punch me [darren]

Darren was sitting on a bench filling out paperwork. He expressed his discontent to no one by yawning loudly. If there was one thing he hated about heading a martial arts club, it was all the damn paperwork and all the god damn forms.

Heading a martial arts club was fun otherwise. He had no shortage of people to fight here, they had a rotating tennis ball cannon and it was fun to show people how to kick ass as well. One such person knocked on his door today, loudly announcing their desire to get punched by Darren. He perked up immediately.

“Okay!” he shouted as he shot up and threw up the paperwork over his shoulder, cascading in the air behind him. There was a big smile on the delinquent’s face and his eyes suddenly looked a lot more alert. He was not wearing the UA sports uniform, as usual, preferring today a pair of baggy orange kung-fu pants he normally used as pajamas and a Who t-shirt.

He started on his way towards the new arrival with a spring in his step, swinging his right arm and holding his shoulder.

He spied a VERY fast rabbit plushie running at incredible hihg speed barrelling for his left calf, so he spun on his right one and made the left disappear from the rabbit’s field of view -- did Kutsu’s plushies even have a sense of sight? -- like a torero with his cape, and naturally completing his spin, continued in the direction of its master.

Kutsu had changed his mind, so Darren slammed his right hand on his shoulder in a brusque but friendly-intentioned accolade. “Welcome to the Martial Arts club, Kutsu! Don’t worry, we don’t punch each other without gloves,” he explained, his voice booming, with a big smile that wanted to be reassuring and inviting but, coupled with the almost-visible sparkle in his eyes, only served to make him look insane, or more insane than usual, rather.

“Yes, safety first,” Darren answered to Kutsu’s uncomfortable laugh. “I ain’t THAT much of a brute. Plus, you can hurt your hands,” he quickly added. It was true. People assumed that boxing gloves protected the man being punched, but it was wrong, they protected the hand of the one doing the punching. Before gloves were introduced, boxing was supremely boring, as it was just two sweat bare-chested men punching each other in the belly repeatedly. Gloves allowed them to go for headshots without risking a broken hand.

“It’s very important,” he insisted. “Tyson once broke his fucking hand punching a random weak-ass dude in a bar. Mike Tyson, that is. Old boxer from last century if you ain’t know.” The only knowledge that Darren could impress others with was his fighting knowledge.

When Kutsu commented that he must have been doing this for a while, he nodded in agreement. “Ever since middle school. Some fucks gave me shit about my quirk and my hair, and four years later, here we are.” He smiled when the rabbit got up his arm. It was impossible to hate on his plushies, even when they literally just tried to bite you.

Then, his plushie-sewing classmate grasped his arms and asked him urgently to teach him to fight, without hurting anyone if possible. Darren couldn’t help but shoot a wondering glare at his scar. He had gotten into the habits of ignoring people’s scars after years of hanging out with delinquents, but here he couldn’t help but wonder if the scar played any part in his request.

“Well, it sounds like you’re asking me for judo. You mean martial arts your yourself, right, not your plushies? Well, whatever. You should know that as well in case someone tries to stab you when you’re a pro. All the plushies in the world are worthless if you bleed to death before you fuck up a single villain. Alright, follow me.” He walked his classmate across the room to a closet, in which he began to dig. He got out a pair of white pants and a vest of a thick, rice grain like fabric. With it was an equally white belt. Darren had gotten one for himself as well. “These are judo gis. You could just put on the vest and call it a day, but fuck it, I’m feeling like doing things properly today. I’d say let’s head to the changing room, but it’s only us guys in here, right?”

And so right there, as naturally as ever, Darren removed his shorts, put on the white judo pants, removed his shirt, put on the white vest, and tied it closed with the belt -- his was blue. “Mine is a different color because I’m better. Look at me for how to tie it. It’s supposed to be important, plus it’s real easy to untie after.” He showed him, going through the motions slowly.

