The next three rounds are quick. Though, it doesn’t make for an exciting show, which everyone thought they would be getting.

I begin to unwrap my gloves when Commander Johns approaches me.

“Ten, care to explain what the was about?”

The thing with growing up here is that everyone knows me, especially the commanders and professors. They know how I fight, and that wasn’t a display of my typical style.

“I really have to be somewhere.”

Johns raises his eyebrows, “Where could you possibly have to be now?”

“I want to watch the new CAU’s fights.”

“And why the hell would you want to do that?” He isn’t aggravated, not really, just curious.

“Interested in the new recruits.” I shrug to seem more casual.

“You’re friends are going to be your enemies if you keep this up. Fight fair next time.”

I open my mouth to argue but he stalks away, ordering the next fighters. I turn to leave, barely able to contain my excitement as I walk to the CAU training center.

When I walk in, it’s chaos. First-year fights are different from the others. These fights matter. The ones who perform poorly will be sent home. Within hours. It’s cut-throat, sometimes literally. Those are never fun days.

As I walk through the busy gym, faces turn, some fighters stop mid-punch.

“Ten? Why are you here?” The General eyes at me as I casually stroll through.

“Wanted to check out the new recruits.”

He looks at me, then at my slightly red and bruising hand and says, “You are supposed to fight fair the first day.” His tone is cold but he isn’t pissed.

“I really wanted to make the fights. Did they begin?”

“Just about.”

The General watches all of the CAU’s fights. He is a trained combat veteran himself, so he prefers to assess CAU, rather than the CIU.

I watch as Jack Nuwborn eyes me, tries to wave at me without calling attention to it. Not so modest now, buddy. I ignore it, as punishment for kissing and telling. He awkwardly looks away and goes back to fighting some guy I don’t know the name of.

While I new every Cybat, the CAU and the CIA were large in numbers and knowing all of them was damn near impossible. I remain standing beside The General, trying to avoid awkward interactions with past mistakes.

While I wouldn’t say that I had a type, I had a strong track record with hooking up with CAU’s. I did have some fun with CIAs, but not as often. Cybats were family, and so, I never tapped into that market.

“I know what you’re doing.” The General smirks as he eyes my discomfort.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Avoiding past encounters. That’s why you never come to the Combat training center. Why are you really here?”

I internally groan. He knows me too well. “I’ve found someone of interest to me. He’s here. I want to see him fight.” There was no use in lying, especially because I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“Of interest how?”

“I don’t know yet.” 

He turns to face me, “You are a mystery, since the day you arrived. At least help me take notes, will you?” He hands me a clipboard with a pen. The paper clipped in has the names of all the fighters paired up with a small section next to the names for notes. I scan to find Noah’s name. It’s not on the first page but I find it on the next page, “Noah Finley.” I quickly check to see if there are other Noahs but there aren’t. Noah Finley. I’d have to sit through at least an hour of fights to watch his. Worth it.

The next hour and a half are dull, most of the fights long and boring. I’ve never been one to like watching others fight. I know a lot of the guys do, but I’d rather do other things. Though, I know the value in watching for techniques and sizing potential opponents up. Usually, in a fight, a Cybat will win. Because while a CAU may be a better fighter, Cybats are better analysts and fights are won my smart fighting, not by brute force.

I perk up when I see him. I hadn’t seen him until now, perhaps he was avoiding my gaze after last night. But also, it was packed in here. He’s wrapped his hands in a pair of white wraps, patching most of the other recruits. Those are the SFAMS wraps, given to CAU recruits during orientation. He unwraps the ends of his right hand’s wrap to tighten it around his wrist. He looks up at The General, who is giving the commands, but his eyes land on me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking or what he’s feeling. He’s just staring at me, contemplative. And then, he turns, sizing up his opponent.

