Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Morgan said just above a whisper, her voice cracking as she leapt to her feet and sprinted for the door.

Wednesday, 10:23 A.M.
Until now Morgan had been riding high. The Chicagoland area was by all rights a sanctuary city for transgender youth. Technically she only had to self affirm her desire to identify as female, but her intentional steps to appear more feminine, and her letter of intent to start HRT from her therapist did help. She actually had already started, but even with the booster injection, it would be months before things really came into full effect, requiring her to switch from male to female brackets in the tournament system.

It also helped that she didn’t participate in any public school sports so the question of her gender affirmation wouldn’t ruffle any feathers on that front - she wasn’t going from boys’ basketball to girls’ basketball, or trying to play baseball, run track, etc. She knew NAMASA would be a different kind of hurdle, but she couldn’t begin to imagine just how much, and how soon that was going to hit home. To her NAMASA was open. The entire point of the grand champions’ cup was for a final, open match, girls’ champion vs open/boys’ champion. And yet...

The midnight blue wasn’t just a style choice in her gi, although it was that. She had really wanted something in a deep purple - her second favorite color after pink, but even a deep purple wouldn’t be regulation. She settled on midnight blue as a third option, close enough, as it was the shade of her locker and her favorite hoodie.

There was a brief moment of shock from teachers, not at the change, but at the suddenly going from utilitarian short-ish to princess hair that would give Rapunzel a run, but she explained that they were extensions, albeit professional quality, combat ready, as much as such a thing can be combat ready, and that was that.

No, the real drama was boiling online. As she and Amber sat at their shared table in AP Chemistry, quietly gossiping in between comparing lab notes, Morgan’s phone vibrated. And then it vibrated again, and again, until it was a constant hum that threatened to rocket the phone right off the table.

“Uh, you’d probably better get that,” Amber said. Morgan glanced at it. The blood drained from her face as she read notification after notification. The Signal group chat from Hidden Tiger Academy wasn’t just exploding, it was absolutely on fire, and Morgan was at the center of the raging inferno.

From what Morgan could gather, a well-meaning parent had snapped a candid shot of Morgan during her 2nd degree black belt reception ceremony, and then a second one of her in her new under armor as she was putting her gi jacket back on and uploaded the photos with the caption ‘The Tiger has changed her stripes, and she looks FEROCIOUS!’

Combined with the already circulating photos - the one from the bully, the candid shots last night, and a few new ones as students around her school snapped candid pics of her to share, some surprised, some excited, most well-meaning, there was more than enough digital signal out there for the trap to snap shut.

A rival coach from the Cobra Clutch dojo in Texas filed a formal complaint with NAMASA.

‘This is psychological warfare,’ the report stated. ‘Mixed Martial Arts is a full contact sport. How can a teenage boy trained to fight other boys be expected to hit a girl? League rules on gender divisions exist for a reason. Either the Tiger should be moved to the girls’ division or he should be disqualified and unseeded.’

Amber gave her a concerned frown. “What? What is it?”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Morgan said just above a whisper, her voice cracking as she leapt to her feet and sprinted for the door.

“Here,” Professor Langston said as she handed Amber a hall pass, not a hastily written note, but the generic ‘This is an emergency, get the eff out of the way’ yellow card pass she kept on her desk for exactly this sort of scenario.

“Thank you,” Amber said and bolted off after her friend. Morgan nearly plowed into Liberty on her way to the bathroom, though Liberty, owing to her skills, easily leapt back out of the way, and, on seeing her sister sprint past her, her curiosity was piqued so she followed.

She found Amber trying to console Morgan inside the girls’ bathroom, holding her sobbing friend, and overheard some incoherent something or other about them trying to erase her existence.

“Hey, what happened, and who do I need to kill?” Liberty asked without missing a beat. Morgan was very much her rival in that if she won the 6A, it’d be her, and not Tiffani, who’d face Morgan in the final Night of Champions match, and she knew it. She didn’t care.

“Coach Bullock from Cobra Clutch filed to have Morgan DQ’ed,” Amber said softly.

“Oh HELL no they aren’t!” Liberty shouted. “On what fucking grounds?!”

“They’re claiming this,” Morgan waved a hand vaguely, trying to pull herself together, her normally braided hair now hanging over her shoulders loose, a mix of semi-professional styling thanks to Suzanne and her mom’s expert guidance, and her now very messy, very not waterproof makeup turning her into a raccoon monster with pink lips, “is just psychological warfare. They want me out entirely or in the girls’ division, which I obviously CAN’T because I’ve been on HRT for less than a week.”

“Nu-uh, no, not happening,” Liberty said. “Let me call my mom, okay? She knows a great lawyer.”

“Hey that’s right,” Amber said, perking up and giving Morgan a reassuring smile. “Remember? I told you about dinner at her place in Stonewood. Her and Bridget do a ton of work for our dojo so she’ll definitely help!”

“Really?” Morgan asked, but Liberty already had her phone out.

“Mom? We’ve got a Static 911. It’s about Morgan Roth. The tournament wants to DQ her for presenting as a girl and,” she paused to listen. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking. We need to sic Amanda on these douchebags ASAP. Yeah, she’s right here. Do you want to talk to her? Okay, yes I’ll tell her. Thanks Momma.”

Morgan had already begun running cold water to try and clean herself up. Liberty put a hand on her shoulder. “My mom’s calling your mom. She’s going to give her Miss Miller’s law firm number.”

