Split Victory
©2026 Zoë Taylor

14 year old Tiffani and her identical twin Morgan were both assigned male at birth, but due to an unusual intervention, they were separated and raised in vastly different lives. While Tiffani was allowed to simply exist, following her dreams of studying Taekwondo at a prestigious global academy, her long lost twin brother Morgan found himself under the oppressive shadow of his stepfather, billionaire playboy John Roth.

But now, Tiffani has left the singular world of Taekwondo tournaments behind to join the global world rankings of the North American Martial Arts Sports Association, she and her long lost sibling are put on a collision course that was never meant to happen, and along the way they'll unravel a mystery that's bigger than the both of them.

***

Chapter 1: The Sparrow

8:30 A.M.
The haptic buzz of Tiffani’s Apple Watch hummed against her wrist. She didn't flinch. She had been awake for twenty minutes, sitting stationary at the center of her unmade four-post oak bed, weighted dusty rose comforter shoved aside. It looked like an ordinary blanket to the untrained eye, but to Tiffani it meant a good night’s sleep under a regulated, constant pressure, just like the stiff, high thread count sheets beneath her.

Her eyes were shielded by her firmly weighted, champagne-colored silk sleep mask, the “Aura by Apex” logo embroidered with a subtle, raised stitch of silver thread at the temple. To Tiffani, it wasn’t the REM cycle optimizer the marketing had promised; it was the anchor grounding her frantic mind, holding the world’s static at bay.

Her fingers moved with practiced, rhythmic speed. She navigated the strands of her blonde hair into a tight French braid by touch alone in a kind of a tactile kata, a golden crown of hair constructed in the void. While the world outside was a gray January blur she chose not to acknowledge yet, she was already building the armor she would wear into the fray.

She reached unerringly and snatched the soft, pink hair tie from her nightstand without so much as a twitch of her head, anchoring the French braid securely, and only then removing the mask and reached for the nightstand again, adjusting the remote controlled dimming switch to bring the light up to a moderate level.

She stood and snatched the dobok off the back of her vanity desk's chair. As she pulled it into place she paused, trying to adjust the ventilated mesh so that it sat just right against her skin. She wasn't thinking about the 2A tournament yet, her analytical mind too preoccupied with the weight of the fabric hanging just right.

Her gaze shifted to the trophy shelf. It was the only surface in the room she kept dusted. Most of the plastic gold belonged to a person who no longer existed, but the three newest pillars etched with “Tiffani Sterling” - her “stage name” and homage to parents she never knew, felt real: proof of a corrected record.

Beside the trophy shelf, a 90s-era Cranberries poster, slightly torn and UV-faded, was now preserved behind a protective glass frame. Beneath it, she had stacked her CD jewel cases in a vertical sequence by release year. This mechanical arrangement, along with the alignment of her Apex pads, sat in sharp contrast to the heap of stuffed animals and the sprawl of makeup bottles on the oak vanity.

She stretched briefly before pulling on a plain, black track suit pants and jacket over her dobok. The dobok top’s black v-neck was the only real splash of color, no school insignia or personal embroidery, not that she represented herself exactly. She had a school, and an extremely encouraging coach for that matter, but in the world of the North American Martial Arts Sports Association, she wasn’t even a blip on anyone’s radar.

She stepped into her pink-accented sneakers. The new Apex pads: gloves, headgear, shin, elbow, and chest guard fit snugly into her ratty, old unlabeled black duffle bag, the unfortunately necessary cup buried deep at the bottom and out of sight. Lastly, she thumbed the case of her custom-fitted mouthguard before sliding it into her pocket.

‘Mom’ had insisted on the dental-grade fit. It was a tactical advantage; the suction meant it stayed seated during a kyep or a heavy strike to the diaphragm.
Tiffani hummed "Dreams" to herself, breaking the silence and letting the melody keep the morning's variables at bay as she took the stairs two at a time. Alex was still asleep, but the 2A bracket didn't wait for North Shore teenagers to wake up.

“Breakfast.”
Amanda didn't look up from her legal briefs, but she slid a fine China plate across the granite. A napkin-wrapped breakfast pocket steamed in the center of the gold-rimmed porcelain.
Tiffani picked it up, the heat causing her to briefly hand it from one palm to the other. She wasn't hungry; her stomach felt like a knot of tight wires, but she knew the math. If she hit the semis, her blood sugar couldn't be a variable.

“Mom I don't know if I'm ready for an Open,” Tiffani said,“That WST seal feels different when it’s not just a TKD gym. What if the NAMASA girls see right through me?”

Amanda finally looked up, her smile brief but centered. “They’ll see exactly what’s on the mats, Tiff. The car’s warming in the garage.”

Tiffani caught their twin reflections in the stainless steel. With the same honey-blonde hair, Amanda could easily pass for her biological mother.

Today, Amanda’s hung in a casual ponytail, while Tiffani’s felt winched into a French braid so tight it may as well have been a structural part of her skull. She missed the freedom of loose hair, but the tension of the braid provided a grounding focal point at least: one less thing to go flying loose.

As they left the palatial estate, too large for just the three of them, Tiffani glanced out across the manicured lawns and flawless gardens. She set her jaw, her core tightening as she heard the heavy iron gate at the edge of her Stonewood sanctuary slam shut.

***

Chapter 2: The Untouchable Tiger

8:30 A.M.
The minute rolled over with a harsh, mechanical click. The loud alarm only managed a single shrill shriek before a heavy fist struck the ‘Off’ button with practiced precision, just enough to spare the ancient clock’s slightly yellowed plastic casing.

Morgan had already woken up an hour ago, staring through the crack inthe beige miniblinds as frost nipped on the window against a muted gray sky.

His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it as he rolled off the bed and grabbed the heavy black karate gi, the stiff, 14 ounce canvas a grounding pressure against his pale skin.

The room resembled a grand championship trophy museum that someone had begrudgingly shoved a bed into out of necessity or mandate rather than any decorative intent, rows of cheap plastic trophies painted gold or fake marble buried at the back in favor of statues of walnut and real gold, and rings nestled in black velvet to make them glisten more sharply.

He taped his wrists with crisp, fresh athletic tape, an exact and practiced amount of pressure for maximum protection that would still allow some freedom of movement before reaching for the dingy, yellowed white belt, frayed and thin. He secured the underbelt firmly knowing roadwork was no place to expose a black belt.

Suzanne came barreling through the hallway, a mobile wall of silk and rucksack cloth stacked so high she could barely see over it.

“Uh,” Morgan said and cracked a small smile, “Do you need some help with that?”

Suzanne spun on a heel and flashed a broad grin. “Nah, I got it,” she answered, but stepped closer, shifting the bundle of garments expertly around so as to not drop anything. “Jeez bro. No coat? You do know it snowed last night right? It’s like 20 degrees out there.”

“35,” he shot back confidently and then rolled his shoulders. “It’s good for endurance. Not like I’m hiking through Siberia barefoot.”

If you say so Rocky,” Suzanne giggled with a lyrical, teasing tone. “Anyway Mom’s got your protein overload ready. I already stole a piece of bacon.”

“Yeah, I smelled it,” Morgan said. “Hey, Z? Thanks for,you know, last night, for listening.”

Suzanne somehow managed to shift the whole bundle of costumes onto one arm as she stretched out her other arm and pulled Morgan into a tight, reassuring hug. His muscles tensed instinctively, and he forced himself to relax. “Don’t sweat it,” she whispered. “Thanks for making my ex back off last week.”

“Anytime,” he said, his stare briefly intensifying at the memory before he, once again, forced himself to take it down a notch. “I can handle your ex girlfriends too,” he said, trying to recover the mask. “Just give me a name.”

“Shush!” she hissed, grinning. “It’s ex girlfriend, singular, and she’s my friend, not just my understudy so don’t you dare.” She spun around again and padded off into her bedroom. He watched for just a moment, reflecting one last time about last night’s conversation before finally turning and heading down the stairs.

Tori had a large Fiesta plate of scrambled eggs and bacon already waiting, along with a steaming bowl of oatmeal, exactly what an elite athlete needed before an intense endurance run.

“Hey, if you ever get tired of doing ligament repairs and knee replacements, you’ve got my vote for professional catering,” he said as he sat down to eat.

“You’ve gotta keep your strength up if you’re going to keep your title,” she answered with a dry tone, but a proud smile nonetheless. “Need a lift, or is this a leg day?”

Morgan rolled his eyes slightly at the leg day comment. “Funny. No, I need the miles. Thanks anyway.”

Morgan let out a last, hearty belch of gratitude before he stepped outside into the sidewalk of variables. A woman in a heavy winter jacket walking an excited poodle in a red sweater, a jackhammer tearing up pavement somewhere in the distance. He didn’t flinch, just retrieving the noise cancelling Argent Electronics by Apex headphones, the first strains of “Dreams” drowning out the noise.

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

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoë Taylor

“Hyperextended in the AAA finals,” Jade sighed, balancing her weight. “They had to carry me off like a sack of flour. Totally embarrassing. But hey, now I’m a scout. I didn't see your name on the NAMASA roster, T-Bird.”

“Late entry. Jen thought I needed to ‘expand my horizon’ beyond the TKD bubble.” Tiffani glanced at the gold ‘NAMASA #1’ pin on Jade’s jacket. It caught the fluorescent light with a mocking glint. “The 2028 Olympics are the goal,” Tiffani said softly, her eyes drifting to the crowd. “But the noise, the drama about trans girls on the mat. NAMASA is already rattling the cage, Jade. I don't know if I can hold the mask for four more years.”

---

Chapter 5 - Jen and Jade

If the lobby was a sea of chaos, the tournament floor was an ocean. Thirty rings spread across the civic center, an olfactory overload of floor wax and buttered popcorn with just a hint of sweat that mingled with her sugar free bubblegum in all the wrong ways..

A male competitor brushed past, trailing a tangible cloud of Axe body spray. The unrefined . assault came as a final insult that instantly made her long for the easy ozone of the e-bike, even if the rider made her queasy at the thought of being in the same ring.

“Jade!” Tiffani let out a small yelp of relief. Jade Parker stood near the 2A bracket boards, leaning heavily on crutches with her right leg locked in a splint brace. She had a black track suit not unlike Tiffani’s rather than the neon green and electric blue of the Velocity Sparrow Global Taekwondo Academy they normally wore to TKD tournaments.

“What happened?” Tiffani asked, pulling her into a careful hug.

“Hyperextended in the AAA finals,” Jade sighed, balancing her weight. “They had to carry me off like a sack of flour. Totally embarrassing. But hey, now I’m a scout. I didn't see your name on the NAMASA roster, T-Bird.”

“Late entry. Jen thought I needed to ‘expand my horizon’ beyond the TKD bubble.” Tiffani glanced at the gold ‘NAMASA #1’ pin on Jade’s jacket. It caught the fluorescent light with a mocking glint.

“The 2028 Olympics are the goal,” Tiffani said softly, her eyes drifting to the crowd. “But the noise, the drama about trans girls on the mat. NAMASA is already rattling the cage, Jade. I don't know if I can hold the mask for four more years.”

Jade’s expression softened. She reached out, her hand a grounding weight on Tiffani’s shoulder. “Empty your cup, Tiff. If you fill it with what some jerk on a podcast says, there’s no room for the joy of the hit. Don't let the dark side win.”

Tiffani managed a weak smile. “Okay, Yoda. I get it.”

“Good.” Jade unpinned her ‘#1’ badge and pressed it into Tiffani’s palm. “Loaner. For luck. Pin it on your bag. If anyone starts crap, I’m right there with you. MMA is ninety-percent psychology, girl.”

Tiffani struggled to fight back tears at the sudden and extremely unexpected gesture. Jade never let anyone ‘borrow’ anything of hers so this came as a complete shock. “Jade... Thank you,” Tiffani said, immediately bringing her bag around to pin it where it would catch the light best and hugged her again.

“T-bird! Jade found you!” Jen bounded over, her ‘cheer coach’ energy infectious, especially in her Velocity Sparrow tracksuit. Her smile wavered though. “I wish I could have shielded you from the draw, Tiff. But the brackets are locked. Your first opponent is Liberty Styles.”

Jade flinched. “Ah, crap.”

“The e-bike girl?” Tiffani’s heart raced, panic taking over. “In the first round? How is that fair?”

“Focus on the exhale,” Jade commanded. “Styles is a master of the blitz. She’ll try to overwhelm your perimeter. Keep her out of your circle. Don't hold back because she’s a girl because you are too.”

Jade gave Tiffani’s chest protector a playful, smack with her knuckle. “You’ve got this.”

A distorted megaphone cut through at that: “TIFFANI STERLING, RING 15! LIBERTY STYLES, RING 15!”

“Fast and loose,” Jadecheered. “Show her Sparrows have claws.”

Chapter 6 - Big Tiger, Small Jungle

The small single 1A city tournament bustled with a quiet and casual atmosphere unlike the regional/state AA tournament happening at the Chicago Civic Center. Being largely Kenpo and TKD students with one or two Wushu or forms exhibitions, and mostly underbelts or newly minted black belts hunting points, Morgan moved like a shark among guppies.

He walked past the registration desk, and, even bearing the aged, dingy underbelt, officials knew him, checked boxes, and waved him through. An intern could bring him his badge as a formality later.

“Hey, Star.”

Morgan stopped and genuinely smiled, the only flicker of humanity in an otherwise cold machine mask. Amber stood leaned casually against the bleacher wall. She had her long, blonde hair tightly braided, ready to wrap into her headgear, but her namesake amber eyes, even if they looked more hazel or brown in this light, held the same weary pre-fight calm he felt in the pit of his stomach and chest.

“Amber, hey. I thought you’d be with Liberty at the AA?” He put out his hand to her. They didn’t hug or fist bump, just a pre-fight good luck ritual, letting each other’s fingers touch as if they were touching gloves before a sparring match.

