Chapter 35: "Ambulances, Bruises, and the Art of Reckless Victory"
In which Evan discovers pain is temporary, but revenge is glorious—and also painful.
Let's get one thing straight:
Derek Holt wasn't just your average high school jock.
He wasn't the "lift weights, eat protein, pick fights with nerds" type.
No.
Derek was the five-star general of teenage athleticism.
A one-man army in letterman-jacket form.
If Ravencrest High was a kingdom, Derek wasn't just the prince.
He was the warrior prince who bench-pressed dragons and threw touchdowns for the honor of the realm.
He was fast.
Strong.
Absurdly good at grappling arts that most adults took years to master.
He could probably wrestle a bear, and that bear would need therapy afterward.
And it wasn't just brawn.
His GPA was solid.
He aced math.
Could cook steak medium-rare without Googling it.
Woke up at five every morning to train.
Ate kale voluntarily.
Monster.
He came from a family of high achievers.
His father was a decorated Army colonel who had probably beaten a tank in a staring contest at some point.
His mother was a former Air Force pilot who casually talked about pulling six Gs like she was describing traffic.
At family dinners, people discussed tactical equipment instead of stuffing.
So, yeah.
Derek had pressure.
But he wore it like a weighted vest.
Built muscle from it.
The one person he'd always looked up to outside his own family, weirdly enough, was Garrick Mercer.
My dad.
Years ago, Dad had body-slammed Derek's father during some friendly sparring session and earned the man's eternal respect.
Derek had apparently witnessed it.
He'd watched my gigantic lunatic of a father drop his personal hero—
then laugh and hand the guy a sandwich afterward.
Derek never forgot it.
So when he looked at Garrick Mercer's son and saw...
well...
me?
He didn't know what to do with the disappointment.
We'd actually been friends when we were little.
Water-balloon wars.
Trading snacks.
Playing tag like the fate of the universe depended on it.
Then I started hiding.
Avoiding gym.
Slouching around.
Backing away whenever things got confrontational.
My confidence had basically deflated.
And Derek?
Derek hated wasted potential.
So he decided to "help."
At first, it had apparently been small.
Push me.
Mock me.
Try to make me angry enough to push back.
He'd done similar things with other kids before.
Helped them "find their fire," as he called it.
Rough?
Absolutely.
Effective?
Sometimes.
But me?
I just took it.
So Derek escalated.
More humiliation.
More pressure.
More challenges.
He wanted me to snap out of it.
To finally fight back.
Because somewhere inside his deeply messed-up worldview, Derek had never thought of himself as the villain in my story.
He thought he was the guy forcing the underdog to become stronger.
Which was...
a fascinating excuse.
And now, standing across from me on the judo mat, watching the kid he'd once called weak stand with his feet planted and his eyes steady—
Derek grinned.
Finally.
"You sure about this, Mercer?"
He rolled his shoulders.
"I've been waiting a long time. Didn't think you'd ever grow a spine."
My eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint your ego."
I adjusted my stance.
"But this isn't about you."
His grin weakened slightly.
"This is for me."
Then:
"For Mara. For Toby. For every time you made me feel worthless."
Derek raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not apologizing."
Of course.
"What I did was necessary."
I stared at him.
"You spent years breaking me down, and now you're seriously playing the 'character development' card?"
"It was development."
He sounded completely serious.
"You think people grow sitting comfortably forever?"
Derek stepped forward.
"Pressure builds strength."
Another step.
"Fire forges steel."
His eyes hardened.
"You needed to get angry enough to change."
"I needed somebody to help me!"
My voice cracked through the gym.
"Not kick me while I was already down!"
"You wouldn't have listened."
He stepped fully onto the mat.
"But you're here now."
He spread his arms slightly.
"You've grown."
Then:
"So have I."
His expression sharpened.
"This is what you wanted, right?"
The entire gym had gone silent.
"A real fight."
I inhaled.
Slowly.
"Yeah."
My voice came quieter.
"This is what I want."
Derek gave one short nod.
"Then bring it on, Mercer."
He lowered his stance.
"Let's see who you really are."
The air inside the gym was so tense, you could've sliced it with one of Mr. Calder's disappointed sighs.
Students packed themselves around the mat like this was:
Fight Club: Ravencrest Edition.
Even Coach Braddock stood with his whistle halfway to his mouth, visibly regretting ever allowing "friendly judo sparring."
