's smile brightened. "We can definitely help you with that. I might be able to help you get some of those fights you want if that's all right with you."
"What? Are you gonna be my manager?"
"Well, I'm more of a businesswoman than a coach. We have plenty of great fighters who will help you train, though."
Mordred shrugged. "Guess it can't hurt. Besides, my name's gotta have some value, right?"
Ritsuka nodded, thankful that Mordred brought it up first. She didn't know the exact circumstance of Mordred and Artoria's falling out, and she preferred to dance around the subject until she better understood Mordred. There were a handful of small promotions she could see accepting Mordred onto their cards for the Pendragon name alone. However, it was a name Artoria built almost single-handedly. Using that name would mean standing in Artoria's shadow. As a member of Chaldea, however, Ritsuka wanted to help Mordred step right out of it.
"Welcome aboard, Mordred," Ritsuka said as she offered a hand. Mordred grinned and gave her a high five as she jumped to her feet. "Let me show you around a bit."
The Chaldea Fight Team gym was a three-story facility nestled between an arcade and a cafe. Its top floor held the team's offices and a photo studio. Workout equipment littered the second floor; machines, free weights, cardio equipment, and mats for calisthenics carpeted the open space. Sitting on the ground floor were the showers and, most importantly for many, the mats where fighters would drill, practice, and spar. In one corner of the first floor was an octagonal cage, smaller than what was found in most promotions, but enough for the fighters to get a feel of the mesh.
Once Ritsuka finished the tour, Mordred gave her a high five and went to catch a cab. As she waited, she set a reminder on her phone to come back at seven in the morning. There were two sets of classes, one in the morning and one in the evening, and Modred preferred to get her body moving before the sun could rise over the hills. She raised her arms on the seats and spread her legs with a yawn. The taxi cab rolled to a stop in dead traffic, and she lowered her head as she fell asleep.
"We're here," the taxi driver called out. Modred snapped out of her nap with a start. She looked outside the window to a forest of apartments and storefronts. Neon lights lit up the dusk streets. Though she couldn't read more than a tenth of the signs, she could read the placard on the apartment building wall next to the taxi. Lacking a sponsor, she had to survive on her own money, and she secured a cheap room within three miles of the Chaldea Fight Team gym.
"So this is Shinjuku," Mordred muttered. It was not her first choice of place to live, partly due to rumors she'd heard of the ward, but it was a godsend to her limited resources. "How much?" she asked the driver. Her stomach felt the blow of a hammer when she heard the price.
"I recommend taking the subway," the driver said as Mordred handed him the fare.
"Thanks," Mordred grumbled as she shoved the doors open and grabbed her belongings. She hucked her suitcase and bags up to the fourth floor. Her apartment had two rooms: the bathroom and the rest. There was a twin-sized mattress on the floor with no blankets or pillow. A small CRT television sat on the ground next to an analog radio. Both were plugged into a socket with bits of plastic chipped from the cover. There was a lingering sweet yet pungent odor emanating from the brown-stained stovetop. Thin curtains did little to block the rainbow of lights illuminating Shinjuku.
Mordred threw her tube top and shorts onto the floor and flopped onto her bed in her underwear. She groaned as she stretched out her arms and legs over the mattress, cringing at the itchy material lining it. The blank white ceiling offered her respite from the colorful gala beyond her window. It welcomed her with its familiar placidity, the same she felt when she awoke to a cool gray sky back home in England. Yet even the air could not help but remind her she was thousands of miles away from home as the humidity weighed down on her.
Whatever, she thought to herself. I'll be back one day. Though she did not know when that day would be or if she would, she repeated it to herself as she rolled onto her side. Mordred shut her eyes and shut out the noises outside as she awaited the slow arrival of sleep. Her nervousness of a new life in a country where she barely knew its language, the excitement for her new martial arts gym, and her anxiety for how her first professional fight would go kept rest away for an hour. As far as she knew, she blinked once; and it was morning.