I watch as gets into a fighter’s stance. I feel a slight bit of nausea creep up through my throat. I’m nervous? Why would I be nervous? But his opponent is much larger than him, him being probably around six feet with a lean build and his opponent, probably around my height, four inches taller than that with a stalkier build. If size is all that mattered, it wouldn’t be a fair fight. But I watch as he assesses the man across from him. The focus, the eery calmness. He’s fought before, I think to myself. He’s fought professionally. That temperament comes from years of fighting, of training. It doesn’t ease anything inside of my stomach. 

And I was right about his skill because with a few swift movements you could barely see, the large man was pinned to the ground, tapping out as Noah held his massive hand over his knee, well in the position to break his elbow.

I hear The General give an impressed breath out.

Noah stands up, eyeing me, and walks off of the mat.

Because he won, he’d be moved up to the next level, fighting against the first-round winners. But that would happen later in the day. So I hand the clipboard back to The General.

“That’s it?”

“Gotta head out.”

He eyes my notes, “This isn’t very helpful,” he says as he holds up the blank piece of paper. Well, it’s not all blank. On it, written down nearly subconsciously, by Noah’s name I wrote down, “CYBAT,” in all caps.

I shrug and follow to where Noah was walking to.

He notices me following him but doesn’t stop.

“You should get something to eat.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Let’s get something to eat, come on.”

Surprisingly, he follows me. I can’t read him. On the one hand, he seems standoffish, but he is listening to me. I don’t know what that means.

“Good fight. Smart.”

“Thanks.” It wasn’t much, but I’ll take anything at this point.

When we get to the dining hall, there are fruit and other snacks put out for students. It wasn’t meal time but the school knew how taxing the fighting was on the body. We each grab an apple and a granola bar. He doesn’t take a drink, so I grab two bottles of water for both of us.

I guide him to the table I usually sit at. There aren’t many people here so most of the tables are empty, but I prefer this one. I’ve always sat here.

“You sat there yesterday. Do you always sit there?”

I keep the pleasure that he made note of where I was sitting, thinking he had not even noticed me yesterday. “Yeah, always have. I don’t know why.”

He nods and takes a bite of the apple. He looks down at my reddened and slightly swollen knuckles.

“How did your fights go?”

“Fine. Gotta head back later for more.” We both did.

“I thought fights were longer than that, when did you start?”

So he did see me when I walked in, “Eight.”

“You had to fight more than one?”

“Four.”

He looks confused, “But that isn’t enough time. That would only be an hour between when you came and when the fights began.”

“I wanted to watch the CAU fights. Had to be quick.”

He raises one eyebrow at me, “You like watching the new recruits?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh.” I didn’t bother explaining it to him because what would I say? I beat the shit out of my friends so I could watch you and really only you fight? No, that wouldn’t go over well. At least, I don’t think it would. 

“Did you sleep alright? I know the beds aren’t the best but-“

“What are you doing with me?” It comes in a frustrated and slightly raised voice.

“What do you mean? I’m talking to you.”

“Yes, obviously. But why are you talking to me?” 

“I don’t know, why not?” I do know, or actually, I don’t. Why was I talking to him? Why did I feel so out of control?

“I’ve heard people say you aren’t the friendly type. Only interested in your own unit.”

“I didn’t take you for one to partake it rumors,” I say amused.

“I said I heard, not that I partook. It’s different.”

“What exactly did they say about me?”

He hesitates for a moment before saying, “That you’re a dick and an asshole.”

“I think they confused me for my two favorite things.”

He doesn’t respond to the joke, either not getting it or not wanting to acknowledge it.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to.”

“That’s not what I said. I just want to know why.”

But really, what could I say? What could I possibly say that sounds not creepy? “I don’t know. You don’t have any friends here, I assume. Thought you could use one.” It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth.

He looks down at his half-eaten apple, “I’m sorry I’m being a dick. I’m not used to socializing.”

I snort and say, “I can tell.”

He doesn’t get offended, instead, he laughs. I watch him with a smile on my face.