On the mat stood two titans of teenage emotional baggage:
Derek Military Prodigy Holt.
And me—
Evan Ancient-Cultivator-Trained Disaster-In-Progress Mercer.
Nobody knew about the second title.
Probably for the best.
"BEGIN!"
Coach blew the whistle.
And everything exploded.
Derek moved first.
Feint.
Step.
Then a spinning hook kick came straight toward my head.
Old Evan?
Dead.
Current Evan?
I ducked.
Twisted.
Swept his supporting leg.
Derek jumped.
Actually jumped.
He flipped over the sweep and landed cleanly on his feet like some show-off jungle cat.
I stared.
"Oh."
He grinned.
"That the best you've got, Mercer?"
"Oh, he's actually good."
We closed again.
Derek reached for a clinch.
Shoulder throw.
I slipped outside the grip and drove an elbow into his ribs.
THUD.
Connected.
He barely flinched.
Instead, his hand closed around my wrist.
Twist.
Turn.
And suddenly the entire world rotated.
WHUMP!
My back slammed into the mat.
The gym gasped.
Mara shouted from the crowd.
"GET UP, EVAN!"
Toby had his phone up, recording with the enthusiasm of a wildlife documentarian watching two rhinos fight over territory.
I groaned.
Then rolled back onto my feet.
"Okay."
I rotated one shoulder.
"That was solid."
Derek's grin widened.
"You think that was solid?"
He came forward like a linebacker fired from a cannon.
Jab.
Jab.
Hook.
I parried left.
Right.
Slipped the third.
Low kick into his thigh.
Derek staggered.
Then immediately returned with a double jab.
I blocked—
too slow.
He got inside.
Hip throw.
The floor rushed toward me.
But this time?
My training kicked in.
I twisted midair.
Caught his gi.
Shifted my hips.
And dragged Derek down with me.
THWACK!
His back hit the mat.
Hard.
Even Coach Braddock flinched.
The crowd went insane.
Actually insane.
People screamed.
Someone shouted:
"NO WAY!"
Another voice:
"MERCER JUST THREW HOLT!"
This wasn't me getting lucky anymore.
Wasn't some weird strength boost.
Wasn't:
Oh, his parents probably gave him science juice.
This was a fight.
A real one.
Derek rolled up to one knee.
For the first time...
he looked confused.
His brain was clearly doing somersaults.
Because this wasn't just strength.
Sure, I was faster than before.
Stronger.
But the real difference?
Training.
Transitions.
Positioning.
Chaining techniques.
Adapting.
Not freezing after every mistake.
Derek wiped a little blood from his lip.
"You've been training."
I panted.
"You could say that."
His eyes sharpened.
Then he shot forward.
Low.
Takedown attempt.
Classic wrestling.
I sprawled.
Got my weight down.
Circled behind his shoulders.
Arm around the neck.
Standing guillotine.
For half a second—
I had him.
Then Derek dropped his weight.
Shifted his hips.
Rolled.
The entire position reversed.
SLAM.
Back on the mat.
Again.
"Ow."
I rolled away before he could capitalize.
Then bounced back up.
Spring-loaded raccoon mode.
I rushed him.
Punch.
Elbow.
Knee.
Another punch.
Derek blocked most of it.
One got through.
CRACK.
My fist caught his jaw.
His head snapped sideways.
We both separated.
Breathing hard now.
Really hard.
I stared at him.
Then realized something.
"You've been holding back all these years."
Derek shrugged between breaths.
"You were too weak."
I frowned.
"You would've gotten seriously hurt."
I rotated my aching shoulder.
"Yeah, well..."
I lowered my stance again.
"Surprise."
A grin pulled at my mouth.
"Not weak anymore."
The gym had never been this quiet.
Not even during exams.
I stood in the center of the mat, chest heaving.
Sweat running down my face.
Several parts of my ribs were beginning formal proceedings against me.
Across the mat stood Derek Holt—
Ravencrest High's golden gladiator.
Still upright.
Still grinning.
And somehow...
still looking like he had more left.
Coach Braddock had completely abandoned the illusion that this was a casual class exercise.
The man was practically chewing his whistle.
The crowd was frozen.
Half recording.
Half apparently forgetting blinking was necessary.
Even Mara and Toby looked like they were watching the season finale of:
Super Smash Teenagers: Emotional Damage Edition.