Amber shrugged her shoulders tightly. “Sometimes it’s nice to just get out of the Dragon’s shadow. Not like you’d know anything about that.” She flinched a little after she said it. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

Morgan shook his head. “No worries. I know what you meant. I wasn’t always the #1 seed though. It’s not about the journey.”

“It’s about the destination,” Amber said dryly as she finished the quote with him in a practiced droning tone.. “Yeah, yeah.” She cracked a smile as she put her head on his shoulder. “Just once. Just once I’d like to know what it feels like to not be fighting myself, my sister’s legacy. It’s never enough.”

“I get you,” Morgan said as he put an arm around her and squeezed firmly. She raised her head, their eyes meeting. “I’m dealing with a lot of not enough myself.”

Before he could say what was on his mind, a NAMASA official approached bearing a clipboard like it was the only thing that mattered, and extended a small badge that read ‘Sterling-Roth, M.’ and ‘EPAK Blackbelt’. He didn’t need it, and neither did the crowd, already gathering, but rules were rules. “You’re in ring 4 Morgan. Amber, you’ve got ring 3.”

“Domo,” they said in unison.

“Jinx,” Amber said under her breath. “You owe me a coke.”

“After you win,” Morgan shot back confidently. He put up his fist for her to bump before they formally parted ways to their separate rings. He thought about the human furniture, the sea of fellow students, and he thought about Amber, how she seemed to operate on a different, higher frequency. She saw him as more than an interesting zoo exhibit, and he saw her as more than the blonde shadow in Liberty’s orbit.

“You’ve faced this spitting viper before,” Sensei said as he helped Morgan pad up with practiced speed. “Economy of motion. Hunt between the notes.”

Morgan stepped onto the mat where his opponent stood like a coiled viper, moving fluidly, watching Morgan.

“Bow to me!” the official barked. They did so.

“Bow to each other!” They turned and bowed to each other. As more and more competitors crowded into bleachers or floor space to watch a Morgan Sterling-Roth fight, Morgan gave his opponent a slight nod of acknowledgement and respect following the required bow. He knew what it felt like. Two years ago he had been a complete nobody facing a top ranked contender. It was the first time he had successfully pulled off a phantom lead and eked out his first major win.

The crowd seemed to blur into the background, holding its breath like one massive, collective lung as the official raised a hand.

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoë Taylor

“All I’m saying is boys shouldn’t be allowed to compete in girls’ sports!” the woman continued. Tiffani’s defenses were shattered in an instant. Everything she had worked so hard to build up, stripped away. How did this woman, this complete stranger even know about her being trans?

None of this made any sense. Before she could say something though,, she felt a hand on her shoulder. It belonged to Liberty, of all people. No gentle brushing of a hand, it was a firm squeeze, grounding, comforting. She had to fight the urge to lean into it instinctively.

“I’ve got this, Barbie,” Liberty said, squeezing her shoulder again, her arm around Tiffani now in a moment of solidarity.

---

Chapter 7 - Push and Pull

The official’s hand dropped as he spoke the word ‘Begin!’ and Tiffani lunched into range. Liberty blocked the first kick, the dull thud of canvas and pads mixed with the sharp kihap, but left herself open. Tiffani’s back leg whipped around in a slice kick that could cut steel, tagging the side of Liberty’s headgear.
“Point! White!” the official shouted. “Marks!” Liberty scowled at Tiffani, flashing her purple slimline bite guard.

Morgan did not explode, but drifted with a methodical intensity that immediately put the coiled viper on the metaphorical backfoot where Morgan wanted him. He, Morgan, knew his opponent expected an aggressive tiger charging like a raging bull, but as his Sensei said, the tiger does not dance.

He was hunting between the beats. Even as he counted the rhythm in his head, he moved, lunging on the off-beat when the Snake stylist struck, fingers extended like fangs. Morgan simply wasn’t there anymore, and launched into a blitz, a flurry of silent strikes, letting his hands do the talking.

One, two, three taps punctuated with Kya as required by NAMASA rules, off the beat before the boy could even retract his own strike. Morgan backed off, knowing he’d already won the first tap.

“Break! Point! Red!”

“Come on Liberty, get your head in the game!” came the sharp shout of Liberty’s coach from her corner. “You’re not fighting Jade!”

Jade, smiling innocently as she stood opposite the coach at the other end of the ring in Tiffani’s corner, just cheered Tiffani on. “Good shot! Watch your back foot!” she said, as Tiffani nearly bounced right off the mat under Liberty’s rushed assault. She narrowly twirled to the side to avoid being forced out of bounds by the blitz.

“Close the gap,” Morgan’s sensei called calmly as a round of applause went up when Morgan ducked under a viper-like strike, moving for just a moment with the speed of a sparrow instead of a tiger, and though he failed to land the blow, knocked the kung fu opponent off balance enough to press an advantage.

“Spinning heel!” Jade shouted. Tiffani, acting on pure instinct spun her back foot around in time to narrowly miss Liberty’s faceplate. Libertymoved rapidly into her personal space, tapping her faceguard with an open palm. “Point, red!”

Morgan’s opponent lunged from the mark to try and compensate for Morgan’s intensity. Morgan shifted his stance to a fake out defensive Tiger and launched a flurry of blows. The first two missed, but the third tapped the opponent’s faceguard. “Point, red!”

The back and forth continued on both mats for the full minute until, at last, with only five seconds remaining, Tiffani heard Jade shout ‘Flying spin kick now!’ and Tiffani obeyed, felt her feet leave the ground, let her training take control as she spun in the air and landed a strike against Liberty’s faceplate that caused Liberty to reel.

“Foul!” someone screamed from the bleachers. “Come on ref that’s unnecessary roughness!”

Morgan was up by five on his opponent, with five seconds remaining. “Reverse strike now,” he heard his sensei call out, and he spun, allowing his training to take over. He clenched a fist, but crucially, not the fist he used to strike, which was instead an open palm, lightly tapping his opponent’s chest.

“Point, red!”

“Judges?” the referee said, looking to the judges of Tiffani and Liberty’s match. He pointed with three fingers at a 45 degree angle toward Tiffani’s mark. “Three points, white, no foul!”

Tiffani stood in the same position she had landed in from the 3 point kick, her breath threatening to fog her faceguard as she heaved heavily, a mix of excitement and a little bit of genuine fear as Liberty glared, eyes narrowing slightly. “Mark!” the referee barked. Tiffani snapped to ready stance and bounced back to her mark. Liberty grudgingly returned to hers.

For Morgan it was a formality. He wasn’t being a rabbit, although at 5-0 with only a few seconds left it was a foregone conclusion. The Snake stylist attempted a few last second strikes to at least erase the goose egg from the scoreboard, but Morgan’s blocks and weaves disarmed them.

The shrill whistle cut the air like a rabid chainsaw ending Tiffani’s match.

“FIghters, bow to each other!” the referee ordered. Tiffani and Liberty bowed to each other.

“Approach!” he ordered. They approached, standing beside the referee. “Winner, white!” he yelled, raising Tiffani’s hand. Tiffani turned to Liberty and offered her glove in a gesture of sportsmanship. Liberty glanced at it a moment before touching her glove in response. “Good match,” she mumbled around her purple mouth guard.

“Yeah, you too,” Tiffani smiled back at her before she turned to bounce off the mat, while Liberty quietly padded to her corner.

After Morgan’s hand was raised, he silently turned and bowed to his opponent a second time before even being prompted by the referee. The snake stylist returned the bow and even offered a high five, which Morgan returned, at least pretending to be enthusiastic. In reality, he felt empty, hollow inside. Even as he walked to his corner, he felt his heart beat to the drum of the song in his head.

“Instead of emptying my cup, I think I just beat someone over the head with it,” he said as he approached his sensei, who actually gave a small chuckle at that.

“Humility in the face of victory is often more difficult than humility in the face of defeat.” He handed Morgan a branded water bottle, as Morgan removed his face guard and headgear to take a drink. “Go, rest. The tiger must hunt more difficult prey today.”

“Jeez Tiff,” Jade laughed, raising one crutch in salute as she balanced on her good leg with the other. “I didn’t say knock her lights out,” she teased. Tiffani laughed.

“Hey, I pulled! I thought she was faking it until I saw the look in her eyes afterwards. I just don’t think she expected it.”

“That’s good though,” Jen added as she brought out an electric neon green water bottle with the Sparrow branding to hand to Tiffani. “You’ve rattled her, and now, you’re on the radar of everyone in your division.”

“Including me,” Jade said.

“Huh?” Tiffani asked, glancing up at Jade as she guzzled more water.

“We’ve got an empty slot because I’m out with an injury. You’re now NAMASA regged. I can’t give you my seed, but I CAN give you my 14-15 slot in the 6A in a couple of weeks.”

If Tiffani hadn’t already spit her mouth guard into its case, she would have swallowed it.

“Hey,” Amber said, catching up with Morgan. She handed him a cold towel.

“Hey,” Morgan answered, accepting it graciously and wrapping it around his neck. “Did you win? Sorry, your match was over by the time I finished mine.”

“Yeah,” Amber said, smiling at him and flashing her custom fit white mouth guard before spitting it into her hand. “So, want to grab a coke while we cool down?”

“Yeah,” Morgan said. “Hey, Amber, you ever feel like...” he trailed off as more members of Amber’s team came up to join them. “Never mind. I’ll ask you about it later.”

“Oookay then,” Amber said.

Chapter 8 - Shattered Defenses

“This is about the safety of our daughters!” the shrill shout rang out like a battlecry as Tiffani’s grip tightened on the neon green water bottle. She didn’t even have to look around to know that this was about her, about the kick, about THAT kick.

“Oh are you kidding me,” Jade growled as she and Coach Jennings both turned to approach the judges’ table. Tiffani bit her lip, staring down the angry parent in the Chicago Bulls hoodie. Something in her internal audit just felt wrong somehow.

The platinum blonde hair looked as salon fresh as Tiffani's prior to her turning it into a warrior's braid for the tournament. Game knows game, and Tiffani knew a North Shore Mom when she saw one. No self respecting North Shore parent, transphobe or not, would be caught dead in a ratty old sweater like hers. She looked too poised, too perfect, unlike the woman with the bouncy karate kids in the lobby earlier.

“All I’m saying is boys shouldn’t be allowed to compete in girls’ sports!” the woman continued. Tiffani’s defenses were shattered in an instant. Everything she had worked so hard to build up, stripped away. How did this woman, this complete stranger even know about her being trans?

None of this made any sense. Before she could say something though,, she felt a hand on her shoulder. It belonged to Liberty, of all people. No gentle brushing of a hand, it was a firm squeeze, grounding, comforting. She had to fight the urge to lean into it instinctively.

“I’ve got this, Barbie,” Liberty said, squeezing her shoulder again, her arm around Tiffani now in a moment of solidarity as she bellowed, “HEY BITCH!”

The blonde, shocked by the sudden shout of vulgarity, spun around to berate Liberty, and then went slack-jawed as she realized that it was, in fact, Liberty, and she was standing next to Tiffani with a supportive arm around her.

“The kick was clean and legal. I felt the wind off her pull. She just caught me off guard, alright? I wasn’t expecting it."

"But-" the woman tried to interject, but she might as well have attempted to tell lightning not to strike, or a hurricane to go bother someone else.

"Shut up! I'm not finished. I was psyched out, and that’s on me. If I’m not complaining about it, why in the hell are you? She’s a good fighter, and she’s more sportsmanlike than you. Either back off, or get the hell out of here because there is NO room for that kind of trash talk in this organization.”

Tiffani’s eyes blurred with tears as the woman, completely flustered, dumbfounded, and disarmed, harumphed quietly and stormed away, so she missed the flash of rose gold and the stylus being removed from the hoodie’s front pocket.

Liberty turned to Tiffani.

“Look,” she said, “I don’t know you enough to know whether or not I like you, and I def don’t like being shown up by an unseeded upstart. But that doesn’t give anybody, and I mean anybody, the right to talk like that about you or anybody else in this arena. And I don’t care if they give me an unsportsman penalty for cursing that vapid bitch out either. You have every right to be here, and I look forward to kicking your butt in a rematch at the 6A Global, so you’d better be there, Barbie girl.”

“Wow,” one of Liberty’s teammates whispered, watching the exchange, as Liberty turned to join her. “Damn Lib, remind me never to piss you off,” she laughed and gave her a high five as they left.

Across town Morgan and Amber were sitting at the concession area and catching their breath between matches. One by one, Amber’s teammates had gone to watch other matches or participate in their own, and so it was just the two of them. Amber gave Morgan’s shoulder a nudge with her own.

“What was it you wanted to ask me earlier?” she asked.

Morgan’s grip tightened around the soda cup enough to dent the paper. Amber frowned, but Morgan bit his lip and then turned to face her. “I’ve been keeping something from... from everyone, from my sensei and the tournament, even my mom. I only talked about it to my sister last night because I was having a worse night than usual and it just kind of tumbled out.”

“You mean the real reason you’re so angry all the time?” Amber asked, shooting him a sly smile. Somehow, she saw through his zen calm, his cool dude attitude to the bubbling inferno beneath.

“I think so,” he sighed, paused, and sipped his coke before continuing. “I’ve been running from it all my life, I just never... I never really understood what ‘it’ was until last night. Every waking moment for me feels like a test of endurance just to get out of bed in the morning. Kenpo was supposed to teach me to center myself, to channel my anger, but all it’s done is give me a way to mask it. I don’t feel right in my own skin.”

Tiffani sat in quiet contemplation as she let what had just happened sink in fully. She still couldn’t figure out how that parent found out. Had someone told them? Maybe they recognized her from her TKD tournaments? But those had never been an issue, even after transitioning. Granted she had only participated in a single TKD tournament as a black belt after actually earning her Kukkiwon.

Jade gave her a gentle nudge. “You okay?” she asked. Tiffani stirred.

“Yeah. Liberty seemed pretty sure she was going to lose points for what she said though.”