“I’d like to watch you fight. When’s your next fight?” 

I check my watch, “1500.” Which is in a few hours, and I assume, when he will be also fighting.

“Is anyone allowed to watching your fights?”

“Yeah, usually the CAUs come in to watch. More exciting than their fights, anyways.”

“Alright. I’ll be there.”

“You don’t have a fight then?”

“Not if I win the next two rounds.” He smiles wickedly and it’s just as wonderful as his other smile.

“Great. Finish your food and go back.”

“You talk in demands, you know that?”

“Fallout of being raised by commanders. Sorry,” I eye his uneaten food, “but you should eat before the next fights.” 

“Fine.” He bites into his apple, and I watch the way his teeth sink into its flesh, tongue slipping out to catch the juice that dripped out from the bite. He doesn’t break eye contact with me the entire time and I wonder if this is him flirting. Because it was subtle but why didn’t he look away? That had to be flirtatious. How could it not? Then again, I am not really in my normal state of mind.

“You like apples?” What am I saying?

“A lot.” Juice drips down his bottom lip and I can’t help but stare, eyes unmoving, I swallow.

“Same. Gotta be hard though, don’t mess with the soft ones.” I watch as he reacts to my weird semi-intentional innuendo. Because it was true, mushy apples were the worst.

“Yeah…I’m going back. See ya around.” He quickly gets up and walks out of the dining hall.

I bang my head against the table. Idiot. 

Whether he’s straight or not, I definitely scared him.

Too soon, Ten, way too soon. 

I frown as I realize he didn’t take the second water I had brought for him. I think about running after him but I am sane enough disregard the temptation.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. It’s a text from Wade: I think Maddy and I aren’t exclusive

I scoff and write back: How are you in the Cybats?

He replies immediately: F U, I’m smart and then, just not when it comes to women

I smile down at my phone, screenshotting the conversation to send to Terry.

“New Grindr match?” I look up to see Jack Nuwborn trying to see over my phone.

“What do you want?” I don’t bother answering the question because it wasn’t serious. Apps like that are of no use here.

“Why are you avoiding me? Is it because you got in trouble?” And I guess he can’t read the room because he sits down across from me.

“No, it’s because you’re going around telling everybody. Not cool, man.”

His face reddens, “I’m sorry but I mean, can you blame me? It gives me some street cred to have hooked up with the legendary Ten.”

I groan and say, “you realize how pathetic that sounds?”

He shrugs, “It’s how things work. I’m just going with it.”

“Nuwborn,”

“Call me Jack,” he interrupts.

“Sorry, Jack, just stop telling people that I fucked you. I barely even did that.”

“Want to finish what we started?” He winks at me in a seductive manner but it doesn’t work on me.

“No. It won’t happen, so give up.”

He frowns, “Am I that bad?” 

“No, I’m just trying to stay out of trouble.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” he points out.

“People change.”

He looks down at his watch and sighs, “Fine. I’m heading out. If you ever want something from me,” he reaches across the table to pat my chest, though his hand lingers in a quite suggestive way, “you know where to find me.” He thankfully gets up to leave. When I watch him leave, I see Noah standing by the entrance, red-faced. Shit.

He walks over to where I still sat, and picks up the water bottle, “Forgot to take this. Thanks.”

“Have you met Jack Nuwborn?” I try to break some of the unexplainable discomfort.

“No, but I’ve heard of him.”

“Maybe stay clear. He’s trouble.”

“What does that mean?”

And really, what does that mean? Jack was annoying, but he wasn’t trouble. Maybe I just wanted him to not hear certain things Jack had to say. “Nothing. Go back to the gym.”

His lips twitch, almost smiling, “do you follow orders as well as you give them?”

“Only in certain…situations.” I wink at him.

His eyes widen, slightly, but then, when he sees that I am joking, his expression eases up. He smiles, lifts up the hand that held the water bottle, and waves.