Meanwhile?
My brain was doing math.
Bad math.
Okay.
I'm faster.
More agile.
Better trained than I used to be by approximately one ancient Sect Head and several hundred simulated beatings.
BUT—
Derek was built like a titanium refrigerator.
Every time I landed something clean?
He absorbed it.
Every time he landed?
My ancestors felt it.
I was landing more.
He was landing harder.
If this kept going, we were heading toward either a draw...
or me waking up under fluorescent lights wondering why a nurse was asking what year it was.
Unless...
A terrible idea entered my mind.
A truly awful one.
The kind of thought that should've triggered alarms.
Don't dodge everything.
Now.
Most reasonable people would not call this strategy.
Most reasonable people also hadn't spent their nights being repeatedly killed in mental training scenarios until "pain is information" had become a legitimate educational philosophy.
I smiled.
Dangerously.
"Alright, Derek."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Let's finish this."
I rolled my shoulders.
"Somebody call an ambulance."
Derek smirked.
"Worried about yourself?"
"Nope."
I cracked my neck.
"For you."
Pause.
"And maybe me."
Then I charged.
Derek met me head-on.
His fist came across.
Normally?
I would've slipped it.
This time...
I didn't.
THUD.
His right hook crashed into my cheek.
Stars exploded in my vision.
Somewhere deep in my brain, every lesson Asterion had ever taught me began screaming:
THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT BY ACCEPTING PAIN.
But I used the rotation.
Turned with the hit.
Elbow.
Right into Derek's side.
He grunted.
Surprised.
I stepped closer.
Too close for his reach advantage.
Derek drove a knee into my ribs.
Pain exploded.
I nearly folded.
Instead—
uppercut.
My fist smashed into his chin.
Derek staggered backward.
And the gym...
erupted.
The crowd started screaming.
My cheek was swelling.
Lip bleeding.
Vision slightly doubled.
But for the first time?
Derek was backing up.
"C'mon!"
My voice came out raw.
"I thought you were tougher than this!"
His expression changed.
Then he lunged.
Grabbed my arm.
Pivoted.
Judo throw.
I planted my foot.
Twisted.
Shifted my weight.
And instead of going over—
I took him.
WHAM!
Derek hit the mat.
He immediately rolled.
Grabbed my ankle.
Pulled.
I crashed down beside him.
Then things got ugly.
Not illegal ugly.
Mostly.
Just...
grappling ugly.
Rolling.
Controlling wrists.
Elbows into legal targets.
Body shots.
Scrambling for position like two angry tomcats trapped inside a laundry dryer.
Derek landed a body blow.
My vision flashed white.
I panicked.
Headbutted him.
THUNK.
Both of us recoiled.
"Ow!"
Okay.
Not my proudest technical decision.
Coach Braddock yelled something that sounded suspiciously like:
"WATCH THE HEADS!"
Fine.
Noted.
Finally—
Derek threw one desperate overhead strike.
Big.
Committed.
Too much weight behind it.
There.
I ducked.
Dropped low.
Wrapped both arms around his waist.
Planted my feet.
Everything Asterion had drilled into me flashed through my mind.
Hips.
Base.
Drive.
Don't lift with the back.
And because apparently my mouth hated dignity—
I roared:
"MERCER PAAAAAUNCH!"
Which made absolutely no sense because I wasn't punching him.
I heaved.
Derek left the ground.
For one beautiful moment—
the apex predator of Ravencrest High was airborne.
Then—
BOOM!
I slammed him onto the mat.
Not head-first.
Thank every instructor Asterion had ever made me fight.
Back and shoulders.
But hard.
Very hard.
Derek lay there.
Didn't move.
The gym went silent.
Coach Braddock immediately stepped in.
Crouched.
Checked him.
I stood several feet away, swaying slightly.
One second.
Two.
Derek groaned.
His eyes opened.
Coach exhaled.
Then somebody in the crowd screamed:
"HE DID IT!"
And the gym detonated.
Everyone started shouting.
Mara was screaming.
Toby had apparently produced a handmade sign that said:
NERD RAGE FTW!
Where had he even been keeping that?
Coach Braddock looked like he needed retirement.
And me?
I stood there.
Bruised.
Bleeding.
Arms raised.
Grinning like I'd just defeated the final boss of my childhood.
