She's Got Moxie In Her

Tokyo

The bets came rolling in, all in my name.
Every decade a professional tournament is held in Tokyo, Japan with a collection of only the strongest fighters in the world. This year? The one representing America is me.

I could only bring one person, so naturally, I brought him.

"MAN it's hot as fuck!" He complained, groaning while he lifted his shirt up. Sweat soaked his tank but his v-line glistened from the neon lights, "They gave us no refreshments on that plane! None? At all?"

"Is there anytime that you don't complain?" I punched his arm.

"It was a 15 hour flight!"

"No one asked you to come, you're just lucky enough that you're my only coach,"

"Oweee, I'm wounded, Moxie," he dramatically pretended that he was shot. I ignored him. With a chuckle to himself, he threw his arms back and smiled, "Heh, but seriously! Tokyo! I never thought I'd see Japan in my lifetime! And to be here with you... it's nothing short of magical right now."

I had to admit, it was surreal. From the shear amount of citizens to the beautiful neon buildings lined with lights and flashing signs. Pop art and anime stylings on every storefront. I wish I spoke the language and could understand but I was left to be blindsided by the beauty like a star-struck tourist.

We arrived at our hotel late into the night, with staff assisting us to our suite. Apparently, Tokyo rents out this entire hotel specifically for the tournament fighters each decade. 100 combatants staying in various rooms and living in luxury while waiting to prove themselves. I was honored to be amongst the greatest fighters in the world right now.

It made my blood boil with excitement to fight them.

He plopped onto the bed and let out a huge yawn, "Shit, I'm pooped," he groaned, tossing his bags to the side and letting his body sink into the bed, "What time do we have to check in tomorrow?"

"Noon," I answered, "Though we don't have to register for a fight until a week from now,"

"So we get to explore Japan! Say less, I can't wait to meet the ladies," he smiled ear to ear. I threw a pillow at him.

"You mean get ignored by them like you always do," I smirked. He threw the pillow back at me.

"Do you always have to be an ass?"

I shrugged, "What can I say? Great ass, great sass,"

"Please, it's as flat as the pancakes you love so much,"

"So you look?" He gulped, his face reddening. Jolting up in defense, he waved cautiously and a laugh escaped my mouth. Truly, the sight of his nerves popping from his neck is too funny not to tease.

Later into the night, after settling and freshly changing into our night clothes from getting out the shower, we watched some YouTube videos on our phones in silence. Tokyo at night was truly blissfully quiet, with the occasional sound of a taxi or bicycle riding by. The light pitter patter of dewy rain smelled of fresh yet heavy water, the kind you drink on a summer afternoon when you pop open a fresh bottle. The air was cleaner here. Purer.

I could get used to chilling here.