Once they changed, he’d go on with the first lesson. “Alright, first lesson of Judo. How to fall.” Demonstrating, he robbed his own feet from below himself, simulating a sweep. He fell on his side, banging the tatami loudly with his arm. “Don’t you laugh, that shit is important. You wanna slam the ground to absorb the impact on the tatamis, its stings a bit in your arm at first but it’s better than getting the air knocked out of your lungs. You’ll fall flat on your ass a lot in judo, so its important to learn how to do it without fucking yourself up.”

“uTube videos. Where else are you supposed to learn stuff?”

It was an honest answer. Textbooks were never his forte; it was much easier to munch on chips in front of uTube videos about the Sengoku Jidai or the battle of Kursk, and it was entertaining enough to capture the delinquent’s attention. Such a thing was not an easy feat.

Not only that, but the old man at the boxing gym gave him one match to watch and review every week. Hearns VS Hagler. Tyson VS Spinks. Ali VS Frazier. Darren had seen all the classics and knew every legendary tale of the square ring. Even more so than actual history, his knowledge of boxing history was frightening. His passion for fighting sometimes bordered on obsession.

But today was not a day for boxing, today was a day for judo. “Alright then,” he answered to Kutsu’s explanation of his scar. “Hey, you can always pretend it's something badass. A flamethrower-equipped plushie experiment gone wrong,” he added with a glance towards Lady Leapingsworth, whose toothless grin managed to be even scarier than her usual iron maw.

It felt good to be in a judogi again. It felt like wearing pajamas that others couldn't make fun of because they were fighting pajamas. He finished tying the knot of his classmate’s white belt with an energetic pull in answer to his joke. “Maybe a yellow one. If you're lucky.”

Like every beginner in judo, kid Darren included, Kutsu couldn't help but laugh at the demonstration of the judo fall. The blondie sat up, cross-legged. “I mean fall. Even I can't avoid falling flat on my ass from time to time. The difference between a fool who breaks his cervicals doing so and me is tucking your chin. When you fall on your back, your first reflex should be to tuck in your chin so you don't hit the back of your head on the ground. That, or go retarded from repeated concussions. Your pick.”

The delinquent shrugged. “Fighting is violent. Even if you ain't wanna hurt nobody, people are gonna tryna hurt ya. Can't avoid that shit. Now come on, I should be the one looking down on ya.” He got up. “Now, fall like I showed you. Tuck in your chin and slam your arm down on your side to absorb the impact. I know it looks stupid, but it really does help. If you do good, I'll show you the forward fall. It looks way cooler, don't worry. It's some action movie shit.” He smirked.

“Alright then, here we go. Think fast!” He only gave poor Kutsu a second to process all this before he grabbed his collar and sleeve and pushed him, tripping his feet with his right leg. He had a feeling that Kutsu needed to learn by example. Should he mess up his fall, Darren held him by the sleeve so as to control it, as was common courtesy in judo.

Just as he expected, Darren had no trouble sweeping Kutsu off his feet with the simplest o-soto-gari, the scarred boy narrowly avoiding a bad fall thanks to the arm the delinquent held with his right hand. With his left one he scratched the back of his head, scruffy blonde hair giggling in the process.

He feared that would be the case. Kutsu was the type to waddle through life innocently, trying to avoid hurting people as much as possible. Darren had hoped the scar would shed some light on an interesting past, but it was no use. He just hurt himself experimenting. He had dull instincts, a faint heart and no bite; in other words, Kutsu didn’t have the mind of a fighter.

Glancing down at his left leg, he could see Lady Leapingsworth had far more of the stuff than her master, even toothless. Perhaps relying on the plushies was a good idea after all. Still, he didn’t like to think of what would happen to Kutsu should an enemy get close.

At least, he had motivation. The boy threw himself on the floor again and again, under the critical eye who walked around him barking corrections on order to get off his ass and back up on his feet and then down on the aforementioned ass once again for another round. After a while, it was looking a little better. Under his pupil’s enthusiastic and incessant pressure, he finally ceded.

“Fine, fine, we’ll see about that forward fall. And no, you don’t get a yellow belt. You’re a thousand years two early for one of those, boy,” said the delinquent of similar hair color of the easiest belt to attain in judo. “You gotta make me fall first for that one.” Darren’s indicated with a smile what he thought of Kutsu’s chances of it. Of course, he was exaggerating a little -- all that was needed was knowing the basic throws -- but he had to keep that motivation high, somehow. In his eyes, it was the best chance he had of doing something with Kutsu.

