He stepped forward abruptly and grabbed Malia's wrist this time. With both hands determined to show the livestream and himself that she wasn't untouchable. Got you now, he grunted. But Malia didn't resist. Not at first.
She simply breathed out slow, controlled, precise. Then her body shifted. Her hips rotated sharply. Her shoulders followed in perfect sequence. Her wrist twisted in a way that redirected Tyler's grip against itself.
Before Tyler even processed the movement, he found his own momentum dragging him forward. Malia's hand slipped effortlessly out of his grasp as she guided his arm into a tight, controlled lock, a crisp joint lock technique, clean, efficient, and executed with unsettling finesse. Tyler's knees buckled. Pain shot up his arm like a lit fuse. Stop.
Stop. His scream tore through the air, raw and panicked. He dropped to one knee, unable to fight the pressure, twisting his joint to its limit. Brody's jaw nearly hit the ground. That's not—that's not normal, he stuttered, face blanching.
No regular girl moves like that. Malia's expression didn't change. She didn't smirk. She didn't gloat. She simply held the lock in place with the calmness of someone performing a warm-up drill.
Someone fully aware of how much worse she could make the pain and choosing not to. Tyler, she said quietly. You really shouldn't grab people when you don't know what you're doing. Her voice was soft, almost polite, the opposite of the violence she controlled with one arm. Tyler panted, eyes bulging with fear.
Brody, help me, dude. She's breaking my arm. Brody snapped out of his shock and surged forward, but Malia moved again faster this time. She released Tyler in a single smooth motion, letting him collapse backward onto the pavement. Then she pivoted, placing one foot behind her, shoulders squared, hands raised, a stance, a very specific stance.
Even anyone unfamiliar with martial arts could see it wasn't accidental. Her weight distribution, her centerline alignment, her raised guard and angled hips. It was unmistakably a taekwondo fighting stance, refined, disciplined, practiced. Evan's livestream exploded instantly. "Yo, that's a TKD stance".
She's black belt level. Look at her form. Brody, don't do it. No way. She's been hiding this the whole time.
The viewers recognized what Brody and Tyler didn't. Malia wasn't lucky. She was trained, deeply trained. Brody stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. His confidence faltered, replaced by something dangerously close to fear, Malia tilted her head, eyes locked on his.
"I warned you," she said, voice still calm, still steady. But you didn't listen. Then her tone sharpened just enough to sting. "I told you this was a mistake." Brody swallowed hard, his fists shook, not from anger this time, but from the terror of losing face in front of hundreds of livestream viewers. Malia lowered slightly into her stance, grounded and ready.
"Like I said," she finished. "You hit the wrong girl." "Told you already," she said coldly. "You boys don't listen." Humiliated, furious, and pushed by the roaring livestream audience, Brody made a reckless choice. He charged at her with everything he had. The fight drifted toward the large digital price board, standing tall beside the pumps, its glowing numbers reflecting off the pavement.
Shadows stretched long beneath it, framing the confrontation like a stage lit for a brutal performance. Tyler was still on the ground, gripping his arm, cheeks streaked with pain and disbelief. But Brody, humiliation, burning hotter than the morning sun, refused to stay down emotionally, even if he'd been knocked off balance physically. His breaths came sharp, fast, jagged with frustration. The livestream comments flashing on Evan's phone only poured gasoline onto his anger.
Brody got dodged. As nine, she locked Tyler like a toy. Laugh my ass off. Brody better redeem himself or it's over for his reputation. Bro, don't let a girl fold you like that.
Each comment stabbed deeper than any physical hit. Brody was the type who lived off reputation, attention, dominance. And right now, hundreds of people were witnessing him lose all three. He snapped with a guttural yell. Brody lunged forward, arms flailing in a messy blend of anger and desperation.
There was no technique, no aim, just wild, chaotic swings driven entirely by ego. He wasn't trying to win. He was trying to erase his humiliation. But Malia saw everything. The tension in his shoulders, the sloppy footwork, the way his weight pitched far too forward.
He telegraphed every intention before his body even moved. To her, his attack was slow motion. Malia pivoted lightly on her left foot, grounding herself with effortless precision. Her right leg lifted not high, not dramatic, just enough to chamber the strike with perfect form. Then she snapped.
A flawless sidekick. Her heel drove straight into Brody's torso, right below the sternum, right where his balance was weakest. The impact reverberated like a thunderclap. Brody's entire body jerked backward, his breath ripping from his lungs as if someone had vacuumed the air from his chest. He didn't just stumble, he flew, his back slammed against the metal pole of the price board, bending him briefly around it before he crumpled to the ground like dropped laundry.
His phone skittered across the pavement, spinning to a stop near the curb. A collective gasp surged through the gas station. Evan's livestream shook as he tried to follow the action. Then the comments exploded. Brody just got sent to Jesus.
No way a sidekick did that. She's built different. Brody officially got folded like a lawn chair. Varsity boys ain't varsity today. Tyler stared wide-eyed from the ground, mouth slack, unable to fathom how quickly Brody had been dismantled.
His earlier bravado evaporated, replaced with something far more primal. Fear. Malia lowered her leg with balance so controlled it looked choreographed. She didn't gloat. She didn't smile.
She simply exhaled long and steady as if removing the last traces of restraint she'd been holding on to. Brody wheezed, struggling to push himself upright, fingers clawing at the pavement. He looked up at her with a mixture of rage and dawning horror. You, you freak," he coughed, clutching his ribs. Malia only tilted her head.