Jade nodded. “Even if she had good intentions, that kind of language is prohibited, especially around kids. She made a big sacrifice for you. I’m honestly kind of shocked.”

“Would... Would it be weird if I did something nice for her, even though she prob hates my guts by now,” Tiffani sighed. Jade grinned at her.

“No. I think it would be the most Tiffani thing you could do. What did you have in mind?”

Morgan’s hands shook. His normally stoic, almost icy composure had left the building. He put the cup down. “You know what, to hell with it. Amber, I’m not a guy. I... I think I’m a girl.”

Amber didn’t miss a beat. She just smiled and put her hand on Morgan’s opposite shoulder, draping her arm around Morgan’s back. She gave a light squeeze. “I always knew there was something deeper than that Apex act. You might be a hella great fighter, but I’ve seen the way you look at me in a skirt,” she teased.

“So you don’t just think I was checking you out when I thought you weren’t looking?” Morgan laughed out loud. “Oh, thank God. I mean don’t get me wrong. You’re my best friend, but dating is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Amber giggled and put her head on Morgan’s shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, girl. Butno, I totally get you. Whatever you need from me, you got it.”

“Yes? Can I help you?” a female judge wearing NAMASA gear, not the usual polo shirt Tiffani had come to expect, but a blazer jacket with the NAMASA logo on her lapel asked.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but if you have just a second to spare?” she asked. The woman nodded.

“Of course. Our next match isn’t for five minutes. Tiffani Spencer wasn’t it?”

“Sterling, but yes,” Tiffani answered respectfully. “It’s about what happened earlier. I’m new to NAMASA so I don’t know all the rules, but I do know the code of conduct. Liberty Styles broke the sportsmanship rule because she was protecting me from harassment. I know once a sportsmanship judgment is in place it can’t be revoked except by a five panel judgement or by a senior official, so I’m not asking for a reversal.”

“If you don’t want us to confer for a reversal,” the other judge said, but not unkindly, “What is it you want us to do?”

“I want to take the penalty for her. Deduct the points for her conduct from me.” Both judges looked at each other in complete, stunned silence. Tiffani pressed forward. “I get why these rules exist. You don’t want that language used around kids. Heck, kids my age probably shouldn’t even be using it, I get that. But she didn’t have to stand up for me either. She could have just ignored it. But she didn’t. And that’s the most sportsmanlike thing anyone can do. So don’t punish her for doing the right thing. Let her keep her #2 seed. Please?”

A female coach in a red and black tracksuit stood off to one side, quietly listening to the conversation. It wasn’t branded ‘Ed Parker’ but it was branded with the Kanji for Kenpo on the front, as well as the Kanji for ‘Soaring Dragon Temple’ across the back - the school Liberty represented as part of a national team. Tiffani hadn’t noticed her, instead laser focused on the tightly held breath as she waited for the judges’ reply.

“Your request is... highly unusual,” the first judge said, finally. “But if your coach and Liberty’s coaches approve, then I’ll pass your request up the chain of command to a senior judge for a ruling.”

Tiffani turned to see Jen smiling proudly at her, already standing directly behind her. Evidently Jade had told her what Tiffani was planning on doing.

“If this is really what you want, T-Bird, then I have no problem with it. Coach Styles?” Jen called out. The woman in the track suit, who Tiffani only just noticed now, nodded her head.

“Soaring Dragon Temple gives its authorization, and... as a Mom, my personal gratitude. This sport doesn’t deserve you, young lady,” she said with a soft, but respectful smile, stood to perfect attention, and gave Tiffani the sort of deep, respectful bow that was normally only reserved for competitors in the ring. Tiffani,, blushing softly, returned the bow.

“Whatever they decide, at least I’ll know I tried,” she said.

A long, quiet silence had fallen over Morgan and Amber after Morgan’s confession. Finally, he, or rather, she, shook her head. “I don’t know what to do now. How do I stop being the tiger?”

“No one says you have to stop being the tiger,” Amber said reassuringly. “I mean, look at my sister Lib. She’s a one woman wrecking crew. Even I won’t face her in the same tournament if I can help it.”

Morgan cracked a smile and even laughed a little. “Okay, fair point. But how do I stop being so angry all the time? How do I empty my cup instead of using it to give people brain damage?”

This time, Amber burst out laughing. “Oh oh, I gotta write that one down.”

“You like that?” Morgan said. “I even made my sensei laugh with that one.”

“Damn,” Amber giggled. “Okay, so, I’m not an expert on this sort of thing, but I mean, your mom, she’s a doctor? Why don’t you try talking to her?”

“Because...” Morgan trailed off for a moment. “If you want to know the absolute truth of it? I’m scared. She’s not actually my real mom. I mean she’s the only mom I’ve ever known, and I love her, and that’s why I’m afraid. What if she doesn’t want two teenage girls in her house?”

“Like that’s any worse than having a moody teenage boy around?” Amber shrugged. “Come on, Morg. Tori is a sweetheart, and you may not be hers biologically, but you damn well have her soft heart, even if you do try to bury it behind,” she did her best male grunt impression, “Tough Tiger.”

Morgan laughed again. It was probably the most she’d genuinely laughed in months. “Damit, Amber. Stop making so much sense. I’m trying to have a serious brooding angry teenager moment here.”

Amber grinned. “Nope. I already had mine over Liberty this morning, remember? We can’t have two in one day. It’d upset the balance.”

Tiffani was surprised to see Liberty sitting alone near the concession stands. She got in line to buy herself a Coca-Cola, and, thanks to a little hint from Coach Styles, she knew Liberty couldn’t resist a Vanilla Dr Pepper, either. She approached the table, setting Liberty’s drink down in front of her.

“Peace offering?” Tiffani asked.

“Sure, whatever,” Liberty said, waving a hand vaguely at one of the empty chairs. Tiffani took the one across from her, not wanting to crowd her. “What’s on your mind, Barbie?” she asked with only a hint of venom this time, not quite endearing, but, after what had happened earlier, something had definitely shifted in the way she moved and spoke to Tiffani.

“I wanted to let you know I’ve asked that your penalty be applied to me instead. They said they’d pass it along to a higher official for approval, but because both our coaches approved, they’re willing to consider it.”

Liberty looked up from staring at the soda which she hadn’t taken a sip from yet, and stared, squinting slightly at Tiffani. “Why would you do that?” she asked.

Tiffani rolled her shoulders gently. “Why did you stand up for me when you didn’t have to? Jade told me you were taking a huge penalty.”

“Jade needs to learn to keep her mouth shut,” Liberty growled, but sighed. “Look it wasn’t a big deal, okay? I was making a point, and it was my sacrifice to make.”

“And this is mine,” Tiffani said, reaching her hand across the table and offering it to Liberty. “I don’t want to earn rankings in NAMASA based on what some transphobic asshole parent says about me, and I don’t want you to lose ranking over it either. I’m the unseeded newbie, remember? I can afford to take the hit because it literally doesn’t matter to me.

Liberty stared down at Tiffani’s hand for a moment before finally taking it and giving it a squeeze, as she picked up the soda, took a sip, and, her eyes widened. Tiffani giggled and squeezed her hand back before letting it go. “Your mom told me you like Vanilla Dr. Pepper.”

“You really want to know why I stood up for you?” Liberty said as she set the soda down again. ““I’m gay,” she said bluntly. “But I at least have the luxury of not having to disclose it when I register. That’s why I was happy to stand up for you, for my friends, for... for all of us.”

“And that’s why I’m happy to take your penalty,” Tiffani grinned. “You know the metaphor about strands of rope, don’t you?”

Liberty snorted. “Doesn’t everyone? But okay, point taken.” She genuinely smiled now. “You know you’re alright, Barb-, I mean Tiffani.”

“It’s okay. You can call me Barbie, but if your teammates start doing it, I’ll clean their clocks,” Tiffani said playfully, getting a laugh out of Liberty.

“Deal.”

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoë Taylor

“Mom,” Morgan said, “I... I’m trans.”

Tori set down the oven mitt, approached Morgan, and wrapped both arms tightly around her. She wasn’t sure what she should say, what she could say in that moment, but she knew she needed, and wanted, to show Morgan that she supported and loved her

“I honestly don’t know where to go from here. I... I think I need to talk to a therapist or something, not you know, for the good drugs or whatever,” she said, trying to crack a lame joke. It fell on its face the moment she said it, but luckily, she didn’t. She persevered. “But just... I don’t know, to sort through what I’ve been quietly struggling with for awhile now.”

“Sweetheart,” Tori said and kissed Morgan’s forehead, “Whatever you need, you know you just have to ask.”

---

Rather than the usual intense “roadwork” heart pounding run pushing herself to her limits, Morgan opted to actually catch a ride with Amber and her team. Several of them lived in the same area, Ashwood Heights, in particular the Styles family, and even though Coach Styles was coaching Liberty at the larger AA tournament, there were multiple coaches available from Soaring Dragon Temple Dojo to facilitate student needs.

“Thank you again for the ride,” Morgan said as she picked up her duffle bag, giving Amber a quick hug before she took a crisp $5 bill from the bag and laid it on the console. The driver, who was in her late 20s with striking green eyes and the messiest auburn hair Morgan had ever seen, tried to push it back at her, but Morgan had already jumped out. “Hey! What’s this for? she asked, trying not to disturb the small stack of legal briefs resting just under the car radio.

“Gas,” she laughed. “I mean I’m not technically a SDT student right?” She grinned, already out of the car and far enough away that it couldn’t be forced back.

“Oh, good grief,” the woman laughed. “Fine, fine, but the next one’s on the house,” she said and waved at her before pulling away. Morgan turned and started up the steps. She stopped and stared briefly at the polished oak door.

It wasn’t polished enough to show her reflection in it, just oak enough to give her pause, the large, though not massive, gold trophy poking out of her duffle bag where it didn’t quite fit enough to be zipped inside, its gold surface glinting in the afternoon light.

She had been so angry for so long, but here and now, the quiet suburb actually felt more peaceful than it had for a very long time, and she did as well. She slid the key into the lock and stepped inside.

Tiffani spent the ride home in quiet contemplation, staring out the window as the Chicago metro area gave way to North Shore boutiques and bistros, fine old estates and a sense of rising familiarity. They had to buckle the new trophy in to the back seat sideways to hold its massive 4 foot frame safely. Tiffani, the unseeded underdog had cut through the AA division regional like a wrecking crew. It wasn’t as though TKD students were unusual in the NAMASA circuit tournaments, but nobody seemed to know what to do with Tiffani’s style.

Taekwondo was all about speed and grace, and yet, Tiffani had some kind of explosive power off the mark, and, to use Jade’s own words, ‘The fastest slice kick I’ve ever seen.’ But she had control over her power. No raw, brute strength, Tiffani seemed to be able to sense where her opponent would be and plan ahead. She wasn’t fighting or planning several moves ahead, and she certainly wasn’t psychic, as the rumors had begun to whisper by the time she made it to the day’s finals. She was observant and quick when focused.

Tiffani had already taken her hair down following her final match, and now it hung in loose waves, a little messy, accented by what else, but a pair of pink framed Oakley sunglasses. In her excitement she forgot to return jade’s #1 seed pin, but she could do that tomorrow. She watched with a measure of excitement as the great 15 foot wall surrounding Stonewood came into view. The heavy iron gate rolled open on well oiled wheels to allow them to pass and slammed shut behind with a resounding clang. Finally, she could let her guard down again.

Morgan was surprised to find her mom and Suzanne both in the kitchen, and baking? Tori knew how to cook obviously, but they hardly ever baked anything. “Who are you, and what have you done with my family?” she laughed.

“Oh, oh, you’ve got us,” Tori laughed.

In her best alien invader 80s B movie voice, Suzanne said, “We’re Zetans from planet Zerg.”

Morgan snorted, shaking her head. “Goober.”

“More bling?” she asked playfully as she nodded toward the trophy peeking out, threatening to tumble out of the bag.

“Yeah, no big,” Morgan shrugged. “I feel kind of guilty entering these single A tournaments, but, I gotta keep my points up,” she sighed. “But I had a different kind of victory. I uh... I talked to Amber about... last night?” she said, giving Suzanne a look.

“Oh, crap really?” Suzanne asked. “How’d she take it?” She suddenly glanced at their very, very confused mom and then added, “Oh um, I mean,” but Morgan laughed, almost, but not quite, a giggle. She smiled.

“It’s okay Zanna. I’m going to tell her. I need to.”

“Tell me what?” Tori asked, glancing with concern between them. “You’re dating Amber?” she asked.

“Oh God no!” Morgan laughed. “Not ready to date anyone for awhile No, um, actually...”

“That was really sweet of her,” Amanda said as she helped Tiffani in with her duffle bag. “Maybe I should invite Mrs. Styles and her family over for dinner some night. She sounds like she’s raised an extremely well-mannered daughter at least.”

“Yeah I thought so too,” Tiffani said, quickly adding, “Oh, I mean, the well mannered part, not the dinner part. That’s adult stuff so that’s way above my pay grade. But Liberty and I, I don’t know if we’re friends exactly? But she confided something in me that I can at least say, we’re allies in the same fight now. The judges are going to let me give up my points to absorb her unsportsmanlike penalty, since she only got penalized for defending me against some asshole parent.”

“Hey hey, language,” Amanda said, adding, “But you’re right. That chick was a real asshole. She’s lucky I hadn’t been there. I would’ve jumped the barricade and completely embarrassed you going all legal eagle on her ass.”

Tiffani grinned, vindicated by her mom’s use of the language she had just been warned about, and put an arm around her. “Thanks, Mom. Is Alex home? I can’t wait to show her my new trophy.”

“She’s at cheer practice, but she should be home any minute now,” Tori answered.

“Sweet. Can you ask her to come to my room when she gets in? She’s better at arranging these things than I am. I don’t have a clue where I’m going to fit this monster,” she sighed.

