Beginner Brawl [Martial Arts Club][Open to students]

The heavy sandbag bulged and creaked painfully with every blow. It was as if the poor piece of leather was begging his tortionner to stop. It would be a futile effort; Darren’s wasn’t about to let up. A left shovel hook, a side kick with the right to the midsection and a rising knee hit the sandbag in quick succession, each blow crisp, sharp and packed with power. A lot of power; ever since Semper Fi, Darren had been getting an irritating feeling that he needed to get stronger, though he wasn’t sure what caused it.

BUZZZZZ, went his phone. After ten minutes of non-stop abuse, he finally let the sandbag walk free. Much as a sandbag could walk. His forehead was drenched in sweat and he was panting, despite his stamina ranking among the highest at school. It was rare for anyone to see Darren in that state; he liked to do his training alone in the martial arts room at odd hours with no one to distract him.

After a minute, another buzz went off and with it went Darren, dashing from one side of the room to another. Upon arrival there, he jumped on the wall and kicked off in the other direction, sprinted again to where he came from, dropped for ten squats, rinse and repeat with ten push-ups, ten crunches, ten circle kicks with each leg, sprinting from one side of the room to another with each set without interruption. He only paused after the tenth.

Buzz, went his phone after, again, one minute. He walked to the double ball and started hitting it, weaving his body around to dodge the rebound when it bounced back. Again, this went on for ten minutes.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Just like that, one hour passed, then one and a half, and it got dangerously close to two before the delinquent stopped himself, utterly and completely drained. It was a little past midnight. After settling his heart rate for a few minutes on the bench, he proceeded to sneak back into the dorms. He headed straight for his bed and slept slumped over the covers with his training gear still on.

He was a little sore the Saturday morning that followed, but not as much as one could have expected; ever since the beginning of the year, Darren had got used to the insane rhythm of Yueei High training. Two hours of intense physical exercises were just a spicy workout to him now. Sitting up on his bed, he got his phone out to peep at the latest memes and the latest hero news. There was a reminder on top of the screen. Right, the martial arts club.

He had scheduled a beginner session today. Between Kutsu, Rin and Miku, quite a few people had asked him to teach them the one thing he had a reputation for doing right, hand-to-hand fighting. It helped that Darren was interested in a variety of styles ranging from ground-based grappling to standing striking and jumping kicks.

The session was scheduled for 2:00 p.m., so he had some time. He went for a morning poop, took a shower, schlepped his ass to the cafeteria to eat a gigantic bowl of cereal with milk, three fried eggs and a dozen stripes of bacon with half a can of beans and a toast with butter and fig jam, which was indubitably the best kind of jam ever, and finally headed to the club to make his preparations.

First off were the uniforms. He had asked everyone to come in their UA tracksuit, but fighting practice required a specific set of additional equipment. He went into the storage closet and came out carrying three cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other. The first one was full of 4 oz gloves -- the fingerless kind they wore in MMA -- of all shapes and sizes. Literally; since UA had measurements on hand for costume designs, he asked the principal for a pair of gloves tailor-made for ever single student, with mutations such as Chimmy’s in mind. They were all in that box.

The second one carried protection. Darren made the principal order a hundred plastic mouthguards, the kind that you could put in boiling water and then bite on so its shape espoused the wearer’s teeth. Again, they were of every shape and kind, some bigger, some smaller, with varying degrees of flexibility to accommodate fangs and canines. In the same box were a couple kilometers of boxing tape to wrap the hands and joints in. Their purpose were to hold the fragile bones that comprised the hand sturdily together and limit the risk of fracture.

The third one also contained protection, but it was more of the funny kind: cups. Because the sensitive areas between the legs had always been a weak point for men, women and everything in-between alike. It was almost 2 p.m. now.

Soon, the beginners would pour in, and Darren would greet them enthusiastically, leaving them a couple minutes to shoot the shit while waiting for the others, but soon he called everyone to the tatami area to begin the lesson.

“Welcome yall to the martial arts club! For those who ain’t know, I’m Daimon Darren of 1-C. Pleased to meet you goons. I’ll be organizing these classes on an approximately regular basis if you want to learn the science behind ass-kicking. This one is more of a noob class as I said in the chat.” Part of him wasn’t too sure about helping more people catch up. He told it to shut up.

“No shame in being a noob. If you’re too come practice because you’re afraid of looking like a noob, you ain’t deserve to learn. Even the weakest bitch in here has more courage than half the people I know, and if they keep it up, there won’t be no one to call em a weak bitch no more very soon.”

He paused for dramatic effect, satisfied with his little speech. He was very straightforward as a teacher. “Now without further ado, let’s begin. Y’all dig in the boxes over here for a pair of gloves, a cup and a mouthguard and get in gear. We’ll warm so no one pulls a muscle one me, and then you’re all gonna line up and hit me in the palm. Punch, kick, I don’t care which. Hit me with your best blow. But first we warm up. Follow my lead. Chop chop!”

And so the lesson would begin, Darren leading the group in a couple laps around the room, a couple push-ups, sit-ups and squats and a round of stretching, before making his pupils line up for the palm punches.