The second I collapsed onto the mat like a victorious gladiator who had just body-slammed a Minotaur...
the gym exploded.
We're talking nuclear-level teenage chaos.
Phones appeared faster than ghosts fleeing containment equipment.
Everyone had just witnessed the impossible.
Evan Mercer.
Resident former punching bag.
Beat—
Derek Holt.
Ravencrest High's athletic war machine.
Even Coach Braddock looked like his brain needed rebooting.
Sofia stood completely still.
Arms crossed.
Mouth slightly open.
Like her internal operating system had encountered an unexpected update:
EVAN MERCER IS TERRIFYING NOW.exe
She'd watched every hit.
Every block.
Every time Derek slammed me down and I got back up.
I didn't have Derek's size.
Didn't have his athletic pedigree.
Didn't have years of competitive training behind me.
But I had something she hadn't associated with me before.
Pure, reckless, incredibly stupid determination.
And somehow?
It worked.
Her eyes narrowed.
If Evan Mercer could change that much...
What exactly was stopping her?
She looked down at her perfectly manicured nails.
Quietly:
"If that idiot can change his whole life..."
Her jaw tightened.
"...what am I doing?"
Talia, meanwhile?
Completely different wavelength.
"Oh my God."
Sofia looked over.
"This is literally that arc from Fighter Soul X Genesis where the protagonist stops hiding his training progress after grinding experience off-screen for half a season!"
Sofia blinked.
"What?"
"Evan's been power-leveling!"
Talia pointed excitedly toward the mat.
"I knew it!"
She started counting rapidly.
"New confidence. Motorcycle. Mysterious fights. Secret training."
Her eyes widened.
"He definitely has a mentor."
Sofia stared.
"Didn't he literally admit he had a mentor?"
"That's not the point!"
Talia continued.
"This is exactly like the masked martial-arts master from Episode Thirteen!"
"You need help."
Talia paused.
Then nodded solemnly.
"Honestly? Probably."
Meanwhile, Mara and Toby were already shoving their way through the crowd.
"Evan!"
Mara dropped beside me.
Her hands carefully lifted my head.
"You absolute lunatic!"
I groaned.
"Thank you."
"That was amazing."
I smiled weakly.
"And stupid!"
Smile faded.
"And amazing."
There we go.
"I think I sprained my face."
I touched my cheek.
"And maybe one internal organ."
Toby dropped onto the mat beside us.
"Dude."
He stared.
"Dude."
Then louder:
"DUDE!"
I winced.
"My ears also hurt."
"You just broke the laws of gym class."
He gestured dramatically.
"That was like watching a marshmallow evolve into reinforced concrete."
I weakly raised one thumb.
"Worth it?"
"Absolutely," Mara said.
Then she looked at my face again.
"Still incredibly dumb."
"You just punched your trauma in the face," Toby added proudly.
"Repeatedly."
"That was mostly Derek's face."
"Symbolism."
Mara turned toward Toby.
"You're buying him ice cream later."
"Obviously."
Across the gym, Derek's friends finally recovered from their collective system crash.
Two of them helped him sit up.
Then eventually onto his feet.
"You good?"
Derek blinked several times.
His lip was split.
Cheek already bruising.
Then—
he smiled.
Not a huge smile.
Just one exhausted, satisfied curve of the mouth.
"Heh."
His eyes found me across the mat.
"Kid's finally got bite."
One of his friends stared.
"Respect."
Then looked at Derek's face.
"But also..."
He winced.
"Ow."
The other nodded.
"He's feeling that tomorrow."
Derek looked toward me again.
"So is Mercer."
Fair.
Extremely fair.
Coach Braddock immediately ordered both of us toward the nurse.
No debate.
No heroic objections.
Apparently "walking under your own power" did not exempt you from mandatory concussion checks.
As Derek was helped away, whispers followed him.
Shock.
Respect.
Confusion.
And in the middle of it all—
I, Evan Mercer—
the kid people barely noticed a few weeks ago—
had just rewritten something fundamental about Ravencrest High.
Not because I had become stronger than everyone.
Not because beating Derek magically made me king of anything.
But because everyone had watched the person who used to never fight back...
stand up.
Take everything Derek threw at him.
And refuse to stay down.
Also?
Possibly because I had yelled MERCER PUNCH while performing a throw.
That part was already going to haunt me forever.
But hey.
Glory hurts.