“Mom,” Morgan said, “I... I’m trans.”

Tori set down the oven mitt, approached Morgan, and wrapped both arms tightly around her. She wasn’t sure what she should say, what she could say in that moment, but she knew she needed, and wanted, to show Morgan that she supported and loved her

“I honestly don’t know where to go from here. I... I think I need to talk to a therapist or something, not you know, for the good drugs or whatever,” she said, trying to crack a lame joke. It fell on its face the moment she said it, but luckily, she didn’t. She persevered. “But just... I don’t know, to sort through what I’ve been quietly struggling with for awhile now.”

“Sweetheart,” Tori said and kissed Morgan’s forehead, “Whatever you need, you know you just have to ask.”

“Really?” Morgan asked, all but collapsing into Tori’s arms and putting her head on her mom’s shoulder.

“Told you she’d understand,” Suzanne grinned. “I mean, you’re not the only one I’ve told I’m bi,” she said, as she made it a group hug.

“Holy mother of God Tiff,” Alex said as she walked into Tiffani’s room, still wearing her gray sweat pants and top, the hot pink ‘Cheer Up!’ with a megaphone emblazened on it the only real signs of color, or indication it wasn’t just any ratty old sweatshirt top. “That thing’s freaking huge!”

“I KNOW!” Tiffani laughed. “What the heck am I going to do with it? It’s not going to fit on my dinky little shelf. I’d have to build a whole new one just for it. Aleeeex help!”

Alex giggled. “Well, when we get a massive trophy like that we usually donate it to the school. I mean you’ve seen the gym trophy wall. Why not donate it to your TKD dojo-majig?”

Tiffani stared at Alex briefly. ‘Sometimes I swear you talk like that just so people don’t figure out how smart you actually are, sis,” she said. “That’s a great idea.”

Alex beamed. “I try. On both counts, actually.”

As Tiffani thought about what Amanda had said about inviting the Styles family over for dinner, she looked at the massive trophy, standing alone underneath the trophy shelf. She couldn’t help wondering if Liberty would have preferred something small, sleek, and black that she could take apart and bolt on to that crazy bike of hers rather than something shiny and gold paint with fake plastic marble. Alex was right though. As proud at she was to have won it, it belonged at the school, not in her inner sanctum.

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

In which the twins experience their own forms of euphoric reforging of their previously shatterd defenses and world views. Tiffany experiences the embrace of the Static offshoot branch calling themselves simply "The Out Group" and the most brutal MMA training of her entire life, while Morgan learns that presenting as a girl doesn't mean she has to give up being the badass Kenpo master of the phantom blitz

---

3:55 P.M., three days past the AA division championship and Tiffani’s surprise upset and subsequent victory, she walked into her taekwondo school expecting a normal class or a seminar. She did not expect to almost very literally walk into Liberty, who was waiting for her inside the door with a shark-like grin on her face, her vibrant red hair pinned back and braided for combat.

“Heya Barbie. Miss me?” she asked with an almost, but not quite sing song in her voice, clearly up to something.

“Oh, Liberty, hey!” Tiffani said, either not noticing, or more likely, giving Liberty the benefit of the doubt as she approached her former rival and frenemy. “What’s up?”

“You did me a solid at the tournament,” Liberty answered more seriously this time. “I can’t let that go unpaid. So, I talked with your coach. She’s okayed it, so I want you to meet some friends of mine.”

“Okay?” Tiffani asked cautiously as she followed Liberty, who led her down the hallway and off to one of the practice sparring rooms, large enough to fit a regulation size 20 foot mat, and barely much else. Inside the room Jade was standing, leaning lightly on her crutches with a whistle around her neck.

Chatting warmly with Jade was an older girl, probably 15 or 16 with short, frost white tipped hair, and wearing rainbow muay thai leg wraps. Seated on the mat next to them, eyes closed and in lotus position was a girl Tiffani at first thought had to be much younger just based on her small stature, until she noticed the girl, dressed in loose white clothing, wore a black belt with a red stripe, signifying a second degree of mastery in whatever art she was trained.

“The fly has entered the spiders’ lair,” the short statured 2nd degree blackbelt said calmly without opening her eyes.

“This,” Liberty said, “Is the Out Group - Jade is an honorary member because she’s just a bad-ass like that,” she added playfully.

“Welcome,” the muay thai girl said. “I’m Mary-Lynn Porter. I’ll be busting your ass today.” She grinned as she cracked her knuckles.

“Len Syong,” the short statured girl stated as she rose from her lotus position like an unfolding flower blossom, moving with the kind of gymnastic precision that Tiffani could only dream of. “I will educate you in how Taiji is not just for retirees in a city park.”

“And I’ll be your timekeeper,” Jade said with a sheepish giggle. “I mean, I guess I could invent crutch fu, but I’m already injured and don’t need to make it worse.”

Mary Lynn gave Jade the side eye, and then giggled. “You know what? I’d actually pay good money to see you in a weapons form comp with a crutch as a weapon.”

“You’re a ringer, even if you weren’t meant to be,” Jade said, “But I wouldn’t have given you my slot if I didn’t believe in you.”

“I won’t admit this to just anybody,” Liberty added, “But, I know god damn full well if you hadn’t pulled that kick in the final seconds I’d be in a hospital picking bits of safety glass out of my face for the next month. You’re fast, and you’ve got excellent control, but, you’ve only ever faced TKD fighters before. If you’ll have us, Tiff, we’d like to help you prepare for the 6A global Champions’ Cup.”

“This is a joke right?” Tiffani asked. “You’re pranking me for a TikTok?”

“I resent that accusation,” Len said, but smiled as she said it.

“We’re the ones NAMASA crops out of group photos,” Mary Lynn shrugged. “But we show up anyway, and we win.”

“Jade and Liberty both have told us you’re the fastest TKD striker they’ve ever seen,” Len said. “I want to see this for myself.”

As Tiffani stared down Mary Lynn from the safety of her acrylic face shield, across the city Morgan stared down a whole different challenge. The therapist had recommended some ‘mother daughter bonding time’ as a means for Morgan to intentionally break out of her self imposed cage by quite literally stepping into a world that, to her had hither to been completely alien.

She made the mistake of joking that her hair would be far too short for her to do anything special with it for several months even if she started to grow it now, to which Tori happily chimed in with two words: hair extensions.

As Tiffani found herself grounded to the mat, she soon realized Jade wasn’t going to blow the whistle or call a point.

“Move it, Princess. You’re going to be fighting six or seven opponents in a day!” Mary Lynn barked as she made to stomp on Tiffani. She wasn’t actually going to stomp on her, and even if she did, Tiffani had her protective padding, but protective padding could still hurt like the Devil with enough applied force, something Tiffani was keen to avoid.

“We’ve got to build up your stamina and your critical thinking,” Liberty said. “One minute rounds, no breaks. You score points or you get smashed.”

Tiffani performed a Crane press-up, planting her palms firmly and forcing herself up from a sitting position, she tucked her legs underneath her and leapt to her feet and into a tiger stance,m ready to continue.

Morgan felt the hydraulics lift her up in front of the mirror.

“Let’s just double check the length,” the stylist said, holding a sample of extensions, a near-perfect match to Morgan’s honey wheat blonde, against her short hair briefly. “Is this right?” she asked.

Tori looked up from her magazine that, in all honesty, she hadn’t turned a page in the entire time since she’d picked it up and grinned over at Morgan and the stylist, giving an approving nod. Suzanne on the other hand, circled the chair with the critical eye of someone who did not study color theory - she lived and died by it.

"No, not quite," she said. "I mean yeah, the length is good, but when she makes it to the televised Night of Champions she's going to be under intense stage lighting. It's going to wash out against her black gi if we don't go about a half shade cooler."

The stylist gave Suzanne a stunned look. Game recognized game, though. "You know I hadn't thought of that, but you're absolutely right. When I did Julie Sloan's hair we had that exact same problem. I kicked myself for a month for not taking her highlights down a notch before her match."

“It needs to be long for the tournament,” Morgan said. “I need to be able to braid and pin it securely. They’re going to look natural won’t they?”

“Honey, by the time I’m finished you’ll swear you always had Princess locks,” the stylist answered matter-of-factly as she got to work.

“Is it one minute yet?” Tiffani groaned as, for the sixth time in as many seconds she found herself peeling her body off the floor. She didn’t have the energy for another crane press instead opting for a more simplistic Butterfly spiral, which ironically actually looked flashier, but used much less energy to achieve the same goal of not having Mary Lynn’s size 9 boot stomping on her chest guard.

“You wish,” Liberty said. “30 seconds left on the clock.”

“Bullshit. You’re adding seconds,” Tiffani snarled.

“You JUST now figured that out?” Mary Lynn grinned, flashing an ice blue mouth guard that matched the frosted hair nicely.

“That’s not fair!” Tiffani whined as she finally managed to land a point on Mary Lynn, a sharp kihap following a spinning heel kick that, had it hit with full force, would easily have knocked Mary Lynn off her feet, but for Tiffani’s control, it only grazed her.

“The fly may, in fact, be a mosquito - or a bee,” Len said thoughtfully at the sudden offensive surge.

“I never said it would be, Barbie,” Liberty shot back. “I told you, we need to build your endurance. If you can survive a round against all three of us consecutively under these rules, you can go the distance in a stop and go easy.”

“You could also try... Not falling down as much,” Len said, cocking her head slightly. “Just a thought.”

“You’re next, girlie,” Tiffani growled lightly, getting a genuine laugh out of both Len and Liberty. Mary Lynn smoothly slid to one side and motioned with her hand. Len wasted no time in taking her place.

“What, seriously?” Tiffani squeaked. “I was just joking!”

“You have to be prepared for anything,” Len said in a calm tone, motioning gently for Tiffani to try and strike her. In a mixed tournament you won’t always face a strict one style opponent. Me, for example.”

Tiffani lunged, attempted a slide hook kick, and found only air. A moment later she found Len had a grip on her ankle and was using her momentum to send her flying to the mat.

“That’s another minute,” Liberty lied smoothly, pretending to click the stop watch. She wouldn’t admit it, but they were gaslighting the absolute hell out of Tiffani. They had to. They had to push her to her absolute limits, her breaking point, and then push her even more.

“God damit!” Tiffani hissed, pushing herself up.

“That’s another row down,” the stylist announced, having been joined by an assistant somewhere around rows one and two, as Morgan watched the growth from rat tail into mullet, biting back a small laugh.

“I look like a blonde Billy Ray Cyrus,” she teased, staring at her reflection.

“Oh, don’t worry sweetie,” the stylist almost cackled, breaking her professionalism for only a moment. “When we’re finished you’ll be Hannah Montana 2.0. You know these actually give you an advantage by the way?” she said, distracting Morgan.

“Really?” she asked.

“Oh absolutely,” the assistant said. “These style extensions are so, so much easier to braid than real hair because of the way they’re sectioned. And under intense lighting you won’t have to worry about the glue failing.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to be in the middle of a reverse fist strike and send my hair flying across the mat without me.”

That got another laugh from the stylist and her assistant,, as Tiffani ate gym mat again.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be learning from all this,” Tiffani moaned. Her muscles ached. This had been the longest... however many minutes it had been of her life. She’d lost count of the penalty time added. Meanwhile Len and Mary Lynn hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“”None of this crap is legal in a points comp.”

“Exactly,” Liberty said as she leapt in front of Tiffani, causing her to jump back as Len stepped aside. “Penalty! Out of bounds!”

“GOD DAMIT!” Tiffani shrieked and performed a standing side kick that, despite her frustration, only lightly grazed Liberty’s chest plate.

“Point, pink,” Len announced cheerfully.

“And you’re still in control, too,” Liberty said with a broad grin, flashing her purple bite guard at Tiffani. It wasn’t a grimace or a glare like the first time. It was genuine surprise, a little bit of awe and respect.

“I’m trying to empty my cup,” Tiffani answered. “But if I don’t get some water soon I’m going to empty my guts instead.”

“Just 30 more seconds,” Jade lied. “Come on T-Bird. You can do this.”

“Hell yeah you can,” Liberty said. She moved, briefly, to a non combatant ready stance and extended her glove to Tiffani. “Come on, don’t quit on me now?” she asked, seemingly sensing Tiffani was near her breaking point. Tiffani stretched out her glove and tapped Liberty’s gently. She gave a nod and then slid into an offensive forward stance.

“Thatta girl,,” Liberty grinned proudly as Len leaned over to Mary Lynn and stage whispered quite loudly.

“Should I be jealous?”

“Mary Lynn, laughing, nodded. “I would be if I was you. Blondie’s going to steal your girlfriend, AND her seed if you don’t watch her.”

“HEY!” Tiffani said, turning sharply to glare at them. She earned a firm tap on the side of her headgear from Liberty for her trouble.

“Focus, Barbie. The next time we spar like this you’re going to have a lot more than just Len and Mary Lynn taunting you.”

“Oh, Christ there’s a next time?” Tiffani groaned, but shifted her weight, determined to pay Liberty back for the ‘love tap’ on her headgear.

“Last row’s done,” the stylist announced proudly, and then pulled out a pair of silver scissors. “Now, we make art,” she said playfully. “Just kidding. I’m going to style it so that it hangs naturally, but you’ll still be very easily able to braid it into either a French braid or a long back braid to your preference.”

As the stylist and her assistant worked, the jingly silver bell above the door chimed and a woman in a charcoal blazer stepped through, her Italian heels clicking softly on the textured linoleum. Without approaching the check in station, she simply took a seat right next to Tori, lifting a perfectly manicured finger to tuck a stray strand of platinum blonde hair behind an ear.

Morgan caught the motion in the reflection of the mirror, sitting at the perfect angle to meet the stranger’s gaze: too still and calculating; she measured Morgan up like a butcher eyeing a prized cut.

