"You charged like a toddler," she replied calmly. "What did you expect?" The livestream went insane again. Brody's ears burned red. His face twisted by humiliation far worse than pain. Being hit wasn't the problem.
Losing wasn't the problem. But losing publicly on camera to a girl he had mocked that shattered him. He staggered to his feet, wobbling. The price board pole rattled behind him. Tyler tried to warn him.
Brody, man, stop. Stop. She's not—she's not normal. But Brody wasn't listening. Humiliation had eaten through his reason like acid.
Live stream chat erupted across the screen. Brody getting cooked live. Brody is done. He better chill before he dies. But humiliation is a dangerous fuel.
And instead of calming down, Brody's shame only drove him into an even more reckless, rage blinded decision, one that would escalate the fight into something far more dangerous. The tension at the gas station thickened into something sharp enough to cut. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. The confrontation had already spiraled far beyond a stupid act of bullying. But Brody's humiliation had crossed the point of no return.
He staggered away from the price board, clutching his ribs, eyes burning with something darker than anger. He wanted revenge, not dominance, not attention, something far more reckless. Tyler watched him limp toward the utility crate beside the cashier booth, an open container filled with odds and ends, squeegees, plastic holders, and a pair of metal rods used to prop up promotional signs. His face drained of color. Brody, Brody, don't.
Tyler stammered. Man, this is already bad. Don't make it worse. But Brody didn't hear him. Or rather, he didn't want to.
His pride screamed louder than logic, louder than fear, louder than the hundreds of viewers watching him get dismantled in real time. The livestream comments were still pouring in like gasoline on an open flame. Brody getting packed. No way he let her kick him like that. He needs to redeem himself or he's done.
Uh-oh. He's grabbing something. Brody's fingers wrapped around the cold metal pole. The moment he lifted it, the atmosphere cracked. He turned back toward Malia.
Teeth clenched so hard his jaw trembled. His chest rose and fell in explosive bursts like a bull ready to charge. "You think you're tough?" he growled. "Let's see how tough you are when you're not the only one hitting." Evan's phone trembled in his hand. "Brody, bro, stop.
You can't. This is going to get you arrested." But Brody was past the point of reason. He let out a primal yell and sprinted toward Malia, raising the metal rod high above his head. Anyone could see what he intended. This wasn't a threat.
This wasn't intimidation. It was a strike aimed to injure, maybe worse. Gasps erupted across the station. A woman by pump one covered her mouth. The attendant behind the glass froze with horror etched onto his face.
For a split second, the world narrowed into one deadly line. Brody's downward swing, fueled by rage, the metal glinting under the sun, the poles slicing through the air toward Malia's skull. He meant to hurt her badly, but he never reached her. Just before the weapon connected, Malia moved explosively, fluidly, with a precision that felt almost supernatural. Her feet lifted off the ground as she twisted into a 180° spinning kick, the kind only a trained fighter could execute with such balance and power.
Her heels struck the metal rod, not Brody. Redirecting it with a sharp metallic clang that echoed across the station like a warning siren. The impact tore the weapon straight out of Brody's hands. It flew several feet, clattering violently across the pavement. The livestream shook as viewers detonated in shock.
No way. She did a spin kick on a weapon. So cinematic. I can't breathe. She just disarmed him like a stunt double.
Brody is done. She's a demon. Brody stumbled backward. Stunned not just by the counter, but by the realization of how effortlessly she had stopped him. Malia landed lightly, barely winded, her eyes locked onto his, cold and razor sharp.
"Trying to kill someone now?" she said quietly. "That's where your pride took you." Brody's face went pale. Tyler swallowed hard, finally understanding that this wasn't a fight anymore. It was survival. But for whom?
Malia stepped closer, her voice low, but lethal. "Are you really planning to kill someone?" What none of them realized was that the spinning kick hadn't just disarmed Brody. It had caught the attention of someone extremely important. Someone who recognized that technique instantly. At the far edge of the gas station near the small booth where the security cameras were monitored, a woman in a navy blue uniform stepped out, her eyes locked on the chaos unfolding around pump three.
Her posture was rigid, disciplined. The embroidered patch on her sleeve read Riverside Taekwondo Academy. Senior instructor, her name was Sandra Kim. She wasn't supposed to be here. She had only stopped by to pick up a package, scrolling casually through her phone as she waited until a familiar livestream popped up on her feed.
She hadn't intended to click it, but the thumbnail, a girl cornered by two varsity boys, a stance she recognized instantly. Her breath caught. No, it couldn't be. But as soon as she saw the spinning kick disarm Brody like a choreographed sequence straight out of a national championship, she knew it was Malia Carter, her former prodigy, a black belt second Dan, a girl she personally trained for 6 years. Sandra moved quickly, urgent steps, jaw tight, heart pounding from equal parts fear and pride.
She pushed through the small crowd, inching closer to the confrontation, her eyes never leaving the girl who was handling two enraged varsity boys with frightening composure. "Malia," she whispered to herself. "What have they done to you?" As she approached, Malia was squared off with Brody again, her stance perfect, breathing stable, eyes locked and unblinking. Tyler, still shaken but desperate to regain control, limped toward her with a choked yell. You're dead.
You hear me? Dead. Sandra immediately stepped forward. Hey, stay back. But Tyler didn't hear her.