Without further ado, the delinquent took a couple quick, light steps forward and dove down on the mat. He broke the fall with his hands and immediately proceeded to roll on his right shoulder, tucking his head under his arm and his chin once again close to the body. It was a simple roll, executed smoothly and with no hesitation. The delinquent easily translated to his feet afterward and casually walked back to Kutsu.

“It’s a lot easier than it looks. First do it without diving, but eventually you should be able to do that shit too. I’ll break it down for ya. You put your hands on the ground, a bit to your left, and then you roll on your shoulder by pushing on your legs. It’s easy as fuck, really. Then you get back on your feet with the momentum. You keep that chin tucked it. It’s the same logic as the other one, it’s so you don’t fuck up your own neck when someone throws you down.”

As if to illustrate, the delinquent stretched and cracked his own neck.

“Go on, whachu waiting for? You said you wanted to learn to fight without hurting others, right? Before you can pretend to pull off that shit, first learn to fight without hurting yourself. If you can do that, I’ll teach you how to trip a fool. You’ll need that if you want them belts.”

Again, Darren would keep watch over his pupil with a serious look, arms folded across his chest and pointing out every little mistake of Kutsu’s with a harsh tone, the delinquent's words crashing down like boulders on the boy's back. Truth be told, he was forcing the trait a little. Fighting wasn’t so nice when the guy in front pulled out a knife; he had to make his innocent classmate understand that, and he figured yelling was a slightly nicer way to do it. For once that being an asshole might help.

Darren could swear that plushie waiting on the bench was looking at him wrong with the lifeless beads it had for eyes, somehow. Something was to be done about that, so the delinquent turned his head and grimaced ironically at the plushie. Certainly, it was the course of action that needed to be taken. Half-grown adolescents grimacing at stuffed animals was a recognized solution to problems of all kinds all over the world.

Back to his bubbly pupil, Darren answered his question with a laugh. “Hahaha! Make someone fall, Kutsu, make someone fall. Not me. You’re a hundred years too early for that.” His smile was cocky as ever. “Now let me see that forward fall.”

As he expected, his authoritative routine sent Kutsu in a panic. He didn’t ease off. Learning how to fall was one thing, but the boy looked like the kind who needed to be eased into the chaos of battle lest he’d fall unconscious the first time someone’d pull a knife on him. He made a mental note to keep the knife defense katas for later. The plushie was still staring. Darren stuck out his tongue at it.

Eventually, though, Kutsu started getting the hang of it. The dive posed him a couple problems, but otherwise, he was getting it. “Good, good. It ain’t hard. Keep going.” But of course, the Kutsu he knew surfaced again. He sighed. “Of course tripping people is dangerous, Kutsu. Fighting is dangerous.”

It seemed like he was not done, and neither was Lady Leapingsbottom or whatever he called it, as she was now stomping angrily about his tatami. The delinquent allowed himself a second to appreciate how incredible Kutsu’s quirk was, all things considered. It was, all in all, the ability to give a being life. Some would say he was a literal god. Maybe if they could talk, the plushies would worship him. Now that he thought of it, his throwing Kutsu on the floor repeatedly earlier was probably the reason she was so pissed off.

In the meantime, Kutsu had more questions, and perhaps his first pertinent one! But a second before Darren could open his mouth and launch on a diatribe about the importance of supplementing your quirk with training, and vice versa, and how he could use martial arts in conjunction with his plushies to gang up on villains, 1-C’s kindest soul asked about using them to cushion the villain’s face.

Hand flew towards face and slapped upon it as Darren sighed again. Removing his hand, the blondie stared at his classmate with intensity. “Kut… No, Scarface. Fuck, why didn’t I think of that earlier? You’re Scarface now. You know the movie? Well, don’t become like the guy, but you could learn a thing or two. Do you think it’s a good idea to cushion the fall of the dude shooting people with a machine gun?” He slammed his right fist into his left palm for effect. “No. You want that dude to hit his head on the ground, as hard as possible, and you hope it knocks him out. And if that fails, you put him in an armlock, and you force till it hurts. Or you choke him ‘till he passes out.”

