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Chapter 5 — "No Longer Junior"
🕑 Added 2024-09-18 19:49:47 +0000 UTCJunior hadn’t spoken to his father in seven days. He had been purposely avoiding him, but it seemed his father had no intention of talking to him either. His dad hadn’t been in the training room during normal hours, sticking to a more nocturnal routine, only venturing inside when it was well past dark. The only lights came from the sparks that shot from his feet as he continued his training.
Junior’s birthday was approaching, as was the deadline for giving his decision to Mr. Green. His mother kept dropping unsubtle hints about a surprise party she was planning.
“So, on your big day, make sure you don’t go into the ring to train… because they’re putting in new mats, so no one’s allowed in there,” she said, smirking at him from behind an early morning Bloody Mary. “Oh, but do make sure you’re in your room—”
“By two, I know, Ma. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” He smiled at her, fully aware of the not-so-secret surprise. Even if his mother hadn’t been so bad at hiding it, Bone had already told him everything.
Bone had been ecstatic when he heard about Mr. Green’s proposal, all lingering bitterness from their last fight vanishing in the face of such an exciting opportunity.
“Really? The Champions League!” Bone practically bounced up and down, his sharp white teeth poking out of his small mouth.
“I know, right?” Junior leaned against the wall of his room.
All hotel workers, including the Ink Fighters in the Champions League, lived in a section of the hotel that wasn’t rented out to guests. It was a small, secluded area behind the arena, where the rooms were tightly packed together. Junior had to beg the manager for his own space and had been granted a tiny room that had once been a bathroom. Still, it had been renovated, and the cool tile floor—left over from its bathroom days—felt good under his always-hot feet.
Bone Biter plopped onto the bed, looking up at the array of posters on Junior’s wall, including the newest one—front and center—the poster his mother had given him.
“And to think I’m the one who got you into the league,” Bone sighed, leaning back on his large arms. “You better be grateful I took a dive for you.”
“Took a dive? You were knocked out,” Junior shot back, jumping on the bed and kicking him to move over.
Bone swatted at him with his long nails, growling curses.
Junior laughed, holding up a pillow in defense. “You’ll be in the league with me soon enough.”
“So, you really think you’ll join?” Bone slumped back, looking at Junior like he was already a celebrity fighter.
Junior didn’t want to admit his hesitation. “Of course… just waiting until after I turn sixteen.”
Bone Biter shook his head in disbelief, stars in his eyes as he looked at the poster. “You’re going to be so cool.”
“Yeah.” Junior sighed.
Bone jumped up suddenly. “Oh crap, I’ve got to run. Still got training with your dad today.” Junior grunted. “Good luck.”
Bone threw open the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the party!”
“Yeah, see ya there.” Junior lay back on his too-small bed, his feet dangling off the end.
He’d only be a junior for one more day. Just one more.
__________________________________________________________________________
It was the morning of his birthday—very early—but he couldn’t sleep, too excited. He knew he wasn’t allowed in the main arena, but he had to get his legs moving; they were burning from the inside out. He headed to the training room, hoping no one else would be there so early.
As he walked down the hallway toward the training room, he could hear footsteps on the stage above him, along with distant voices—showgirls, and one voice that might have been his mother’s. They were already setting up for the party? He would have to make sure to act surprised.
He approached the training room doors and hesitated. Something inside—gentle music—was rippling through the cracks in the door. He opened it slowly, peering in, curiosity gripping him.
The training room was dimly lit; none of the overhead lights were on. Instead, a small karma lamp fed a soft blue light from the far wall. A small boombox played music gently, echoing through the enclosed space. The air felt different—cleaner than it ever had in the training room.
“Dad?” Junior mumbled.
The culprit was his father, who had his back to the door and hadn’t heard Junior’s surprised muttering. Junior opened his mouth to say more but froze, watching his father’s movements.
His dad was using his sigils, but not in any way Junior had ever seen before. He was moving slowly, as if fighting, but the movements weren’t violent—they were gentle, flowing from one stance to the next. His hands moved with intense purpose, muscles relaxed but powerful. His sigils, which covered his shoulders and arms, seemed to float, coming off his skin like paper-thin wisps of ink and color.
His father turned, eyes closed, a small smile on his face. The black of his sigils lifted from his body, forming shapes and patterns in the air, darker than Junior had ever seen. The sigils were infused with karma, little bolts of blue lightning running faster than he could blink from one sigil to another. It was unlike anything Junior had ever seen.