“You alright?” the stylist asked, causing Morgan to blink, breaking the stare down with the stranger whose cool, gray eyes seemed almost to be studying her, or grading her. The woman stood up again, quietly leaving as quickly as she had appeared.

“Huh? Oh yeah, just nervous,” she lied. It wasn’t nervousness, exactly, but a different, more prickly kind of anxiety, like she was being sized up by an opponent right before a fight.

“Time!” Jade announced. Tiffani quite literally collapsed into Mary-Lynn’s arms. The taller girl, surprised, managed to catch her and helped her to the ground, pulling off her facegear. “Hey, you okay in there?” she said, fanning Tiffani’s exposed face with her hand.

Tiffani stuck out her tongue at Mary Lynn, and Liberty laughed. “Yeah, she’s okay. Here, get yourself rehydrated. You’ve earned this,” she said, handing Tiffani a water bottle.

“Just so you know,” Tiffani said, panting between deep drinks of water, “I fucking hate you and love you at the same time.”

“True balance,” Len said with a soft giggle as she knelt down beside Tiffani, wrapping a prepared cold towel around her neck.

Morgan hadn’t originally intended on having her nails done, but since she was stuck in the chair for almost an hour anyway, had decided to just go for it. She was embracing the full experience, alien though it seemed, and so had agreed to let Suzanne pick out the color. Of course, she chose cotton candy pink. Morgan had at least been able to stand firm on the lack of acrylic nail extensions though.

“Those are too dangerous. Even in the girls’ division they have to have short nails so they don’t break through a glove,” she had explained. Still, it wasn’t bad. Just the simple change of hair and nails had shifted her drab looking outfit from a black t-shirt and jeans to, well, a black t-shirt and jeans accented with luxurious locks, what the stylist had dubbed princess hair, and perfectly manicured neon pink nails.
When they left the salon, Morgan heard the hyena cackle of howling, intense laughter. “Holy mother of God,” the boy said, snapping a pic of Morgan with his phone. “Morgan is that you? You look like a sigma sissy bruh! I gotta put this on TikTok lulz.”
‘Lulz’? Seriously? Morgan actually felt a wave of second-hand embarrassment. His tryhard energy had gone through the roof like he was trying to audition to be an extra on iCarly 20 years ago, and even failed at that. Morgan shook her head, moving to step around him.
He shoved the camera in Morgan’s face, and she noticed his lead foot, unbalanced and wrist overextended. without a shout or even a spirited ‘Kya!’ but just a lightning fast movement, Morgan’s pink nails were wrapped around his wrist, a sharp contrast to the drab gray hoodie
She could have snapped his wrist in three places, but instead she shifted, using his own momentum and precise application of force at the fulcrum where the boy’s ego met his anatomy, and using her other hand as a brace, executed a swift, but practiced and careful takedown.
His center of gravity evaporated and he felt the cold pavement pressing lightly against his cheek before his brain could even register, the phone clattering to the ground, face down just a few inches away and recording silent testament to the surprisingly painless takedown.

The boy struggled helpless and pinned by awkward geometry, seemingly well aware that pain could, in fact, enter the equation very easily, and a very brief moment of silence passed between them filled only by the chemical smell of road clearing salt, mixed with the salon fresh product in her hair.
“Empty your cup, and then, maybe fill it with some manners.” She tapped him on the forehead with her index and middle fingers, mimicking a light contact tournament point strike, and wasting no more energy, she stood, climbed into her mom’s SUV, and closed the door. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said quietly.

“Morgan,” Tori said, starting the car, “That’s the most impressive show of martial arts that I have seen in my entire life.”

“It’s just a simple wrist lock takedown-” Morgan tried to downplay it. Tori cut her off.

“Not the wrist lock, although you executed that beautifully. I’m talking about your restraint. I am so, so proud of you right now,” she said, smiling wide as she leaned over to squeeze Morgan’s forearm, grounding her in the here and now in the process. “Let’s go get some takeout.”

“Hey, Morgan,” Suzanne spoke up from the backseat, “I didn’t want to interrupt your Zen or whatever so I didn’t say anything before, but, was that chick with the Bond villain hair a friend of yours or something?”

Morgan glanced at the side view mirror half expecting to see the strange woman’s reflection, maybe riding a motorcycle or walking along the sidewalk just behind them. She shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen her before.”

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

In which Tiffany first learns more about her future rival, completely unaware that Morgan, 'The Untouchable Tiger' is her own twin sister, Liberty Styles is befuddled by the humble salad fork, and Morgan finally sees her dojo and her fellow students as they are, rather than as background furniture, as she learns to see herself for who she is as well.

Wednesday evening, 4:49 P.M.
Tiffani fidgeted nervously with the wide, pink belt on her dress. She’d managed to hide most of the bruises from the ‘Static’ Out group training marathon, but every bone and sinew still ached. She had been helping her stepmom Amanda with dinner preparations, and even Alex pitched in, though neither were anything like their mother in the kitchen.

“Coach Styles said there aren’t any food allergies or preferences to worry about,” Amanda said briskly as she shifted from taking a roasting pan out of one of two stainless steel wall ovens - the other playing host to a massive pan of brownies, to stirring a pan of sautéd vegetables on the range, “But I still can’t help worrying that I haven’t covered all our bases.”

“Mom,” Tiffani said, “Relax. Liberty and her sister are karate geek elite athletes. Just imagine cooking for me but three times over.”

Amanda’s eyes widened for the briefest moment before she responded. “I’d better sauté more veggies,” and sprang for one of the sub zero freezers for another bag. That got a laugh out of Tiffani, and then a soft, suppressed groan. Amanda stopped what she was doing to turn and look at Tiffani. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Tiffani smiled and shook her head.

“It’s nothing. Just hurts when I laugh. I think I pulled a muscle stretching yesterday,” she said, and it wasn’t really a lie, just a lie of omission.

“Oh,” Amanda said, “I figured you were just sore from that hour long sparring match with Liberty.”

“Busted,” Alex snickered. Tiffani shot her a brief glare. “Hey, I didn’t tell her.”

“Rebecca mentioned it. She asked how you were feeling.” Amanda said conversationally.

“Oh,” Tiffani said, resigned to having been called out by the International Mom Network. “It was so worth it Mom. These girls, Liberty is a Kenpo blitz master, Mary Lynn is a Muay Thai kickboxer champion, Len is like... I don’t even know how to describe Len. She’s freaking amazing.”

“Wait, Mary Lynn, as in Mary Lynn Porter?” Alex perked up.

“You know her?” Tiffani asked.

“Yeah! Remember me telling you about getting some great advice from a kickboxer at my cheer clinic? I mean she wasn’t there for cheer obviously, but we were sharing the same annex. She’s a total bada-” Alex cut herself off at the glance from Amanda.

“Best behavior tonight, girls, please?” she asked.

“Always,” Alex and Tiffani said in unison. Despite being stepsisters, or perhaps because of it, they shared a special kind of sibling bond. They never argued, and even occasionally finished each others’ sentences. If not for the fact that Alex and Tiffani looked absolutely nothing alike, with Alex’s raven locks, tight and curly, and Tiffani’s golden waves, they could have been mistaken for twins, but they led very different lives too.

“I got it,” Tiffani said, a split second before the doorbell rang. She subconsciously wondered if she should have mentioned Liberty’s name in the out group training, waffling on whether talking about her, as she’d already talked about her previously, said more or less about the fact the girl lived rent free in her head now. Granted most of that was just the effortless cool factor, someone like her being friends with an anxious goof like Tiffani, but still.

“Seriously,” Alex said. “How the heck does she do that?”

Tiffani grinned, hearing Alex’s comment as she headed for the front door. She didn’t want to spoil the mystique, but she had the video doorbell app on her phone, and it gave her a gentle vibration to let her know of motion at the front door.

Across the city, Morgan stepped into her dojo, and for the first time in years, it felt to her like she was seeing it as it should be. She had been a ghost in her own home, a phantom passing through, sparring, leaving. Her fellow students were as background furniture, statues she had seen a thousand times.

She wasn’t intentionally cruel to her fellow students, not trying to ignore them by any means, but, as her ranking grew, her training becoming more intense, she had lost her connection with the others until there was only Morgan and her Sensei. But now, now the tiger really had changed her stripes.

No longer the short buzz cut, the spartan nails, the drab black uniform. Now, she wore her new hair in a tight combat braid, not a French braid, close and tight, but a whip that hung down her back, swinging with every motion and reminding her of its new weight as it tugged on her scalp, constantly grounding her in herself and her inner peace.

Her new, neon pink nails reflected the lights as she moved with a new calm that no one had seen before, the dull thud of her black gi replaced by midnight blue with black trim and black pants, a modern micromesh material that flowed like water around her as she moved, and, every so often, as her arm moved a certain way and caught the light just right, the inside silk lining, normally hidden, flashed a tiny ray of pink to the world, wrapped with her crisp blackbelt about her waist.

For all intents and purposes, she looked like a completely different person. Even the patch on the back was not that of a roaring, ferocious tiger, but a stylized zen tiger, no longer bearing its fangs or showing its claws, but staring patiently.

The dojo fell deathly silent. No one knew what to make of this person, this stranger and yet, this familiar spirit. She wore a light coating of professional makeup, a touch of pink on her lips formulated to stay fast come blood, sweat, and tears, and a dash of eye liner of the same caliber, with a little softening foundation that would have to be removed with a jackhammer later, but it created the look Morgan wanted so badly and for so long.

A younger student approached Morgan, a girl wearing a black gi and tied with a simple yellow belt. She bowed to Morgan. Morgan returned the bow and smiled at her.

“Can I help you Miss?” the girl asked. “Our Sensei is meditating, but I can find a senior student or a coach if you need something?”

Morgan bit back a soft laugh. “No, that’s okay. Thank you Melanie. But, can I help you?” she asked. Melanie blinked and stared back at her, mouth agape.

“M-M-Morgan?” she finally stammered out.

“Hey, welcome!” Tiffani said brightly as she threw open the door to greet their house guests. Coach Styles had a large pie in her hands that instantly filled Tiffani’s nose with the sweet aroma of fresh pumpkin spices. “Oh man, that smells incredible,” she blurted out, causing Rebecca to laugh.

A lingering, sharper, but somehow more subtle smell hung in the air too, like ozone and something else Tiffani couldn't put her finger on, a slightly sour, metallic tinge that cut through the domesticity of vanilla and allspice, put the cinnamon's warm woodiness on notice, and for just a split millisecond, it short-circuited her brain.

She spent her days surrounded by artificial lavender, perfumed roses, and ionized air, and the sharp contrast radiating off their house guests, scents she could easily ignore in the cacophony of the tournament, came into sharp relief now.

“Thank you. I didn’t want to show up empty handed so I whipped it together.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Liberty said dryly. “She’s been sweating bullets ever since your mom invited us over.”

“Liberty!” Rebecca squeaked, and Tiffani giggled as Amber brought up the rear. All three were dressed nicely, although for Tiffani, seeing Liberty in heels was the biggest shocker, having only seen her before as part of the Out group or at the tournament. The second biggest shock had to be Amber though.

Amber and Liberty were so-called ‘Irish twins’ born a year apart, Amber being the younger, and like Alex and Tiffani, these two could not look more different. While Liberty was tall and imposing, just barely in the same height bracket as Tiffani for their age, Amber was closer to her height.

Amber’s blonde hair struck a sharp contrast to Liberty’s dark red locks. Despite being biological sisters they were as different as night and day, light and shadow, which tickled Tiffani's brain, but it went way beyond just hair color. Amber carried herself like a cat, fluid and dynamic, and as graceful as a dancer.

A second thought crossed her mind as she tried to sneak another glance at Liberty, who didn’t seem to notice, distracted by the decor surrounding them. Tiffani blushed softly to herself, forcing her gaze ahead as she guided them forward to what she begrudgingly called the "culinary suite" by way of the butler's pantry, a sea of fine crystal and silver flatware on walnut altars of opulence.

“We... don’t normally use it except for guests and special occasions,” she said with a sheepish and wry smile as the passageway opened onto an industrial chiqué staging area that could accommodate an entire professional catering company or an upscale 3 Michelin Star restaurant with space to spare.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Rebecca gushed. Liberty's gaze shifted lazily, almost glazing, over the double sub-zero refrigerators, double warming areas, and even the two side-by-side dishwashers. “I’m so sorry my husband Kyle couldn’t be here. . A client brought in a Porsche 911 with a blown gasket, and he'd rather starve than see a machine like that suffering in the hands of one of the assistants.”

That, Tiffani thought, explained everything - that metallic tinge in the air, the ozone smell, Liberty and Amber's dad was some kind of a master mechanic by the sound - and smell, of things.

Rebecca’s face lit up even more when she saw Amanda. “Mandy! Good to see you!”

This time, it was Liberty’s turn to be caught off guard. “Wait... Mom you and Tiff’s mom know each other?”

“You’ve never noticed that pile of legal briefs Bridget always has with her?” Amber asked dryly. Liberty shot her a glare

“I don’t carpool,” was her response.

“Poor Bridget gets the lion’s share of the grunt work, yeah,” Amanda said. “But I try and take on as much case load as I can when it comes to Soaring Dragon, especially contract negotiations, making sure when it’s practice time she can focus on actually coaching.”

“Ha, that’s so cool,” Amber said as she stood close to Tiffani, trying not to break something by looking at it for very long.

To Morgan’s surprise, and more than a little relief, things settled back down fairly quickly around the dojo after she confirmed that she was, in fact, still Morgan, although she had become so absorbed in helping the underbelts, in between talking with both the male and female black belt students, that she hadn’t noticed their Sensei had entered, and had been watching her closely.

“Morgan, to your mark,” he barked. Her head snapped to look at him causing her ponytail braid to fly over her shoulder.

“Hai, Sensei!” she answered, taking only a moment to wrap the braid so that it would be secure inside her headgear before taking her mark. The entire dojo buzzed with both excitement and curiosity as the Sensei stood six feet away on the opposite mark.

