Chapter 2

“FIGHT!” Iceberg yelled from the corner couch, his voice booming over the speakers before he scurried back beside the woman in the black suit. Miho leaned forward, eyes locked on the fighters as Myers’s arms began to glow with blue, gear-like tattoos. With his palms facing up, volleyballs made of rippling water formed above his hands.

He tossed them skyward, leapt, and spiked both in rapid succession. They screamed through the air at the speed of sound—but Apollo didn’t flinch.

A flaming basketball materialized in front of him and was instantly extinguished by the twin impacts, erupting into a hiss of steam that cloaked him in mist.

“Water’s supposed to beat fire, huh?” Apollo grinned through the fog. “If your attacks are that weak, then this’ll be eas—”

“You talk too much.”

Myers appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Apollo by the head and slamming him into the glass floor so hard it shattered. Apollo bounced up, dizzy but defiant—but Myers was already there, hammering him with a haymaker that launched him back to where they’d started.

Apollo glanced at Yoshii, desperate. Yoshii only shrugged.

Apollo crawled toward him, but Myers grabbed him by the shorts, yanking him up like a rag doll. A kick to the stomach sent air—and pride—flying from Apollo’s lungs. Before he could recover, Myers hooked him into a headlock.

“I don’t hear you talking shit now, Shades,” he sneered. “Your fireball may have evaporated my volleyballs, but I’m still stronger. Faster.”

He whipped Apollo toward the crowd, but a volleyball net made of water snapped into existence. The crowd jumped back as Apollo slammed into it. The net stretched, absorbed the impact—then catapulted him straight back. Myers met him midair with a brutal overhand strike to the back of the head.

Apollo skidded to the corner, coughing, blood trickling from his mouth.

“What did I get myself into?” he thought, clutching the slick glass. “I can’t even react fast enough… can’t be that out of shape. It’s only been a year.”

Myers grabbed him by the hair and yanked him upright.
“FIGHT BACK!” he bellowed, driving his knee into Apollo’s face.

Pieces of Apollo’s signature shades snapped apart as he hit the floor. Panic, hot and suffocating, surged through his body.

Through blurred vision, he saw Miho licking her lips, eyes gleaming. The crowd was chanting, restless for blood.

Myers didn’t wait. He hurled Apollo into another watery net, then pulled it taut with both arms, flinging him back into the air again like a slingshot.

“Get it together,” Apollo gasped, forcing himself up. “You don’t lose. Not in front of all these people.”

He stumbled to his feet, dragging his body along the floor, when four volleyball nets appeared, their posts locking into place. The ring was now enclosed—a watery cage.

Myers stalked him, grabbing his neck. “Looks like you’re washed up after all, Shades. Nothing but talk. No wonder Tishan picked me.”

He slammed Apollo’s head into the post. Apollo swung wildly on the recoil, but his punch went high.

“I’m getting rocked,” he thought. “He’s not giving me a chance to think.”

Myers’s fist, now covered in a volleyball-shaped water glove, crashed into Apollo’s face. For a heartbeat, Apollo felt like he was drowning before the impact threw him to the ground. He coughed water, spit, and blood, gripping the net for balance.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Yoshii shouted from the sidelines. “Aren’t you supposed to be the best!?”

The crowd roared, drunk on chaos. They didn’t know what kind of boy Myers really was.

Apollo tried to steady himself—but then he saw her.

Tishan. Fifteen. Dark-chocolate skin glowing in the club lights. Curly brown hair brushing her shoulders, streaked with lighter highlights. A slim frame in a yellow spaghetti-strap dress and matching heels. She smiled up at him, soft and cruel all at once.

Apollo’s talisman flared.

She’s laughing at me, he realized.

Myers saw it too, smirking. “Oh, is Fire Jordan gonna cry?”

Apollo chuckled darkly. “That’s pretty clever. Instead of Air Jordan, huh? Who knew you had a brain?”

“Who needs a brain when you’ve got muscles?”

“You’re right,” Apollo said, his grin sharpening. “Maybe I should just give up.”

“Your call—” Myers started, but his words died in a burst of flame.

A flaming basketball slammed into him, heat searing his uniform and forcing him back.

Apollo was already moving—fast. He jump-kicked Myers in the face, igniting his shoes as he soared past. Keep moving. Don’t let him see what I’ve set up.

“My FACE!” Myers roared, clutching at the swelling burn. “You’re so dead, Shades!”

“My name,” Apollo said, flames swirling around his feet, “is Apollo. And you’re about to be smoked.”

He launched two flaming basketballs. Myers punched one aside—wincing as it burned his hand—but the second hit the floor behind him and stayed lit.

Here we go.

Apollo blasted forward, flames erupting from his shoes like rockets. He stomped on Myers’s head, then spun, his leg expanding into a fire-coated sneaker that roundhouse-kicked Myers square in the jaw.

Flames spread. Myers’s clothes ignited. The nets vanished as he tripped over the still-burning basketball, the heat scorching his legs.

He fell—out of the ring. The impact thudded through the floor, and the crowd gasped, stepping back.

A beat of silence. Then Iceberg jumped up.

“YOUR WINNER BY RING OUT… APOLLO!”