He had never seen karmastry like that. He had never seen his father like that. His words died before they could leave his mouth. He just stood there in awe, shock, wonder—swirling feelings that filled him, while his own sigils felt calm and pleasant for the first time, as though they were filled with a clean energy.
Finally, a strangled sound escaped from his throat. A half-hearted “Dad?” slipped from his lips.
His father’s eyes snapped open, and his sigils immediately clung back to his skin, dull and flat like they always were.
“Son.” His father quickly moved to turn off the boombox. Junior didn’t respond; his throat felt dry.
His dad passed by him, turning on the training room lights. The harsh buzzing and the sudden brightness grounded Junior. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his father, who was hastily packing the boombox and light into his duffle bag.
“What is it? Come to stare and laugh at me? Wanted to say to my face what a coward I am?” His father’s bitterness was so intense, Junior’s body instinctively tensed, as if preparing for a fight.
Junior thought, “I guess we’re not going to talk about whatever that was. Whatever, let him keep his dumb secrets.”
Junior crossed his arms over his chest, looking toward the door, suddenly wishing he hadn’t even come down here.
“No, I just wanted to move around a bit before my party later,” Junior sneered. “I didn’t think anyone would be down here.”
“I was just leaving,” his dad grunted, zipping up his bag quickly and throwing it over his shoulder.
His dad took a wide berth toward the door. As he reached it, Junior couldn’t help but call out.
“Are you coming to my party later?”
“Maybe,” Conrad grunted. “If you want me there.” “…Of course I do,” Junior hesitated. “I just don’t want to fight when…”
He hesitated again, his legs suddenly feeling so itchy.
“When what?” His father’s hand was on the door.
“Well, I turn sixteen today. And Mr. Green offered me a spot on the Champions League roster.”
Junior tried to sound tough, but for some reason, his voice broke. He had been so confident before entering the room, but now he felt small, like a little kid asking for an extra cookie.
“And I’m going to join the Champions League,” Junior finished.
He expected his father to be mad, to yell at him like he always did, but his dad said nothing. His expression didn’t change. He just breathed a little harder out of his nose and opened the door.
“I’ll see you at the party,” he grunted, leaving Junior alone.
A rage welled up inside Junior, and he pushed energy into his sigils, letting them burn beneath him until all his karma energy ran out. He didn’t have any thoughts, just let all his pent-up emotions surge through his sigils, making them burn hot and fast, smoking even after they had no more karma. The floor beneath him was singed.
“Crap…” he muttered, dragging a mat to cover the scorched spot.
__________________________________________________________________________
It was finally time for his party. Bone came to get him, knocking on the door of his room.
“Hey, if your mom asks, tell her I told you we were called up to the ring for training, okay? I know you know; I just… whatever, let’s go.”
Bone Biter seemed confused by the whole surprise party idea. Junior laughed, clapping his friend on the back as they walked down the hall.
“It’s okay, let’s go train.” He winked, and they jostled their way to the arena.
Inside the theater, it was completely dark. Bone slipped away from him, and Junior tentatively felt his way forward. He had never been in here when it was so dark, trying to find the steps that led up to the central ring, but before he could, the lights flashed down on him, blinding him.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Several people yelled and cheered. It took a few moments for his vision to clear, and once it did, he was pelted with confetti and streamers, the noise of party blowers filling the air.
“He looks so shocked! Did we surprise you?” His mother’s voice boomed as she pulled him into the ring, fully decorated with streamers and banners, with a table and a cake in the center. She smelled like something fruity and was wearing sparkling new jewelry, her makeup done to the extreme—even little flames painted onto her eyelids.
“Yes!” Junior said honestly, helping his mom place a brightly colored party hat onto his head. He hadn’t expected so many people. The cage was filled with people, all wearing colorful hats.
All the junior leaguers were there, along with a handful of his mom’s showgirl friends, and even some Champions League fighters, including his favorites. Warhammer was there, and so was Rocky. Canon and Bullet, two projectile Ink Fighters, laughed in the corner with Dart, a melee fighter, and Electric Surge, an elemental user. They looked like they had stepped out of his posters and into the ring.
A banner hand-painted with his name hung above, with a little picture of him and flames shooting from his feet. He pulled his shirt away from his body, and confetti fell from inside onto the arena mats.
“Heya kid, happy birthday!” Mr. Green sauntered up, patting his shoulder. He thumped his silver cane on the ground, looking at him with pride.
“Thank you, Mr. Green!” Junior beamed, feeling a little overexcited by everything. His feet itched, and he rubbed them together.
“Remember, it’s ‘Uncle’ now,” Mr. Green reminded him.