It was unusual of Darren to have such a serious look on his face. As much of a battle-crazed idiot as he was, as detached as he liked to present himself, he didn’t like the idea of Kutsu going out on hero work anytime soon. “Look, Scarry. The world ain’t a nice place. I know you don’t wanna hurt nobody, but that a luxury you can’t afford in this line of work we’re headed for. If you ain’t ready, you the one who gonna get hurt. You and the people you’re tryna protect. Its, uh… Uh… Fuck, I have it on the tip of my tongue. That shit from the ethics class. Uh… Utilianism. Or something like that.”

“Picture it like this.” He started gesticulating, as if that made his argument clearer. That was highly debatable. “If you don’t hurt the bad guy, he’s gonna hurt more people, so that’s more people hurt in total. If you hurt him, that’s only one dude hurt. Whatchu prefer? Leaving one dude with a concussion or five crippled?”

“That’s why I’m teaching ya judo, Scarry. You can’t not hurt people, but I can teach ya to break their arm instead of giving em’ a good ol’ concussion. It’s safer.” He shrugged. Darren had never been one to mince his words. “Less chance of brain damage. Less hurt. You get it? If you do, then let’s move on. Before you break any arms, you’re gonna wanna learn to throw people.”

Not giving the newly-baptized Scarry any time to protest -- in the delinquent’s eyes, he simply spoke an universal truth that admitted no contestation from reasonable people -- he grabbed his collar and sleeve once again. “First of all, tripping works best when your opponent is on the backfoot.” To illustrate, the blondie shoved his partner, without letting go of his grip as he followed his backstep, and in a smooth move arced his legs behind Kutsu’s ankle. He didn’t push, and in case Kutsu would fall, he’d keep a firm grip to prevent him from doing so. “See? I ain’t even push, but it’s destabilizing. That’s the essence of judo. You’re gonna wanna use your opponent’s strength and your opponent’s movement.”

He stepped back into the starting position. “Alright, your turn. Push me, then try to trip me. I’ll correct your form. And you don’t get to hold back like I did.” The serious frown was back on his face. “Don’t you dare be afraid to hurt me, Scarface. You ain’t got that luxury.”

Some said that hard times brew hard men. If they were right, then Kutsu must have been born in paradise.

If there was one thing he could commend the boy on, it was diligence. He showed up most of the time, and when he was here, he did his best. It would be easy to say that the problem was that Kutsu’s best wasn’t much, but it would also be wrong. The plushie boy of 2-C was soft as a marshmallow, but he was far from stupid, and he even picked up on the technical aspects rather well. As long as it didn’t involve someone else, Kutsu learned well enough: he had the forward fall, the backward fall and the lateral fall down to a science by now.

But when it came to tripping someone, sweeping them off their feet, throwing them over or around his back, putting them in an armlock or anything that involved even remotely hurting someone, the hardcore pacifist that was Kutsu crumbled down like a pile of cards.

Over the last year, Darren had been developing extraordinary patience thanks to Kutsu. He was not the only one he taught in the martial arts club, of course, but he was certainly the most challenging case. He had tried everything from getting him to tried the moves on human-shaped pillow collages (he briefly considered asking Kutsu to imbue them with life, but quickly realized that meant he would be even more afraid of hurting them) to strapping himself head-to-toes with protective gear with a nurse on standby, but nothing worked: the plushie master didn’t want to hurt anyone.

And after a year of trying to push his classmate over this physchological block of his, he finally mustered the courage to give up (it indeed took courage to tell Darren you were giving up). The delinquent answered with a long sigh, his back resting against the wall as he watched Kutsu writhe on the ground and explain himself.

“Aye, aye,” he answered, tired. “It works with everyone else, so it sure as hell ain’t me.” He was a man of harsh words, but only when he believed them to be true. He walked to the boy, offered him a hand to pull him up to his feet. He had stopped with the surprise attacks when pulling him up long ago, since he already had trouble with the ones he warned him were coming.

