While Kek dressed I pulled Ryou to the side and sat him down on one of the empty benches in the locker room. "Okay, kid, we need to have the girlfriend talk."
"Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm not a girl."
He said it with a straight face, like he'd had that conversation more than once before. I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. "No, I know that, what I mean is- listen, it's been the title of the speech for twenty years now and I'm not going to change it."
Bakura leaned against a locker with his arms crossed, a bemused expression on his face. He couldn't be older than mid-twenties, but something about him always made me feel like I was the kid and he was the real old man. Like Kek, I felt like he'd had a hard road and probably seen some shit in his days, maybe that's why he seemed so old. For the time being I ignored him; he knew how to keep calm. This one in front of me, however, he was the type that . . . well, liked to hold hands, and I couldn't have him crying in the middle of Kek's fight.
"People think boxing is about who can kick the most ass, but they're wrong," I said. "Boxing is a mental sport. If Kek happens to glance at you in between rounds, he can't see you worried or scared. You'll kill his confidence and cost him the match."
"I don't think you have to worry." Bakura shrugged. "Ryou's not one to overreact."
I looked at Ryou. "Just smile at him, okay? Even if you think he's losing."
"I will," he promised with a serious expression on his face.
"Okay, good. Here, I'll show you guys to your seats." I lead them to the audience and left them there to go find Kek in the locker room. As soon as I saw him, I asked, "Nervous?"
He frowned, dressed in his shorts and robe. "You keep asking me that."
"Well?"
"I just want it over with." He stuck out his hands.
I bound them with gauze and tape (where it's legal, not the knuckles). "Remember, pace yourself. You don't have to get a knockout to win. It's about the score cards. Look at the judges between rounds and be confident."
"I just don't want to get mad and kill him. I don't even care if I win." Kek looked away.
"I was like that when I was sixteen, too. But you ain't sixteen anymore. Thank the gods we don't stay kids forever, right? You're not that angry punk anymore." I fake a punch to his chin. He looked miserable. We're all fucked up, but sometimes I forgot that Kek is a little extra fucked up. I give his shoulder a good, hard pat. It worked, the contact made him release some of the tension in his back.
One day I asked him about the scars and he recited something in a language I'd never heard. When I asked him if it was Egyptian Arabic, since I knew he grew up in Egypt, he told me it was Old Egyptian â a lesser known dialect, one spoken by priests and magi.
"Look, if you want to through in the towel, you tell me now. Once that bell rings, it's too late."
He whispered that his father carved the words, the hieratic, into his back when he was ten.
"I have to do this," Kek said.
Because he grew up in a cult that worshiped of some long-dead Pharaoh.
"I have to know," Kek said.
I finished wrapping his left hand.
"Truly know," he repeated the words more to himself than to me.
I slipped on the glove.
"If I'm still the Shadow I used to be."
He also confessed, after one of our better workouts, that he'd never seen open sky until he was eleven, or even sunlight. He'd been forced to live underground. I'd like to find his old man and beat his ass if I could, but I get the feeling that Kek may have taken care of that himself.
"Or if I'm finally human now."
Anyone else said human like that and I'd tell them to stop being melodramatic, but I only nod at Kek. I patted his shoulder one more time. It's like a hug, only, y'know, more manly. He looked at me with bright, jewel-toned eyes. I had to admit, his boyfriend is damn good at sewing; the outfit is perfect. Kek doesn't look so much a boxer as an ancient warrior â the type to put heads on spikes. I wouldn't have been surprised is the kid he fought pissed all over himself the moment Kek entered the ring.
We left the locker room, light blinding us, music blaring in our ears along with the cheers from the ground. I walk with him right up to the ropes and stand in my corner as he goes forward. They announce both kids, have the touch gloves, and ring the bell. Sweat beaded across their shoulders. They haven't moved much, but the stage lights baked us, even I and the other coach were sweating, and the ref, and the folk in the front row seats. I couldn't tell which was more intimidating, Kek walking into the ring with his robe billowing behind him, or Kek fighting in the ring with the sweat of his body causing the hieratic on his back to glow.
He controlled the fight. It was a shame he didn't want to continue his career. Most pros started young, he had a knack for boxing. You'd never know how green he was from watching him fight. The rounds go by fast. No huge hits, but I could tell the crowd was found of Kek. He was expressive, able to taunt his opponent with a look instead of trash talk. He had the other kid swinging wild as Kek timed each pop of his glove to his opponent's face. The defending fighter was getting pissed. He'd assumed it'd be an easy fight since he'd never of heard of Kek before. Well, bitch, surprise.