“Right, sorry.” Junior’s face hurt from smiling. His mother wrapped her arm around Mr. Green’s waist, and he placed his arm around her shoulder. Junior’s mouth opened for a second, but then his mom winked at him, so he just smiled, feeling a bit dizzy. Then he spotted his father at the back of the ring, behind the table with the cake. He was staring suspiciously at the 888 spread catered for the event. The smell of delicious noodles made Junior’s stomach growl loudly.
“Whoa! I thought that dog kid was growling, but that was your stomach!” Mr. Green laughed. Bone Biter chuckled along.
“Here, kid, drink up,” an attendant said, handing Junior a red solo cup. “We’re about to eat!”
Junior turned to thank them. When he looked back, his dad was gone.
“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” A voice came from beside him. He turned to see his hero, Gorilla, standing next to him.
“This is Firefly,” his mother said, urging the stunned Junior to shake Gorilla’s outstretched hand.
“Yes, Firefly!” Junior blurted, shaking her hand. “I’ve seen almost all your matches; you’re amazing!”
“Well, thanks.” She flexed her arm, and the fur sigil on it stood up. “Are you the kid they’re hoping will give me a run for the belt in the Champions League?”
“I, well…” Junior coughed.
“That’s right, kid. It’s time to give me your final answer.” Mr. Green’s hand was back on his shoulder.
Gorilla beamed in front of him, and suddenly, all the fighters, showgirls, and trainees grew intensely quiet, staring at him, waiting for his answer. Junior started to sweat under the hot lights. He shuffled his feet, not prepared for the moment to come so suddenly.
Mr. Green’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and the purple soda in his cup fizzed.
“I, uh…” Junior glanced around for his father but couldn’t find him.
“Well, what will it be, son?” Mr. Green asked. Junior looked at the faces around him, waiting. His mother’s eyes were full of excitement, and she bit her lip, smearing lipstick onto her teeth.
“It’s okay, baby, just tell him,” she muttered encouragingly.
The image of himself on the poster flashed in his mind. He wanted that more than anything, and it was just a word away.
“Hell yeah, I’m in!” Junior said, holding his cup up to shouts of approval.
Gorilla pounded her fists into her chest, and Bone Biter howled. Mr. Green clapped his ringed hands and pulled out a wrapped cylinder.
“I have your first birthday gift,” he said, handing it to Junior. “It’s your contract.”
The party laughed, returning to their food and drinks. Junior unrolled the gift and saw it was his contract, already signed by Mr. Green in a glittering, looped font.
“I had faith in you,” Mr. Green whispered in his ear. “Look it over. It’s the standard 20% for all your fights. You’ll need to cover advertisements and hospital bills, but those fees cancel out as you rise. Your mom can help you review it.”
Mr. Green pulled back, and Junior’s mom detached herself from the hotel owner to hug him.
“I knew you’d make the right decision,” she said, pinching his cheeks.
“Thanks, Ma,” he managed to say through her grip.
Mr. Green stuck out his hand, and Junior gripped it firmly, trying to show his strength. Mr. Green’s hand was ice-cold, and the sensation made Junior wince.
The hotel owner raised their clasped hands in the air, as if Junior had just won a match.
“Here’s to being a junior no longer,” Mr. Green’s voice boomed.
The crowd cheered, clinking their red cups in celebration.
“Firefly, Firefly, FIREFLY, FIREFLY!” The junior leaguers circled Junior, pulling him from Mr. Green’s grip and tossing him onto their shoulders before slamming him down onto the mats playfully.
The rest of the party was a blur. Gorilla explained her signature move and showed off her sigils. Junior laughed, drinking soda until his tongue turned purple. They cut the cake, decorated with red frosting flames, and Junior blew out the candles to more cheering. He forgot to look for his father, opening gifts of new gloves, posters, and ink syringes. He didn’t even have to help clean up, whisked away to the penthouse with Mr. Green.
That night, his head still spinning from excitement, Junior signed the contract in Mr. Green’s office. He didn’t remember how the pen got into his hand, but he remembered thanking Mr. Green and shaking his hand again. He had only ever seen the penthouse at night, and he couldn’t even imagine what it looked like during the day. The lights from the city below washed the room in beautiful, vibrant colors.
“Your first fight is tomorrow night, Firefly,” Mr. Green said, snapping him from his thoughts.
Junior stood slowly, his body aching as if he’d just been in a match.
Mr. Green waited by the door, opening it for him, his face in shadow, only his white teeth glinting in the darkness.
“Welcome to the Champions League.”