“Explain,” he stated.

“I have emptied my cup, Sensei.”

“You changed your gi,” he said, not betraying for a single second what emotions he might be feeling beneath the stoic, dead calm exterior. The students, and even the other coaches, began to whisper quietly, wondering where this all was going.

“I checked that it would be legal before I had it custom made. It allows more freedom of movement, and-”

“Show me,” he interrupted her, and put up his hands.

“Hai!” she said, bowing deeply, and entering a forward stance.

The grand dining hall stood in stark contrast to the bustling Hidden Tiger Academy Dojo, an ocean of crystal and fine silver. Amanda wasn’t trying to show off their wealth by any means or by any stretch. She believed in selling the experience, in putting your best foot forward. If all she’d had was dixie plates and plastic sporks, she would proudly have served her guests on that.

It did have the somewhat awkward effect of putting Liberty in particular into being a bit of a fish out of water, though. She stared, bewildered at the different forks, knives, spoons, wondering why there were so many, and which was supposed to be for what, or if this was one of those fake outs where the right answer is ‘yes’.

“So, Rebecca,” Amanda said as she dished out sauteed vegetables, “You were telling me about this special training group that had accepted Tiffani. She won’t admit it, but they really worked her over.”

“Mother!” Tiffani hissed, her cheeks flushing. Amber, contrasted to her sister, politely giggled behind her hand, but shot Tiffani a sympathetic smile. She knew better than anyone what her sister’s ‘Static’ group could do, and she wouldn’t wish that kind of torture on anyone who didn’t deserve their attention or their ire.

Rebecca gave a soft laugh, but then nodded more seriously. “The Out group. I’m going to be honest, Mandy, they don’t accept just anyone, and I don’t just mean because they look out for each other in the LGBTQIA+ community either. For them to accept Tiffani after just one tournament means they see something in her. The last boy they offered to train tapped out in ten minutes flat. Tiffani lasted the whole damn hour.”

Tiffani sank into her chair just a little bit more as Alex shot her a surprised glance and mouthed ‘A whole hour?’ to her. Tiffani sheepishly, silently nodded back.

“That tells me she’s not just in it for the glamor, and what she did for Liberty last weekend tells me she’s not in it for the glory, either.”

“Yeah, that was pretty righteous of you,” Amber spoke up at that. Liberty elbowed her discreetly.

“Shuddap,” she whispered to her sister. Amber pretended to straighten the hem of her skirt, flipping her middle finger at Liberty under the table where only she could see it, while the adults were busy gossiping over the 5A tournament.

“Is it really that dangerous?” Alex asked, taking more interest now.

“It’s not really about danger as much as it is endurance,” Liberty said, finally settling on the largest fork on the grounds that the other two, especially the little dinky fork, couldn’t spear a sweet pea let alone a sauteed carrot. She continued, crunching loudly, “It’s about being the unseeded, unknown. She has to win at least six, maybe seven fights, and then she’s up against the Roth kid.”

Amber perked up, biting her bottom lip.

“You saw his last fight right Mom?” Liberty went on, oblivious both to Amber’s sudden interest and to the fact Morgan’s coming out as transgender.

“Morgan?” Rebecca asked and then nodded. “Good God yeah, that kid is a machine. They call her the untouchable tiger for a reason. If Tiffani wants to podium against her she has to be more than a Taekwondo master. Cold as ice and zero hesitation.”

Liberty snapped her head up at the mention of Morgan being called ‘her’. Before she could open her mouth, Amber interrupted.

“I’ve seen her fight, lots of times. In her last tournament she scored a 7-0 spread in 15 seconds tournament time.”

Tiffani’s breath caught in her throat at that. Amber gave her a look that seemed almost apologetic.

“Hey,” Liberty spoke up, “That’s what you’ve got us for right? If we told you what you were up against before your first training session, you never would’ve agreed. This way, you already know you can go the distance. And I promise our next session won’t be anything like that.”

“It better not be,” Tiffani shot back, but her smile betrayed her. “I’ve got bruises in places I didn’t know I had places. I haven’t hurt like this since I fell off the jungle gym when I was 7.”

“I promise, it’s all technical from here,” Liberty said, and even made a crossing-her-heart motion, as Amber slipped out her phone, quietly typing a text to Morgan.

In the dojo, Morgan had no hesitation, but she had no rage either. She no longer looked like a caged tiger lashing ineffectually at impenetrable steel bars. She looked like a senior student at her prime. And the Sensei was not holding back, either. Rather than merely blocking her strikes, he actively retaliated, attempting to punish her for every missed point.

At the end of one full minute, Morgan had scored two points on him though, and he managed three on her.

“Match, sensei!” Melanie announced as the pair returned to their marks and bowed. Morgan, despite her best efforts, burst out laughing, really, really hard. “I’m sorry,” she said, deeply apologetic. “That was just the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her sensei, rising, had a broad smile on his face. “Never apologize for experiencing joy, my friend. It is the most precious and important emotion on the path to inner peace. I have something of yours,” he said. “Wait here for a moment.”

“Hai,” Morgan said, entering a ready stance, feet apart, hands at her sides, knees bent in a modified, but extremely relaxed horse stance, as he turned to approach one of his assistant coaches who gave him a black belt. At first glance, Morgan saw nothing special or unusual about it. It looked identical to hers. This confused Morgan because he clearly said he had something ‘of hers’ and not ‘for her’.

And then as he gave it a firm tug, snapping the cloth so that it sent a sharp echo that resounded across the entire dojo, she saw it, there on the end. It had a new stripe denoting a second degree. And it, the stripe, was as pink as her fingernails.

“It may not be traditional,” he said as he approached, extending the belt with both hands, palms up, toward her. “But, sometimes one must modify traditions to embrace new understandings. If we do not learn from the past, we are doomed to repeat it, but so too, are we doomed, if we live only in that past.”

“Domo arigatou,” Morgan said, then added,Thank you, Sensei Michaels.”

She carefully untied her old belt, not allowing it to fall from her hand as she wrapped the new one in its place, “It would honor me to return this to the dojo. Without this sanctuary, without these teachings, I wouldn’t be here,” she said and offered her old belt in the same gesture, except that she had her head bowed.

While cooling down, Morgan felt her phone buzz against her hip, a soft, haptic reminder of its presence in the pocket of her pink undershirt, hidden by the chest protector. She scurried to the equipment bench and began dressing down, removing her pads, her headgear, and her gloves, and opening her gi to remove the chest protector.

This was the first anyone could fully see what she wore underneath, a soft, powder pink undershirt, and, as she pulled the gi jacket back into place and rewrapped the new belt, flashes of the inner pink lining that were only brief rays before.

She unlocked her phone and checked the text.

‘OMG mom just called you ‘her’ in front of everyone congrats!!! BTW Barbie is ready. Are you? She’s got the Static in her corner and she’s hungry.’

Morgan glanced up at the mirror wall behind the equipment bench. Her new bangs, a mess of hair and sweat, clung to her forehead, but she grinned and pulled her braid intentionally over her shoulder, lifted the camera, and snapped a selfie, the reflected light bouncing off her nails as she gave the mirror, the camera, and herself, a genuine, proud smile.

‘Thank you. The tiger is loose from her cage. Tell Barbie I wish her luck. If Liberty’s rattled then she must be good.’

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

‘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.

---

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.”

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

Author's Note:

Y'all I am so unbelievably sorry this was almost late again. I've been neck deep writing on three different (VCERY different!) novels. I can just about remember to post things on Saturday because on Saturdays I'm taking it easy and actually not being AUDHD hyper-focused XD

I was goingto combine both this and the next chapter, Heightened Senses, into one part like I've done in the past, but then I remembered, THAT chapter is the longest damn chapter in the book.

So, I promise it's worth waiting for if you're #TeamTiffberty!
- Zoe

---

Tori gripped the wheel of her SUV so tightly her knuckles turned a bloodless white. She stared at the traffic light, silently cursing the seconds away, willing it to turn green. When the signal finally flipped, she floored it. The Ford Escape’s engine groaned in protest at the sudden surge as she lurched forward, speeding tickets be damned.

The car swerved loosely into the lot of Lawson, Miller and Associates just as her phone chirped a triumphant, ‘You have arrived!’ She didn't check her hair or the rearview mirror. She hadn't even thought to shed her white lab coat, the hem of it fluttering behind her as she abandoned the car and set off in a dead sprint for the glass doors.

She burst into the lobby, breathless, careening toward the reception desk where a young woman behind it was perfectly composed, her brunette hair pinned into an immaculate bun held in place by a yellow No. 2 pencil. She looked up, offering a demure, professional smile that felt miles away from the fire currently roaring in Tori’s chest.

“Name?” she asked.

“Tori Evanton. I was asked to come by Amanda Miller?”

“Oh, she’s up on floor 4 Doctor Evanton. She’s expecting you so you can just go inside once you’ve reached her office.”

Tori flashed a small, but grateful smile before heading for the elevator. She looked at herself in the mirror, hair frazzled from the windy sprint to the SUV and then again from the car to the office.

For once, she didn’t question why elevators in fancy buildings had them, and used it as a moment to take a breath, reset, and at least try to finger comb her hair into something presentable for this meeting. Something about the way Amanda had reacted when she gave her Morgan’s name didn’t sit right.

Amanda was already waiting for her, standing by the office with the brass pull handle of the glass door in her hand when Tori stepped off the elevator, and though she wasn’t smiling, exactly, she tried to present a welcoming appearance. For Tori, she might as well have been a Fire Chief with an idling engine and a water cannon.

“Hi Doctor Evanton. I’m so sorry for pulling you away from work, but there really is something that I need you to see.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tori said as she approached, offering Amanda her hand. Amanda grasped and shook it. “I was just finishing a surgical consult and took my coffee break. I don’t have another until late in the afternoon so it’s not a problem. What was it you needed me to see?” she asked, adding, “You sounded positively rattled over the phone,” when she realized that there wasn’t, in fact, anyone else nearby to hear them talking.

“I think it would be best if you looked for yourself,” Amanda said softly, bringing Tori into her office. She walked over to the wall with the split portraits, Alex in her cheer uniform on one side and in the other photo, Tiffany holding up her TKD division championship trophy, dressed in her white dobok with black trim.

Tori blinked. She blinked again,. “Why do you have a photo of Morgan on your wall?” she asked finally, not quite noticing that Tiffani’s hair wasn’t actually short in the photo, it was French braided.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Amanda said nervously. “That’s actually my daughter, Tiffani. My... adopted daughter. She goes by Tiffani Sterling on the competitive circuit, as a nod to her biological parents and to give her a stage name.”

Tori went rigid on hearing the name Sterling. Amanda offered Tori her hand, guiding her gently over to one of the chairs in front of the desk before sitting across from her, not in the chair behind the desk, but the one beside her.

“Sterling,” was all Tori could manage to croak out. Amanda nodded solemnly.

“Now you understand why I asked you over. The matter with Coach Bullock is still important, mind you, but this,” she paused.

“This is life altering,” Tori whispered. “Do... Do you know how this could even have happened?” she asked.

“No,” Amanda said softly, “But I intend to find out. When Jennifer and I - Jennifer is my late wife, by the way,” Amanda added, “When we adopted Tiffani we were told that she was an only child. This is the 21st century. Stupid mistakes like that aren’t supposed to happen.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Amanda,” Tori said as she slowly leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and pressed her hands to her face for a moment in an attempt at a second mental reset, as the gravity of the situation washed over her. “This doesn’t make any sense. I was told there was only Morgan when we adopted her. Oh,” she added, “I’m so sorry for your loss by the way.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said, giving her a wry smile. “She was very sick, so we knew for awhile. The girls had a chance to say goodbye at least.”

“When John and I adopted Morgan,” Tori said, “Those were happier times. When the anger issues started to develop though, John decided he’d had enough. The bastard ran off with his 20 year old secretary.” She smirked to herself, remembering the perky girl at the reception desk downstairs.

“Oh, Tori,” Amanda said, sympathetically squeezing her hand out of reflex. “I’m so sorry.”

“At least the child support helps. I’m just glad the state didn’t try and take the girls away from me for never remarrying,” she shrugged softly. “But yeah. Anything you need from my end, just let me know. I have privileged access to hospital records, and you better believe I’m going to be using it.”

“I might be able to gain access to Morgan and Tiffani’s adoption records as part of the discrimination case, however... I wanted to get your written permission to do so first because it’s not normally a step that I take due to, well, it’s just not part of normal precedent.”

“But these aren’t ordinary times,” Tori said, shaking her head. “And worse yet, the tournament’s a week and a half away. What are we going to tell the girls? Morgan’s finally happier than I’ve seen her since before John left. She’s so focused on defending her seed as the #1 contender.”

“And if Tiffani finds out that the #1 seed is her twin sister, it might rattle her confidence even more than it’s already been,” Amanda sighed. “I wish I knew what the right answer was. And if we don’t tell them, and, by some miracle Tiffani wins the girls’ division championship, they’re going to meet anyway.”

“Oh,” Tori said, “It’s worse than that.”

Amanda looked up in surprise. “Worse? How?”

Tori swallowed. “NAMASA is an open tournament, remember?”

Amanda stared at her for a moment before recognition dawned. “The winner of each gendered division goes on to the night of champions. I completely forgot,” Amanda groaned.

“Yep,” Tori said, but then cracked a smile. “Hey, maybe you can use that in your legal defense? The coach’s claim is that boys don’t hit girls or whatever.”

“Bullshit,” Amanda chimed in and then coughed. “Please pardon my French.”

“Exactly,” Tori said, starting to smile a little. “That line doesn’t work in NAMASA where the literal goal is for a boy and a girl in each age group to compete. It isn’t full contact. Full contact is how you get disqualified.”

Amanda nodded as she stood. She gave Tori’s hand another squeeze “You know, even if our daughters are technically rivals, you and I make a great team?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Tori said, smiling as she stood. Amanda paused, taking a business card, on which she scrawled her private number, and slid it over to Tori.