By round five the kid tried cussing at Kek to rile him up, but he got a verbal from the ref for language. Fucking punk, if he spent that energy dodging instead of talking shit, maybe he wouldn't be losing the match. I was proud of Kek, though. He just grinned at the swears like they were kittens batting at his gloves, little cute things that couldn't hurt him.
I glanced at his friends. Bakura leaned back in his chair, smirking. Ryou leaned forward, his jaw a straight line. He was focused, concentrating on Kek's moves. If Kek glanced his way between rounds, Ryou nodded to encourage Kek while Bakura grinned. I underestimated Ryou. I expected him to watch the fight with his hands covering his face and his head turned away every time Kek got hit, but he stayed level-headed - and he makes a damn good robe. Ryou's good people in my book.
In the eighth round Kek knocked the other kid down for a six count. Then again for an eight count. I thought maybe the match would end with a TKO, but then the ninth round came and the bastard head butted Kek, hard. My boy crashed to the mat below, holding above his left eye with his glove. I saw the blood. Stupid, fucking, son-of-a-bitch, head-butting prick!
The judge inspected the gash above Kek's eye. All I could think was how pissed I'd be if Kek won by DQ â I wanted him to fight. I heard him snap at the ref that he was fine. The ref didn't give a single fuck what Kek thought, but after a close look, he decided that the bout could continue. The little shit got a two point deduction for head butting, and they went at it again. My teeth were clenched the entire time. Almost done. C'mon Kek, win this bitch.
The little punk had no self-control. He flailed at Kek, and I noticed that each wild punch pissed Kek off more and more. It reminded me of that first day with the mitts. Something dark and bloodthirsty was starting to seep into Kek's eyes- oh no you don't, Kek. I trained you better than that. Don't lose your temper you already have the match! I was gripping too tightly at the ropes. I had to force my own ass to calm down before I could expect Kek to do the same.
Bakura no longer grinned. He had a different kind of dark look about him that made me shiver. Ryou's face was a mask. I couldn't read him, and I could usually read everybody. Not sure which one of the two scared me more, but I was glad as fuck that I wasn't the one hurting their boyfriend.
Thirty-seven seconds before the bell and Kek hooked, a monstrous fucking blow that made my jaw drop at the sight of it. The kid went down-
Out! He was out!
His mouthpiece flew out of his mouth as soon as he hit the ground, but he was unconscious so he didn't know it.
They announced Kek the winner.
Kek stayed as long as he had to and then he was gone, and I had to run after him. I found him in the locker area, throwing up in the trash can. Yeah, guess he's right. Better he help me with the kids and spare with the guys than fight in matches. He acts frosty, he's really a good kid. He just never had a chance to be when he was younger.
"I told you a hundred times. Don't chug water. You'll puke every time." I shook my head at him. I know that's not why he vomited, and he knows I know, but it's okay.
"Yeah. My bad," he muttered, wiping his mouth.
"Lemme see the eye."
"It's fine."
"Still got to treat it."
He rinsed his mouth out and sat down so I could disinfect the cut. "Even if you hadn't knocked him out that match was yours. You had it from beginning to end."
"I used to fight like him, like a bitch, lashing out and running my mouth. I knocked him cold because he was disgusting me; he reminded me of myself."
"Well? You wanted to know if you were different. Are you?"
Obviously, but I wanted to hear him say it so he could hear it himself.
"I didn't kill him. I didn'tâĤ but I still wanted to break his spine and leave him dead on the ground."
"Me too, that fucking little shit would have deserved it, too. He almost got DQ'd twice. Maybe you humbled him a bit."
"I doubt it. Sometimes it takes more than one loss."
"There used to be more respect. Now all these dumb kids watch T.V, and think they can do whatever they want."
He nodded, but in a vague way. I put away the first aid kit and let him change. Last we unwrapped his hands. He looked at the cut above his eye in the mirror, staring at himself for a long time.
"There's blood."
"Yup." I nodded. I knew he was going somewhere, so I let him get there on his own.
"Heh, guess I'm human after all." He smiled.
"Well." I grinned. I was fucking proud of him. "Congratulations."