“Are we going to spar or sit here and talk about our feelings? I can find another partner if needed.”
“That won’t be happening,” he delivers with finality. “That easy. I got into your head that easily. The biggest aspect of being a solid fighter isn’t in the physicality portion but resides in the mental part,” he states, tapping the side of his head. “If you don’t learn to control that facet, you will fail. Every. Single. Time.”
I nod in understanding.
Point made.
Embarrassingly so.
He looks me up and down. “The first thing we’re going to work on is form. Posture is the first step in being skilled at hand-to-hand combat.”
I steal a glance at myself in the mirror. Immediately, I straighten my spine and pull my shoulders back.
Kingston walks closer to me until we’re toe to toe, looking down at me before taking one hand and pushing my lower back in and taking the other to push my shoulders down. The skin feels burned where he touched it. Not from flames but more like frostbite.
“Balance. Without it, you’ll have difficulty distributing your weight. Size doesn’t matter,” he adds. “All weight has to be distributed. Even when there isn’t much to allocate. Now spreadyour feet shoulder width apart and slightly bend your knees,” he orders with quiet authority.
I feel ridiculous, but do as instructed.
“Good. Now raise your hands in front of your face while making a fist with each hand,” he states while walking around me in a circle. “Blocking is just as important as swinging. Potentially more so. A well-delivered punch will remove you from a fight before you even have a chance to begin.”
I raise both hands in front of my face, curling them into fists.
Apparently, it’s a bit too high because he grabs both in his much larger hands and slightly lowers them to nose and mouth level.
“If you put them in front of your eyes, you won’t see a punch coming. The left guards your temple, and the right is for your opponent. You never lower your guard unless you’re actively throwing a fist toward the enemy.”
I blow a loose tendril of hair out of my face. “I know how to throw a punch. What I need to learn is how to fight.”
“Hit me,” he orders.
“Hit you?” I repeat back to him like a damn parrot.
“Did I stutter?” he demands, throwing my earlier jab back at me.
I don’t need to be told twice.
I swing hard, putting every ounce of my weight behind the punch. My body flies forward, and I brace for impact. He sidesteps, making it look effortless like I punched him in slow motion. I stumble, catching myself just before I hit the ground and make an even bigger fool of myself.
“Dead,” he delivers without an ounce of sympathy. “You’d be dead if this were real. There’s more to a punch than just extending your arm. Precision, focus, control, and breathing are all factors that have to be taken into consideration beforelanding the hit.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “You lack all of them.”
Thankfully, he isn’t blunt or anything.
He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. The sides are still shorter than the top, but when it’s not perfectly poised and is disheveled like it is now, he looks more primal and less refined.
I hold my hands up. “Okay, so all I have to do is stand with a certain posture, maintain solid eye contact while breathing correctly with my guard up before throwing a punch with precision and control,” I drawl.
“Precisely,” he deadpans.
This is pointless. I’m as good as dead.
“That’s impossible. How can anyone maintain all of that while in the heat of battle? I can’t focus on perfect form and try to vanquish someone.”
He just stares at me.
I try not to fidget under his scrutiny. He’s acting as if I’ve said something ridiculous.
“Let’s focus on throwing a punch, and then we’ll get to the vanquishing part. Once you establish a fighting pattern, you won’t have to think about it during battle. It will come as naturally as breathing.” He steps back onto the mat. “It’s as much a tether to your core as your abilities manifesting.”