Morgan, now looking at least more fresh faced without the running makeup, although her eyes were already reddening, gave Liberty a small smile. “Thanks. I don’t know why you’re helping me, but I don’t know what to say. Thank you,” she repeated, giving both sisters a tight hug.

“I know I have a reputation,” Liberty said, paused, and glanced at her sister, “Okay, I know I earned my reputation for being a queen bitch, the Iron Dragon and all that, but I have my reasons. Amber knows. Just ask her about the Static when you’re feeling better.” Owing to the raccoon eyes and the adrenaline surging through her veins, she never once for even a second, clocked that she was staring at the mirror image of the girl who had beaten her last weekend, who she now found herself training to beat the girl standing before her.

10:31 A.M. Tori had just finished a surgery consultation. She sat down in the staff room with a steaming cup of coffee and moved the physical ‘Focus’ switch on the side of her iPhone 14 Pro Max from on to off. Her phone lit up with notifications. She frowned as she sifted through them.

“THEY WHAT?!” she shrieked, piercing the serene calm of the empty staff room and the quiet corridor beyond. Her phone chimed with an incoming call. It read as an unknown caller, and she expected it to be either a NAMASA official, or worse, a hit piece journalist looking for an easy story.

“This had better be important,” she hissed.

“Hello, I’m Coach Rebecca Styles. May I please speak with Doctor Tori Evanton?”

Tori’s panic and rage subsided just a little as soon as she heard the word ‘Coach’. “Oh, yes, Ms. Styles, this is Doctor Evanton. Are you with the Hidden Tiger Academy Dojo?”

“Not exactly,” Rebecca answered. “Actually I represent the Soaring Dragon Temple Dojo, but our daughters, Amber and Morgan, are good friends. It was my other daughter Liberty whom I just spoke with about the situation regarding Morgan, and, now that I’ve had a chance to look into it, I’d like to put you in touch with a lawyer here in Chicago.”

“Really?” Tori asked, surprised.

“Yes. Her name is Amanda Miller. She does mainly contract work for my dojo, but she’s also an excellent business law and civil rights advocate. This is a blatant, desperate scare tactic at best, and a discrimination case at worst. NAMASA can’t afford the bad press, and Amanda is the perfect person to bring it.”

10:34 A.M.
Lawson, Miller, and Associates.
Amanda sat in her office, quietly going over the paperwork for Tiffani’s 6A entry. Soft music played in the background, a mix of 90s alt-rock that helped her focus.

Though she had inherited the office, and as such the ancient walnut desk, from her predecessor when she made partner, she had made the glass room her own, replacing the worn green leather with crisp red leather on the desk, and modern Herman Miller chairs on both sides, ensuring both she, and her clients, would enjoy a comfortable experience even if whatever they were discussing at the time might not be.

She had photos of both Alex and Tiffani on her desk, a photo of Tiffani’s first Taekwondo championship ceremony hanging on the wall right next to Alex’s dance and cheer nationals victory photo.

Tiffani was legally Tiffani Miller, but held an official DBA as Tiffani Sterling for her Taekwondo tournaments. Amanda wanted to be absolutely certain the NAMASA rules wouldn't flag her daughter's "Warrior" name as a discrepancy. It wasn’t a problem during the first tournament, but Tiffani was the unseeded wild card just there to gain experience. Now she was a 6A contender, and a wild card who had beaten the #2 girls’ division seed at her very first tournament.

The phone on her desk rang. She picked it up on the first chirp. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you Miss Miller, there’s a call on line one from Coach Styles. She says it’s urgent.”

“I’ll take it,” Amanda said, her brow furrowing. She shut off the music, right as the lyrics ‘You’re a dream to me (Dream to me)’ piped over the speakers.

“Mandy, we’ve got a Situation,” Rebecca said the moment the line connected, and Amanda could almost hear the capital ‘S’ in the word. “A NAMASA bad-faith grievance against a student at the Hidden Tiger Academy. It’s Bullock again.”

Amanda sighed, rubbing her temples. “Bull-crock and his Cobra Clutch. He never could handle a loss with grace. What’s he done now?”

“He’s trying to DQ the #1 seed for 'psychological warfare' because she’s transitioning. I have the mother, Tori Evanton, on the other line. I’m patching her in.”

There was a click. “Mrs. Miller? This is Tori Evanton. Thank you so much for taking this call.”

“It’s Amanda, please,” she replied, grabbing her legal pad. “Let’s get the basics. Your daughter’s legal name?”

“Morgan,” Tori said, her voice trembling slightly. “Morgan Sterling-Roth.”

Amanda’s pen didn't just stop but clattered softly onto the pad, rolling across the red leather away from her. “I’m sorry... did you say Sterling?”

“Yes. Her biological parents were the Sterlings. She’s fourteen... born June 27th.”

Amanda felt the air grow heavier: June 27th, Tiffani’s birthday, and the name Sterling. The alarm bells in her mind had gone from ‘Spider sense is tingling’ to full five alarm ‘It’s the end of everything, repent!’ levels. This did not add up.

It only took a few seconds in a separate browser tab from where she had been glancing over the NAMASA subreddit, for her to find photos of Tiffani- no, not Tiffani. She had more defined musculature, especially without the midnight blue gi in that second photo, just her sleeveless under armor. But she looked just like Tiffani otherwise, same intense blue eyes, nearly the same facial structure as Morgan still had some baby fat clinging to her cheeks that softened her appearance even without the 2 years of HRT Tiffani had enjoyed.

“Tori?” Amanda whispered. “How soon can you be at my office?”

“I’m already on my way out the door,” Tori answered. “I’ll be there as soon as traffic allows.”