Bully Lord

Part-32

A dull ache throbbed in James' hand as he entered the school gym. The memory of his makeshift training and the subsequent blackout was a stark reminder of his limitations. Practicing thunderclaps at home was clearly out of the question, not to mention the suspicious glances his mother and sister might throw at a lumpy pillow dangling from the ceiling.

He scanned the room, hoping to find it empty. Unfortunately, a group of boys occupied the far corner – three figures unmistakable from Ryan's entourage. They were members of the Judo club, notorious for their roughhousing and general lack of respect. James felt a knot of apprehension tighten in his stomach.

One of the boys, a lanky teen with a smug grin, sauntered towards James. "So," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock concern, "you're the one pathetic kid who put Ryan in the ground, by sheer luck?"

James squared his shoulders, trying to project an air of confidence despite his throbbing hand. "If that's what they're calling a bruised ego these days," he replied with a forced nonchalance.

The smug grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of anger. The tallest of the group, a hulking tenth-grader with a shaved head, stepped forward. "You little runt," he snarled, his voice laced with menace. "Is that how you talk to your seniors?"

James felt a surge of heat rise in his chest. These guys were bigger, stronger, but something had changed within him. He wouldn't back down anymore. He met the upperclassman's gaze, a steely glint in his own eyes.

"Respect," James said, his voice firm, "is earned, not demanded."

Sourov, the hulking senior, bristled with rage. A vein throbbed in his temple as he stared down at James. "You think you can just talk back to me, runt?" he boomed, his voice echoing in the empty gym. "I'll teach you some respect the old-fashioned way!"

James stood his ground, the warmth in his hand intensifying. He knew a brawl wouldn't end well for him, at least not without his thunderclap. But backing down now, after his newfound confidence, felt like a betrayal of himself.  He took a deep breath, surprised at the calmness that washed over him.

"Look," James said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hand, "if you want to settle this, let's do it right. Come on in the ring."

He gestured towards the padded grappling area in the center of the gym.  A surprised silence descended upon the room.  The other Judo club members exchanged bewildered glances. Surely, the scrawny James wasn't serious about challenging Sourov, a seasoned Judo player known for his throws that could send you flying.

Sourov's anger momentarily sputtered. The idea of James stepping into the ring, a place where strength and technique reigned supreme, was absurd.  Here, James wouldn't be able to rely on a lucky slap.  A cruel smirk played on Sourov's lips. "You think you can handle yourself in a ring, pipsqueak?"

James met his gaze, a spark of defiance in his eyes. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

A slow smile spread across Sourov's face.  This unexpected development was too good to pass up.  He relished the thought of humiliating James in front of everyone.  "Alright," he bellowed, stripping off his jacket, "prepare to be schooled, shrimp!"

James entered the ring, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had never set foot in a grappling ring before, let alone faced someone heavyweight like Sourov(Except Lemon).  But the warmth in his hand thrummed with a strange power, a silent promise of something more.  He glanced at the blue window, hoping for some guidance, but it remained blank.  This was on him.