Why in every legend’s name am I only second?
The thought wasn’t new.
It had lived somewhere under his ribs for years.
Quiet.
Patient.
It surfaced whenever someone stronger walked past him without noticing. Whenever someone with a better natural ability surpassed him after a fraction of the effort he’d spent. Whenever another fighter looked at his ranking and said something like Second? That’s incredible.
As if second place was supposed to make him feel better.
He’d been born with a decent gift.
Nothing legendary.
Nothing that turned heads.
Nothing that made masters whisper that destiny had chosen him.
Decent.
That was the word.
And Zolo had spent his entire life refusing to let decent be the final word.
So he had worked.
He had trained until his hands split.
Trained until his muscles stopped responding.
Trained until standing upright after a session required conscious effort.
He had hunted down techniques from every school willing to teach him, then hunted down the ones that weren’t.
He learned how to turn a disadvantage into an opening.
How to survive attacks he couldn’t block.
How to make a weaker strike dangerous through timing.
How to force an opponent into repeating the same movement without realizing it.
How to stack his doubling ability without destroying his own body in the process.
He hadn’t been given greatness.
He had assembled it.
Piece by piece.
Year by year.
Pain by pain.
And it had worked.
For years, it had worked beautifully.
It had earned him second place among the seven most dangerous people alive.
Second.
A rank he’d bled for in a way none of the natural monsters around him ever had to.
And today?
Today, the King barely remembered he existed.
Zolo watched the man’s attention slide past him for the third time in as many minutes.
Toward the Lazy Dragon.
The man copied techniques.
Not learned.
Copied.
There was a difference.
Zolo knew there was.
He had spent fifteen years learning exactly how much of a difference there was.
The Lazy Dragon watched something once and understood it.
Twice, and he could reproduce it.
A few exchanges later, he was combining it with something else he’d stolen from someone entirely different.
It was infuriating.
It was obscene.
And, Zolo had to admit, it was impressive.
The Lazy Dragon stepped through a shadow.
He emerged behind the King.
The King turned.
The Lazy Dragon struck.
The King blocked.
The Lazy Dragon smiled.
Then Zolo noticed it.
The movement.
The angle of the shoulder.
The way the man’s weight shifted.
His eyes widened.
He’s copying my footwork.
Of course he was.
Of course.
Zolo almost laughed.
Instead, he straightened his spine.
Giving up had never once been part of his particular formula for anything.
"I’m supposed to be your rival," he called.
The King glanced toward him.
Zolo lifted his spear.
"Isn’t it about time we settled this properly?"
The King stared at him for a moment.
Then sighed.
"Come on."
Zolo blinked.
"What?"
"What are you waiting for?" the King asked. "An invitation in writing?"
Zolo’s mouth twitched.
Then he laughed.
Sharp.
Genuine.
The specific laugh of a man who would rather be insulted than ignored.
"That’s more like it."
He attacked.
The spear cut through the heat-filled air.
The King moved.
Zolo expected it.
His first strike wasn’t aimed at the King’s body.
It was aimed at where the King would move.
The King’s eyes narrowed.
He shifted anyway.
Zolo’s spear followed.
The shaft turned in his hands.
The King’s arm came up.
The spear connected.
CRACK.
The King took half a step backward.
A bruise darkened across his forearm.
Zolo stared.
For one beautiful second, the entire battlefield seemed to stop.
He had hit him.
Actually hit him.
Not because the King was distracted.
Not because someone else had weakened him.
Not because the King had allowed it.
Zolo had simply found the opening.
"Finally."
His grin widened.
"I’m getting close."
The King’s eyes lowered to the bruise.
Then back to Zolo.
"Are you?"
Zolo’s grin vanished.
The King moved.
Zolo barely blocked.
The impact drove him backward.
His boots carved trenches through the cracked stone.
One step.
Two.
Three.
His arms shook.
Too strong.
The thought came immediately.
Not fear.
Calculation.
Zolo twisted his spear.
The King followed.
Zolo released the weapon.
The King caught the shaft.
For half a heartbeat, Zolo was weaponless.
Then he smiled.
"Got you."
He kicked the King’s knee.
The King shifted his weight.
Exactly as Zolo predicted.
His other hand shot forward.
Two fingers struck the King’s wrist.
The King’s grip loosened.
Zolo caught the spear again.
"You’re predictable."