“Please call me anytime, day or night, but especially if you find anything in the hospital archives. I’ll do the same once I know something on my end as well, either about the discrimination case, or how our girls got separated.”

“I will,” Tori said as she took the card. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances Amanda, but I’m glad we did regardless. I won’t tell Morgan anything for now. If she asks, though, that’s another story.”

Amanda looked up from her screen and nodded solemnly. “I’ve never held back anything from Tiffani, and I’m not going to start now, but, I agree, it’s probably best, for now, if we let them focus on the tournament, and then deal with the fallout when they meet, whether that’s in the backstage area, or on the mat.” She stood up from her desk again, walking Tori to the elevator.

As Amanda watched the elevator doors close, she hesitated, one, two, three heart beats. Her lips pursed and she sucked in a breath before turning, not to return to her glass office, but to approach a heavy, highly polished oak door across the way. She rapped gently, and stuck her head inside.

A young woman in her mid 20s was seated behind a smaller desk, in a smaller office, and surrounded by paperwork. Her fiery auburn hair, wild and curly, but pinned back in a tight ponytail behind her head, struck a sharp contrast to her plain, black business skirt suit and the soft, electric blue of her blouse. On her wall, the only real, humanizing touch was a framed photo of her in a Soaring Dragon Dojo windbreaker and cap, posing with a dozen or so other similarly dressed people, one or two wearing Kenpo EPAK branded jackets or karati gi. Even in the group photo, she was umnmistakable though.

She raised her big, green eyes to meet Amanda’s, and she smiled. “Yeah boss?” she asked casually.

“Bridget, I’ve got a big ‘I owe you one’. Are you busy?”

“No ma’am,” Bridget answered. “I just finished the final pass on the NAMASA Soaring Dragon Temple contract filings, and I’m only on my second cup of coffee. How can I help?” she asked.

“I need a deep dive on a Sterling estate. Births, deaths, adoptions,, from 14 years ago. Cross-reference against the name John Roth or possible aliases like Johnathan or J.”

Bridget’s jovial, over caffeinated expression shifted on a dime. Hearing the name ‘Sterling’ and the ‘14 years ago’ was all she needed to know the stakes. “I assume that this is strictly a dead tree format affair?” she asked. Amanda nodded curtly.

“Yes, please. I can’t afford a digital footprint - not yet anyway.”

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

“Oh hey,” Tiffani said, holding up her phone. “Did you see the drama over Morgan?” she asked, finally using her real name instead of just calling her ‘the tiger’ for a change.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Mary Lynn said as she threw the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot. “It’s going to be a real media shitshow when Amanda gets through with them, bullying a 14 year old is a new low for Bullock.”

“Wait, who?” Tiffani asked.

“Who who?” Mary Lynn said. “Bull-crock?”

“No, Amanda, doofus,” Tiffani laughed. “You don’t mean Amanda Miller, do you?”

---

Wednesday, 3:45 P.M.
Mary Lynn pulled up to the private school in a bMW that positively would not have looked out of place in the slightest - 20 years ago: a 2004 BMW E-46 that once radiated the height of high class. Now, it resonated ‘30 foot blast radius waiting to happen’. The paint, a mix of primer gray, faded black, and one fender that could best be described as ‘Sat at the bottom of Lake Superior for a year’.

A sharp contrast to the humming, muffled perfection of the Land Rovers, Lexuses, and even the odd Jaguar or Tesla, the exhaust coughed and spat, the inline engine practically screaming for an oil change, to the tune of 90s industrial metal blasting over an oversized bluetooth speaker that clung precariously to the cracked, once vibrant maroon dashboard with a strip of velcro.

She, herself, looked like she had just stepped off the set of a 90s or early 2000s post punk music video, sporting a striped red-and-black long sleeve top with thumb holes looped over her thumbs, under a torn black tee shirt that had a “fem skull” - a large, white skull with a pink bow tilted to the side slightly, and acid wash light denim jeans.

The car’s front suspension wheezed and groaned as she hopped on the front and leaned back across the cracked windshield. She raised the wraparound mirrored blue Oakleys and pulled out her iPhone, the one piece of modernity in a walking anachronism and texted Tiffani. “Hey girl, your ride’s here. Ready when you are :)’

Barely thirty seconds later Tiffani appeared, wearing a traditional private school uniform that caused Mary Lynn’s jaw to drop for just a moment. Before she could say a word though, a school security guard approached.

“Excuse me,” the man said gruffly. “You can’t park this... thing here.”

“She’s with me,” Tiffani spoke up. The words echoed louder than the gunshot crack of the backfiring engine moments before, despite her cordial, casual tone.

“Oh!” the security guard said as he spun on a heel and shifted from grumpy to apologetic in less than a heartbeat. “I’m sorry Miss Miller. I didn’t realize. Carry on,” he said, and made himself scarce instantly. Mary Lynn watched the exchange with a smug smirk, letting the moment pass for a heartbeat before she started laughing.

“Sweet mother of jailbait,” she said. Tiffani laughed.

“What? This is just my normal school uniform,” she said and did a little pirrhoette, causing the pleated skirt to flare just the tiniest bit.

“Don’t tease me,” Mary Lynn groaned.

“Sorry,” Tiffani giggled as she slid into the passenger seat, a crisscross of cracked leather and neon electric blue duct tape. “Nice car, Em,” she said, genuinely admiring of the beaten up clunker.

“You like?” Mary Lynn said. “I just pulled the old girl from a junk yard last month. Liberty’s helping me get her street legal again, but I’m keeping the body as is.”

“Oh hey,” Tiffani said, holding up her phone. “Did you see the drama over Morgan?” she asked, finally using her real name instead of just calling her ‘the tiger’ for a change.

Because Tiffani attended a completely different school, a Chicago North Shore preparatory academy where even being a janitor required extensive background checks and even more extensive training, vs. Morgan’s upper west side public school, she was largely oblivious to just how deep the rabbit hole went.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Mary Lynn said as she threw the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot. “It’s going to be a real media shitshow when Amanda gets through with them, bullying a 14 year old is a new low for Bullock.”

“Wait, who?” Tiffani asked.

“Who who?” Mary Lynn said. “Bull-crock?”

“No, Amanda, doofus,” Tiffani laughed. “You don’t mean Amanda Miller, do you?”

“The same,” Mary Lynn said. “Why?”

“She’s my Mom,” Tiffani shrugged.

“Ohhhh holy crap. Are you serious?” Mary Lynn said. “Does Liberty know? No she has to know. Oh man that complicates things.”

“No it doesn’t,” Tiffani said, rolling her shoulders. “I mean yeah she’s a potential rival, in the unlikely event that I can beat out 64 other girls for our division, probably including Liberty if she enters. But she’s worked her ass off to get to the number one seed. She’s already proven she belongs where she is. It’s up to me to prove if I deserve to face off against her or not, not some transphobic prick.”

Mary Lynn smiled as she looked over at Tiffani. “You know something, Tiff? I think I’m starting to see what Liberty saw in you. I mean don’t get me wrong. I’m also impressed you lasted the full hour with us beating your ass into the mat, but there’s more to it.”

“I might be autistic,” Tiffani said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know. I’ve never been tested, and, I don’t really care. It’s never gotten in the way. I just... I know I see the world differently than most people, and I’m cool with it.”

Mary Lynn laughed. “God damn, girl.”

“What?” Tiffani asked, as they crossed over into the more industrial neighborhood of the Soaring Dragon Temple.

“Nothing. Your honesty is just refreshing, that’s all,” Mary Lynn answered. “Ready to learn to fight like an MMA champ?” she asked, as they rolled into the gravel-coated parking lot.

Unlike the sleek, modern facility of the Velocity Sparrow academy school, basically a renovated strip mall building that actually, in the era of malls on every corner, had been an upscale grocer’s, the Soaring Dragon Temple had History. It had character. It almost blended right in with the surrounding warehouses, only standing out because it towered over them, an old fire house that even still had the big garage doors where trucks would have been parked.

“I’m ready to empty my cup and then break it over someone’s head,” Tiffani said jokingly. “Liberty promised me no more hour long endurance beatdowns, so I’m holding you to that, too.”

“Oh,” Mary Lynn said cheerfully. “No worries. Tonight is all about technique, and teaching you to stop dancing like a ballerina.” She winked.

Gravel crunched under Tiffani’s private school loafers as she stepped out of the BMW and grabbed her new duffle bag - neon green with the Velocity Sparrow logo of her TKD school in sharp relief, neon blue on neon green, with “Apex” branding rather than her usual unbranded black bag. It still had Jade’s borrowed #1 seed pin stuck to it though.

Jade had insisted she keep it until the tournament, at which point Jade would accept it back, but then only because Tiffani could get in trouble for being in a 6A official area with it.

Tiffani unzipped the bag just far enough to reach her hand inside and feel around. “Gloves, guards, headgear,” she mumbled to herself, her finger brushing the protective cup. She silently noted its presence without verbally acknowledging it. That was her unfortunate secret, since she was still pre-op and needed it, even if they technically didn’t function as anything but a vestigial urine delivery system now.

She did find herself subconsciously glancing around, looking for some signs of Liberty’s black stallion of an e-bike. She felt her heart sink just the tiniest bit at realizing it wasn’t there, now, until she walked inside.

In contrast to the bright overhead fluorescent lights of the Velocity Sparrow Global Taekwondo Academy, the old fire house glowed a warm amber from its overhead bulbs in their ancient, industrial metal fixtures. The scent of cucumber water and lemon disinfectant was instead replaced by old wood - solid, hard flooring underfoot, sweat, and linament. Somewhere in the dojo, the rhythmic strike of hands or feet on a sandbag thudded dully through the entire building.

And there, against a far wall and up on a heavy duty work bench, Liberty’s bike rested in all its mechanical glory. Even in silence, the echo of Tiffani’s first meeting with Liberty, the sound of the heavy duty tires on tile, the scent of ozone and rubber in her nostrils, came flooding back.

Jade and Len were standing near a row of ancient fire engine red lockers, some chipped with age, all faded, alongside new faces Tiffani didn’t recognize - a young man in his early 20s, clean shaven, wearing a lightweight micromesh sleeveless top and loose fitting pants, and a woman wearing a fitted sports bra that showed off her washboard abs, along with tight aerobic leggings that allowed for maximum flexibility. On her feet, she wore soft soled footpads. Liberty stood in horse stance at the center of the dojo practicing a slow, fluid kata, and the faint scent of roses began to waft under Tiffani’s nose when she got closer to her.

There were no soft rubber mats in place, just markers on the ground, although, there were mats rolled up, lying in piles in the far corner.

Realizing that everyone else was barefoot even before Mary Lynn could move to take off her own scuffed platform shoes, Tiffani stopped and stepped out of her loafers, picking them up. Without breaking her stride, Liberty spoke up. “You can change out of the schoolgirl Barbie look in the back locker room. Mary Lynn knows the way. Just remember to check your ego at the door.”

Mary Lynn patted Tiffani’s shoulder as they walked toward the back. “That wasn’t Liberty being an asshole, by the way. That’s literally the dojo’s motto. She repeats it to herself whenever she enters, and so does Coach Styles. Oh, hey Amber,” Mary Lynn said as they entered the girls’ locker room area, itself as aged and weathered as the main dojo.

Amber was sitting on a bench dressed in her black gi and completely drenched in sweat, drinking from a Soaring Dragon Temple branded water bottle. She, Tiffany surmised, was the one she had heard hitting the bag earlier, since the dojo had gone quiet for the last minute or so. Amber glanced up and smiled as if apologizing for even being here.

“Hi Emmie-chan. Don’t worry, I won’t be here long.”

Mary Lynn shrugged her shoulders as she left Tiffani to get her equipment sorted, sitting down next to Amber. “You know just because we call ourselves the Out group, doesn’t mean you have to act like we’re outcasts,” she teased. Amber’s head jerked up, sending her blonde ponytail flying back over her shoulder and cascading down her back. Tiffani tried her best not to eavesdrop as she disappeared into a toilet stall to change.

“What?! No, Emmie, I’d never-”

Mary Lynn laughed softly. “Relax Ami-chan. I’m just messing with you. Seriously girl, you’ve got to stop worrying about what Liberty thinks of you. Trust me, she doesn’t.”

“You mean she doesn’t still think I’m just copying her?” Amber shot back a little bitterly.

“Is... Is that what you think?” Mary Lynn asked, sounding genuinely shocked, as Tiffani pulled on her dobok and adjusted her chest protector and cup into place.

“I don’t think,” Amber said as she stood up to leave. She stopped at the door and looked back at Mary Lynn. “I know.”

“Hold up!” Mary Lynn barked, causing Tiffani to genuinely jump. Amber stopped, having just opened the door. She didn’t look back at Mary Lynn. She sighed though, shaking her head.

“Ask her yourself,” Amber said. “If you don’t believe me, ask her what she thinks of me being here.” She spun around, lowering her voice so Tiffani wouldn’t hear. “But don’t you dare ask her right now. I will never forgive you if you screw Tiffani over because of my family drama.”

“Whoa, okay, I won’t,” Mary Lynn said, holding up her hands defensively in front of her. “I’ll talk to Len about it after we drop everyone off, okay? She’s known Liberty longer than I have. She’ll know what to do.”

“I’m not holding my breath, and I suggest you don’t either. The tiger doesn’t change her stripes.” Amber said coldly, and Tiffani heard the door slam. She took that as her cue that it was safe to step out. Mary Lynn turned to her, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tiffani said. “I’m sorry they’re going through this. It would kill me inside if I thought my sister hated me like they do.”

“I,” she hesitated, “I don’t think they hate each other,” Mary Lynn said, shaking her head. “I just think... Liberty’s thing is Kenpo, like her mom. She eats, sleeps, breathes and lives Kenpo. Amber is more like, well, it’s not the main driving force in her life, you know? It’s not her identity.”

