Split Victory - Part 2

Chapters 3 and 4

© 2026 Zoë Taylor

In which the first seeds of the mystery are planted. A statue in a sea of chaos, and a stray remark from a coach
leaves its own unique marks on the twins despite their physical distance.

Chapter 3 - Chaos Theory

9:04 A.M.
The Chicago Civic Center roared with the assault of slamming doors, distant whistles, the odd crying child, and the hum of a thousand conversations at once.

Tiffani emergedfrom the quiet luxury of the climate controlled Lexus GX550, clenching her jaw and tightening her shoulders as she braced against the sensory assault, forcing herself to smile like she belonged. She just needed to find her registration area. She paused to toss a piece of sugar free gum in her mouth before pushing her way inside giving herself a tangible, controllable variable.

A sharp, piercing whistle drilled into her ears and straight down to the base of her spine. She flinched, the whiplash untucking the tip of her braid from her tracksuit jacket and causing the vibrant pink hair tie to come to rest across the silky black collar.

Her gaze shot left and right, expecting a NAMASA official with a clipboard and a disqualification, finding only an exasperated mom struggling to wrestle twin 7 year olds in barely-fitting white gi and matching, crisp new white belts.

Just beyond them stood a woman in an unbranded charcoal blazer and platinum blonde hair, holding a rose gold tablet in one hand, and a slim white stylus pen in the other, the pen making tiny, almost graceful micro movements. In a lobby full of blurred movement, she stood out in 8k super-res. The stillness felt wrong, and she carried a sense of deja vu.

“Wild, right?” the mother asked, giving Tiffani a weary, but friendly smile.

“Even TKD regionals weren’t this loud,” Tiffani said, trying to force her heart rate back down to earth. “Hey, do you know where black belt registrations are? I’m so late.”

The twins were staring up at Tiffani in awe. “Are you a power ranger?” one of them asked.

“Only on weekends,” Tiffani answered and winked. The mother laughed softly.

“I think black belts are being funneled into the east wing. Just past those vending machines over there.”

“Thanks so much!” Tiffani called as she practically leapt off the mark, weaving between parents. She sprang over a stray gym bag and landed with practiced agility, pivoting to avoid a bright yellow mop bucket, and the slightly haggard janitor leaning on the handle.

As she righted herself again, ready to sprint for the east wing, a hushed silence grew behind her. She turned just in time to see the swell of caffeinated parents spread like the red Sea, the quiet purr of rubber bike tires on tile.

She heard the bike, barely, before seeing it, a black skeletal frame of a Surley Bikes Karate Monkey with a mix of "held together" e-bike parts, some sleek, some extremely DIY, all shades of matched matte black with no visible logos or decals, and then she noticed the rider.

The jacket resembled a long sleeved karate gi, black denim like cloth with charcoal trim. The rider wore a full face helmet as sleek and black as the bike frame, a massively long, red braid running down their back, and as they passed Tiffani without even a tilt of the head, she noticed the embroidery work, a soaring dragon glinting in the fluorescent lights overhead, black on black that was only visible in the right circumstances, across the entire back, not a mere patch or sublimation dye, but hand stitched right into the fabric..

"Who, or what, is that?" Tiffani whispered reflexively.

The janitor finally glanced up with a grunt. “That’s the reason for the increased insurance premiums. Styles, the Iron Dragon. She’s the one you don’t want to draw in the first round.”

Styles. A girl. That was a girl.

In the black belt registration office, a lone NAMASA official stood behind a polished faux marble desk looking at his phone. She cleared her throat, sliding her folder across. “Tiffani Styles-I mean, Tiffani Sterling. Sorry,” she said, trying not to look flustered. She breathed shallow and rapid. She stopped completely when he looked at the birth certificate, still bearing her legacy name, her ‘M’ marker

She had practiced the speech, the apology she was going to give, for ten whole minutes in the shower last night. “I can explain the-”

“Kukkiwon certified,” he interrupted her.

“Yeah, but I mean the birth cert-”

“Your coach called ahead,” he said, interrupting her again. “This seal,” he said, placing his finger on the gold seal,” is the only thing I get paid to care about.”

He pushed the folder closed and shoved it unceremoniously back towards her and then stamped a badge that read ‘Sterling, T’ TKD Authorized. “You’re in group 2, center rings. Don’t be late.”

The ‘don’t be late’ hung like an accusation in her mind even after he had gone back to looking at his phone. She nodded, grabbed the folder, and rushed out into the hall again.

Chapter 4 - Shadow Boxing

9:04AM
Morgan stood before the open doors to the Hidden Tiger Kenpo Academy, technically a studio, but he always thought of it as a dojo, drenched in sweat and red-faced, had it been much colder steam might have rolled off him like a dying engine pushed too hard, as he removed his shoes and passed under the “Shoushen” kanji - “Beginner’s Mind”.

“You look like a man running out of breath and out of time, Morgan,” his coach said as Morgan met his gaze. He extended Morgan a thick white towel, which Morgan accepted and began to mop the sweat from his face.

“The miles were long today, Sensei,” Morgan answered

“And your pulse is erratic,” the man answered. “You’re telegraphing your rage before you’ve even thrown a punch. Endurance training is important, but it’s good to remember your limits, too,” he said as they walked inside together He nodded toward the mat, taking a position across from him. Morgan fell into an attention stance, the lingering scent of old rubber mixed with sandalwood and bleach faintly present, calming and familiar.

Morgan was aware of a white gi in the fcorner, a large kicking bag being struck rhythmically, but he remained utterly focused on the man who stood before him. His tactical mind filtered all distractions.

“You wear the white belt of a beginner,” he said and dropped into a lead hand stance. “Fight like you have everything to learn, and nothing to protect.”

The sensei lunged in a sudden breakaway at Morgan and only stopped with his open palm an inch from Morgan’s heaving chest. Morgan flinched and put one foot behind him instinctively, but kept his guard lowered. The sanctity of self was absolute, meaning no pads, no contact.

“Better,” he said and then placed his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, a firm, grounding, fatherly gesture. “Gear up, and we’ll get a round in before you have to be at the gym.”

Morgan nodded and walked to the edge of the mat, dropping the Apex bag with a dull thud, momentarily drowning out the white noise of the other students, the background blur as he pulled the blackApex pads into place.

They sparred for a few seconds, Morgan attempting to land a light contact strike, but his every movement was blocked hanily, the clip of sharp to the tune of heavy canvas and the dull thud of hidden pads

“Your mind is in the North Shore,” the Sensei said as he checked Morgan’s leg sweep with a slight shift of his knee. “Return to the room.”

Morgan faltered at that. He had never been anywhere near the North Shore. Where had that come from? He struggled to regain his composure, but the Sensei tapped his face mask.
“Focus. You like old wuxia films right? Then empty your cup.”

Morgan groaned at the reference, even if it was good advice. His cup wasn’t the problem. It was the body that felt wrong. He reset, mentally bringing himself back to the mat, and physically returning to his mark, to try again, drowning out the blur of human furniture in the background, the white noise of conversations, whispering as others stopped to watch them spar.

He was a tiger in a cage on display for the world, and the Sensei was the Zookeeper taunting him.

“The Tiger does not dance to a rhythm. He hunts between the notes,” the Sensei said. “Try again.”

Author's Note:

I apologize for not getting this posted yesterday. To make a long story short, I crashed hard due to a combination of my medication (Nothing serious! I'm actually on the right dose now!) and the unbelievably gray, gloomy weather.
- Zoë