The King stared at him.
Then smiled.
"You’re learning."
Zolo’s heart skipped.
Not because of the compliment.
Because he realized something.
The King wasn’t irritated.
He was enjoying this.
Zolo attacked again.
The exchange became faster.
Spear.
Elbow.
Knee.
Step.
Turn.
The King blocked almost everything.
Almost.
Zolo’s spear scraped across his shoulder.
A thin line of blood appeared.
Zolo’s eyes widened.
The King looked at it.
Then laughed softly.
"Better."
And then the Lazy Dragon arrived.
He dropped from a shadow beside them and struck the King’s side.
The King twisted.
The attack landed.
Zolo’s eyes narrowed.
That was my opening.
The Lazy Dragon had stolen it.
"Pretty sure my wife won’t mind a black eye or two on that pretty face of yours," the Lazy Dragon said cheerfully. "Once I bring her your head."
Zolo stared at him.
"You stole my opening."
"Borrowed."
"You didn’t even ask."
"I figured you’d say no."
The King straightened.
"After I kill you," he said mildly, "I’ll visit that wife of yours myself and deliver your head personally."
The Lazy Dragon’s grin remained.
But his eyes changed.
The humor disappeared.
"Aren’t you charming?"
"A head’s a head, I imagine," the King said.
The Lazy Dragon rolled his shoulders.
"Yeah."
His voice was quieter now.
"Try it."
The King raised both hands.
Zolo felt the air change.
His instincts screamed.
"Move!"
The King smiled.
"Heat Wave."
The battlefield ignited.
There was no explosion.
No dramatic burst.
Just heat.
Sudden.
Total.
The stone beneath Zolo’s boots began to glow.
His spear became hot enough to hurt through his gloves.
He dropped it.
The Lazy Dragon dropped his borrowed weapon at almost exactly the same moment.
Zolo stared at the discarded weapons.
Then at the Lazy Dragon.
Then back at the weapons.
He felt a tiny, irrational stab of offense.
Even this.
The heat intensified.
Zolo gritted his teeth.
Sweat poured down his face.
His lungs burned.
The air tasted like metal.
He could hear distant stone cracking as the courtyard itself began giving way.
The Lazy Dragon wiped sweat from his forehead.
"This is getting uncomfortable."
"That’s your observation?" Zolo asked.
"I have several others."
"Such as?"
"My wife is going to be furious when she sees the state of my clothes."
Zolo stared at him.
"You’re worried about your clothes?"
"I’m married," the Lazy Dragon said.
Zolo blinked. "That explains absolutely nothing."
"It explains everything," the Lazy Dragon replied.
Zolo almost laughed.
Almost.
Then the King’s shadow fell across them.
He had crossed the distance without either of them noticing.
Zolo jumped.
Bare-handed.
His fist slammed into the King’s ribs.
The impact hurt his own hand more than the King’s body.
He knew before the smoke cleared that it hadn’t done anything meaningful.
But he activated his ability.
Once.
His muscles tightened.
Twice.
His heartbeat hammered.
Three times.
The accumulated power began to build.
His body screamed at him to stop.
He didn’t.
He had spent fifteen years learning exactly how much punishment his body could endure.
He knew where the line was.
And today he intended to cross it.
The Lazy Dragon appeared beside him.
He copied the technique.
Zolo felt it.
His head snapped around.
The Lazy Dragon’s body surged with the same accumulated strength.
Zolo stared.
Then laughed.
It wasn’t a happy laugh.
It was too tired for that.
"You."
The Lazy Dragon grinned.
"Me."
"You are the single most annoying man I have ever fought beside in my entire life."
"I get that a lot."
"Of course you do."
"My wife says the same thing."
Zolo looked at him.
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"That."
He pointed at the doubled power surrounding them.
"Fifteen years."
The Lazy Dragon blinked.
"Fifteen years I trained to build this," Zolo continued, clenching his fist. "You watched me use it for what? Ten seconds?"
"More like twelve."
"And you copied it."
"Pretty much."
Zolo stared at him.
The Lazy Dragon shrugged.
"Talent’s not a plan."
Zolo frowned.
The Lazy Dragon’s expression became slightly more serious.
"It’s just a head start," he said. He looked at Zolo. "You still gotta run the race after you get it."
For once, there was no joke behind his words.
"Difference is, you had to build your own legs from nothing."