“Or maybe it is me, I don’t know. I have no idea why you’re so reticent to doing it yourself yet have no problem with your suicide bomber beanie babies. Maybe you’re more of a case for the school psychologist, I don’t know. Anyway. If you want to stop, I’m not stopping you. You’ve got shit to figure out. But,” he said, growing more serious for the last few words: “In this line of work, you’re bound to get in a dangerous situation someday, and there might not be anyone around to save your ass. And as long as you refuse to hurt people... It’s like…” He scanned the room for an example, found the sleeping seven-legged octopus. He walked up to it and grabbed it by one of the tentacles, holding it to Kutsu’s face. “You’re like this thing, you’re missing a tentacle. Sure, you have lady Leapingbunny or whatever her name is, and the other goons. Them’s your seven tentacles. But one day, you might find all seven of em’ are pinned down and you need to use the eight.”

He set the plushie down on the ground with the minimum amount of delicateness he knew wouldn’t piss Kutsu off too much. “If you don’t use the eight, you might die, and I don’t want that to happen. So here. You wanna stop the judo lessons, fine, here’s your final one.”

He grabbed Kutsu’s palm at an angle which allowed to gently push his hand down with his thumb, forcing the wrist to bend. He wasn’t pushing much, but it would be easy to feel the strain on the fragile articulation if Darren pushed any further. “And then you slap it with your palm.” He demonstrated in slow motion; it was evident that if done at pace, the sudden move would at the very least sprain the wrist badly, at worse break it completely. “It’s easy and quick to do, and it can save your life. If there’s one lesson you’re gonna remember, make it this one. And if you’re ever in danger, slap yourself if you have to and use it. Don’t die like a rat for a villain’s sake. World’s a better place with you alive and a villain with a broken wrist than the other way ‘round.”

He marked a pause to stare at his classmate in the eyes with the best intimidating look he could muster, as if to drive his point home. “Got it?”

Kutsu confounded himself in excuses and half-phrases and swallowed words, about the social equivalent of a fish flailing on land. It was sad to see, and even someone like Darren didn’t have the heart to push him further. He was visibly emotional, maybe even to the point of crying, and Darren was cognizant enough of social norms to know it wouldn’t be good for either of them if rumor got out that he made Kutsu cry.

And, to a degree, Darren could empathize. His classmate was having trouble with his chosen career path, and that was something he could relate to. It wasn’t the brawn or lack of willingness to use it that defaulted Darren, far from it. By all accounts, he was about to make his real debut as a professional hero in this internship and become a successful one, the kind who made up for his poor grades in regular classes with excellent grades in physical education, combat training and rescue training. The competent hero that he always had aimed to be.

His doubts weren’t coming from his ability, but from the nagging feeling in the back of his head that Kutsu would always be far more suited for that job of a hero than he would ever be. Darren had no illusions about himself; he knew he was callous, selfish and occasionally violent. He knew that compared to the heroic resolve of the others, the kind of resolve it would take for a pacifist to tough it out at UA, he had none. He wasn’t here for a noble reason, he was here because he enjoyed fighting and tense, adrenaline-pumping activities in general, and hero-ing was a job which paid for a daily supply of both.

In a sense, it was as if they each had the thing the other lacked to become a great hero.

The thought only lingered in Darren’s head for a moment as Kutsu packed his plushies and scuttled out. A laugh and the beginning of a question pulled him out of his thinking. “Huh?” he said, intelligently. Never mind, Kutsu said, I’ll see you in class.

Darren shrugged, to both the situation and his thoughts. Moral considerations were more of a thing he mused about rather than a thing he worried about. To him, motives didn’t matter; they were ‘spooks’, as one philosopher Ryuusei had told him about called them. Social constructs. Made up things. Darren was a materialist; he cared only for the tangible, the measurable, for putting criminals under bars. It didn’t matter what the person who saved you from a fire believed in, it mattered that they saved their lives.

Still, he wondered, why did he keep having this nagging feeling that Kutsu, a guy he was years ahead in terms of ability, would be more suited for the job they destined themselves with than himself?