He looked down at his own hands.
"Mine came pre-installed."
Zolo said nothing.
The Lazy Dragon smiled.
"Honestly? If I had your work ethic layered on top of what I copy, I’d actually be scary."
Zolo looked away.
"You already are scary."
He paused.
"That’s the whole problem."
The words tasted strange.
Not bitter.
Not exactly.
Just honest.
The King watched them.
His expression had changed.
He wasn’t amused anymore.
He was interested.
The doubled power radiating from both men was beginning to distort the air around them.
Zolo felt it.
The King had finally started paying attention.
Good.
That was what he had wanted.
That was why he had challenged him.
Not because he believed he could defeat the King alone.
Because if the King was looking at him, even for a moment, someone else might get the opening.
Zolo glanced toward the Lazy Dragon.
The other man understood immediately.
No words.
No plan spoken aloud.
They moved.
Zolo went left.
The Lazy Dragon went right.
The King remained still.
Zolo attacked first.
The King blocked.
The Lazy Dragon struck.
The King turned.
Zolo changed direction.
The King caught him.
The Lazy Dragon disappeared into shadow.
Zolo felt the King shift.
He understood the movement.
"Now!"
The Lazy Dragon emerged.
His fist connected.
The King’s head snapped sideways.
Silence.
Zolo stared.
The Lazy Dragon stared.
The King slowly turned his head back.
A small line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
The King touched it.
Looked at his fingers.
Then smiled.
"Again."
Zolo’s stomach tightened.
The King stepped forward.
The pressure of his presence alone made the courtyard feel smaller.
Zolo raised his fists.
The Lazy Dragon cracked his neck.
Neither man moved.
The King did.
Everything became chaos.
Zolo blocked.
Pain exploded through his arms.
He countered.
The King avoided it.
The Lazy Dragon attacked from behind.
The King spun.
Shadow erupted.
The King tore through it.
Zolo struck the opening.
The King caught his wrist.
For one instant, their eyes met.
"You’ve spent your entire life trying to overcome your limitations," the King said.
Zolo gritted his teeth.
"What’s your point?"
"You’ve mistaken them for weaknesses."
The King’s grip tightened.
"They are the reason you learned."
Zolo froze.
The King threw him aside.
Zolo crashed through a broken section of wall.
Stone collapsed over him.
For several seconds, he couldn’t breathe.
Dust filled his lungs.
His vision blurred.
He heard footsteps.
The King.
Zolo pushed himself up.
His arms trembled.
His body screamed.
He laughed.
Quietly.
Because suddenly he understood.
The Lazy Dragon hadn’t made his work meaningless.
He had made the thing Zolo had always hated about himself impossible to ignore.
Zolo wasn’t special because of his gift.
He was special because he had spent fifteen years refusing to let a mediocre gift decide what he could become.
The Lazy Dragon could copy his technique.
He could copy the movement.
He could copy the power.
But he hadn’t lived those fifteen years.
He hadn’t failed with it.
Hadn’t broken it.
Hadn’t rebuilt it.
Hadn’t discovered which part of the technique worked and which part was a lie.
That belonged to Zolo.
He stood.
The Lazy Dragon glanced at him.
"You alive?"
Zolo spat dust onto the ground.
"Unfortunately."
"Good."
The King waited.
Zolo picked up his broken spear.
It was useless now.
He kept it anyway.
"You wanted a rival," Zolo said.
The King looked at him.
Zolo raised the broken weapon.
"Then stop looking for someone stronger."
His smile returned.
"Look at the person who keeps getting back up."
For the first time, the King’s expression became completely serious.
"Very well."
The heat around the battlefield intensified.
Zolo felt the doubled power burning through his exhausted body.
The Lazy Dragon stepped beside him.
Two men.
One who had spent fifteen years building himself.
One who could steal everything he built.
Neither looked away.
The King raised both hands.
The air trembled.
"Let’s see," he said, "how much of your hard work remains when your body has nothing left to give."
Zolo tightened his grip.
And smiled.
"That’s the thing about hard work."
The King waited.
Zolo lowered his stance.
"You don’t need anything left."
The Lazy Dragon grinned.
"You just need enough."
The King moved.
So did they.
And this time, Zolo was no longer fighting to prove he deserved second place.
He was fighting to prove that second place had never been the thing that made him dangerous in the first place.
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