“No, I get it,” Tiffani said. “I tried making Taekwondo my whole life for awhile, and it didn’t leave me much room for anything else beyond a kukkiwon gold star and a completely empty social life. Anyway, let’s get this over with.”

Mary Lynn squeezed her shoulder. Tiffani paused, glancing at Mary Lynn. She half expected a longwinded lecture or something, but Mary Lynn just gave her a mischievous grin. “Just remember why you’re here, yeah? It’s not about the trophies, it’s about Tiffani Sterling.”

“Sterling,” Tiffani half chuckled. She wore the ‘warrior name’ like a shield for so long, dividing Tiffani Miller the ordinary everyday Barbie Princess living in the Dream Home, from Tiffani Sterling, TKD champion. She bumped her shoulder with Mary Lynn’s as they started walking again. “Don’t worry, ML. I’m all in it to win it.”

“Atta girl,” Mary Lynn said.

“T-Bird!” Jade called, waving Tiffani over. She still had her crutches, but she leaned less heavily on them today than the last time she’d seen her, looking even more like a coach than previously. “Tiffani Sterling, I’d like you to meet Jax Pearce and Julie ‘Hellcat’ Sloan.”

“The Jackhammer?” Tiffani almost gasped. “Dude, I caught your first UFC match last month! You were insane!”

“Thanks,” Jax grinned. “Just uh, don’t tell my trainer I’m sparring in an old firehouse. He thinks I’m at a PT retreat or whatever.”

“Yeah, same,” Julie laughed. “I’ve got four days before the WWE expects me to show up at Madison Square for my title bout against Mileena, but until then I’m on a sabbatical with my Wushu mentors or something,” she said with a conspiratorial wink.

Len spoke up as she and Mary Lynn helped Tiffani check her pads to ensure they were secure. “And here you probably thought the three of us were just calling ourselves the Out group as some kind of gay Breakfast club, huh?>” she said demurely.

“Nope,” Liberty said, and clapped her hands together, “We’re the static in the machine, the sidebands. We’re what you get when you try to force a queer peg in a round hole. We’re global, baby girl- I mean, Sterling,” she quickly corrected herself. But it was too late. The dojo fell dead silent for a heartbeat, or three in Tiffani’s case as she froze still and silent, a slow flush rising up from her neck, threatening to overtake her pale private school princess complexion.

Jax raised an eyebrow lazily, not saying a word. Mary Lynn opened her mouth to say something. Len, moving fast as lightning, went from standing still to a hand raised and covering Mary Lynn’s mouth. Mary Lynn stared down at her. Len just shook her head slowly.

“Anyway, because our pro trainers are on a tight deadline, let’s not fuck around. We can scrimmage you anytime, but right now we need to talk about the Tiger.”

“I,” Tiffani said, trying to regain her composure. “I mean you mentioned her Phantom Lead before right?” she corrected, “7 points in fifteen seconds. Even for a stop and go spar like that, that doesn’t seem physically possible,” she said, trying to recover her composure, change the subject, and Process what in the holy hell just happened, all at once.

“I can do it in 16.7,” Liberty answered. “It’s possible. It’s just extremely hard, and it’s even harder to block. Jax?”

“We call it the phantom lead for a reason,” Jax explained as he brought out a tablet with a YouTube video paused on one of Morgan’s fights while she was still in ‘boy’ mode. “ Because there’s no tell, no clue it’s coming until you’ve got a fist in your face, and in the UFC, a crimson mask. Now, I’ve slowed this down as much as the video player allows, but it’s still a blink and you miss it move.”

“It’s the kind of thing you’ll have to watch us demonstrate,” Julie chimed in, “But we want you to see her do it first.”

Tiffani bobbed her head. She wasn’t wearing her headgear yet since no official sparring or practice had begun. She was beginning to wonder if she’d even need it, although, as she felt the hard boards, no mere veneer of wood, or fake linoleum meant to look like wood, beneath her feet, she was suddenly grateful for the other padding - just in case.

“Wait, how the hell did she do that?” Tiffani asked. “One beat she’s on her mark, then one, two, three, point.”

She began to feel the blood flow returning to normal again, her cheeks no longer burning with the intensity of a white hot sun. She was beginning to feel in her element again.

“Julie?” Liberty asked. “Shall we dance?”

“Oh, I’d be honored,” Julie said playfully as she and Liberty stood, not six feet apart, or even 3. They stood just 2 feet apart, and positioned themselves so that Tiffani was at a perfect right angle, the perfect viewing angle.

“This,” Liberty said, and suddenly she was in Julie’s personal space, her open palm hovering mere inches from Julie’s tight microfiber and exposed flesh, “is a Phantom Lead at normal speed.”

Tiffani blinked, but only after Liberty had already moved. Liberty reset. Julie, Tiffani observed, however, didn’t even so much as flinch. Liberty didn’t shift her weight at all. She didn’t twitch her shoulder. She didn’t move a single muscle on her face. She just went from hands raised in a combat stance to lead strike, only now she did it at about half the normal speed.

This time, at least, Tiffani was able to follow the movement. She frowned.

“Okay,” she said, “So in Taekwondo we’re taught to be spatially aware, right? Jade, back me up here?”

“Right,” Jade said. “Taekwondo is all about maximizing point spread and keeping your opponent at leg’s length. This is what makes the Untouchable Tiger so dangerous. They don’t call her the Tiger because of her Hidden Tiger Academy dojo.”

“It’s because,” Liberty said, punctuating the point with another lead strike, this time stopping inches from Julie’s unblinking face, “She moves like a tiger and you don’t know she’s there until she’s already pounced.”

“I think she needs a personal demonstration,” Len said coyly. Tiffani’s heart skipped a beat briefly at that. Liberty shot Len a glare, who, in return, just gave her an innocent smile.

Len opened her mouth to say something else, and Mary Lynn reached a hand out, covering Len’s mouth with a smug grin as Julie handed Tiffani her neon green Apex branded headgear.

“Safety first,” Julie said. “You too, Liberty.”

“Aw Mom, do I have to?” Liberty mock whined as she walked over to one of the old fire house lockers and opened it to retrieve her headgear. She let out a sharp and sudden, genuinely terrified shriek as she jerked back her hand and slammed the locker shut. As everyone turned to see what just happened, Liberty screamed, “MARY YOU ASS!” and threw a rubber snake to the ground.

Mary Lynn looked genuinely shocked. “Uh... It wasn’t me, chief. I mean yeah that’s totally something I’d do, but not in front of the grown ups.”

“Well SOMEONE’S been in my locker,” Liberty hissed, trying to regain her composure.

“Which wasn’t locked,” Len said calmly. “It was probably just one of your teammates pranking you. Tiffani’s lesson?” she said, trying to help her friend reset. Liberty took a slow, steady, even breath and then nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry guys. I have a serious, serious snake phobia,” she said, and kicked the rubber snake with such force that it flew across the dojo and slammed against the far wall.

“Hey,” Tiffani said, trying to lighten the mood, “That’s three points.” The room fell silent again, one beat, two beats, everyone, including Liberty, burst out laughing.

“Okay,” Liberty said, still laughing, “I’m going to get right in your face, but I promise not to hit you.”

Tiffani nodded. She watched the run up, the start of the blitz. Liberty’s hand moved so fast, it was hovering inches from her chest protector, just like that. Tiffani didn’t flinch; she froze, staring at the hand as it hovered an inch from her chest. The scent hit her even through the face mask. She had smelled it before, and thought it was just burning incense or air freshener.

It was a lingering smell of roses, and it was even stronger now, on Liberty’s hand.

“Okay?” Liberty asked, pulling her hand back. “Tiff?” The scent fell away, its intensity dissipating into almost nothing again. It couldn’t be body spray. it was too light, too impermanent. Hand lotion?

“Yeah,,” Tiffani answered. She smiled. “I’m sorry, I was trying to work something out in my head, but you’re right. It’s just, there’s no way. The human eye can see at like 60 frames a second, and the hand is even faster than that. How do you counter something like that when you can’t even see it coming?”

“In due time, grasshopper,” Liberty said. “First, do you trust me>?”

“W-what?” Tiffani stammered.

“Do you trust me?” Liberty asked, taking a black strip of cloth from the locker where the snake had been waiting earlier. “I’m going to blindfold you, but if you want Jax to do this next part, since he’s an actual professional, I promise I absolutely won’t take it personally. This is strictly business, and your protection, we’re talking about.”

Tiffani slowly lifted her headgear. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said softly. “My eyes are everything in TKD.”

“That’s exactly why we need to blind you - temporarily of course,” Len said from the sidelines. Tiffani nodded.

“Alright,” she said quietly. “I trust you.

The blindfold felt rough over her skin, like it had been torn from an old, tattered gi rather than cut cleanly, but it was thick and did the job. Tiffani felt Liberty’s hands over hers, gently guiding her to slide the headgear back into place.

“It’s just me,” Julie said, and Tiffani suddenly felt bewildered. She thought for sure that it was Liberty’s hands she felt, but now she wondered if it had really been Julie’s, guiding her headgear into place so that it fit snugly without disturbing the blindfold.

“Okay,” Julie said, “She’s ready.”

“What’s that noise?” Tiffani asked. It was a kind of rhythmic whirr-whirr-whirr sound, and it was coming from two directions at once.

“Don’t think,” Liberty said. “Feel.”

Tiffani let out a sudden, startled yelp as she felt something soft, but firm, strike into her body. It hit the chest protector, and then there was a soft ‘thwang’ like sound, not quite elastic, but... rope, maybe?

“Contact,” Jax said.

“What the hell are you doing, jumping rope?” Tiffani asked.

“Focus, Barbie!” Liberty barked. Tiffani felt something graze her arm. She instinctively bounced.

“Stop bouncing!” Mary Lynn called from the sidelines. “If the Tiger sees the Sparrow take flight, she’s going to snatch you right out of the air. Pivot, girl! Swing those hips like a $20 belly dancer!”

That got a sharp, sudden laugh out of Tiffani. She held her breath and tried to focus. The arc of an object on a rope can ow!

“Stop analyzing it,” Jax said. “Feel the air around you,. Look for the void and react.”

Tiffani planted her feet, trying to resist the urge to bounce like a Taekwondo Stylist and center herself. Something shifted. She felt the skin on her neck prickle. She pivoted to the side, using her heel as the rotational point.

“There you go!” Julie said encouragingly.

“It’s me,” Liberty said as she approached Tiffani. “Let’s give you back your sight, yeah?”

She carefully removed Tiffani’s headgear and then handed it off, presumably to Julie, as she worked to untie the knot she had created to secure the blindfold. One, two, three beats. Something was wrong. Liberty should have had it untied by now. She heard an annoyed sigh from behind her, and then, she took a sharp intake of breath as she felt soft hands on her cheeks, right below the blindfold.

They belonged to someone directly in front of her. “I’m sorry,” Liberty said as she shifted her hand position, her nails pressing, not into Tiffani’s skin, but against it gently, as they found purchase underneath the cloth and lifted it. “I didn’t think I tied it that tight.”

What had been a dull amber glow now almost seemed blinding. Tiffani looked around to see Julie and Jax were coiling ropes, although Julie paused, swinging hers in a figure 8 pattern in front of and beside her to show Tiffani what she had just been smacked with. They were quite clearly meteor hammers, albeit safety hammers made of rope and soft foam.

Even so, many a novice has bruised themselves with and concussed themselves with, a practice hammer. Liberty grinned.

“Psych,” Liberty said, grinning cheekily, but it faded to something more honest and genuine as the mask slipped for a moment. “I’d never come at you with a weapon while you’re blindfolded, Barbie. I’m more likely to knock myself out with those damn things. But if you’re going to face the Tiger, I needed-” she caught herself, quickly correcting this time, “You have to be able to close your eyes and know that I - that we - won’t let you fall. You had to say it so your brain would believe it.”

“You brat!” Tiffani laughed, poking Liberty playfully. “You just wanted me to tell you I trust you, didn’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” Liberty giggled and then ducked away, showing Tiffani that she wasn’t ‘just.’ She wasn’t just a fighter. She wasn’t just a rival, and she wasn’t just a mentor. She was all of that, and she was still a normal kid like Tiffani..

After the cooldown, once the pros had taken selfies with Tiffani - a souvenir for both her, and them it seemed, Mary Lynn left to take Jade home, leaving only Len, Tiffani, and Liberty in the dojo.

Tiffani left to go back to the locker room and change, and when she returned, she heard Len and Liberty talking, so she stopped at the hallway leading in, just out of sight.

“... Still going to find whoever put that snake in my locker and make them eat it,” Liberty sighed.

“That seems like a waste of a perfectly good snake,” Len said in her usual, demure way.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘good’ snake, let alone a perfectly good one,” Liberty spat back at her. “And in front of Tiff and the pros, too. Jesus Christ, I thought I was going to die right there.”

“But you didn’t,” Len said as Tiffani heard the rhythmic sweep of an old fashioned wooden broom being pushed across the wooden floor, its bristles giving a telltale hiss that told her the owner, Len by the sound of it, was getting slowly closer to her.

“Yeah, yeah,” Liberty said. “Len, I love you, but sometimes you talk like a fortune cookie.”

The broom stopped just short of where Len would be able to see Tiffani. She turned around. “Then let me spell it out for you, Liberty. I planted the snake.”

“You... You what?” Liberty hissed. “Len how could you? You KNOW I hate snakes!”

“If you and Tiffani are going to work out, she needs to be able to trust you implicitly. She needs to see that you’re vulnerable - human. She needs to see the Liberty that I do - the girl that I know is under the iron scales.”

Tiffani’s breath caught in her throat. What did Len mean ‘if you’re going to work out’? Did she mean as mentor and student? As friends? As... No, it couldn’t be that could it? She brought her hand up, touching her own cheek where she had felt Liberty’s nails against her skin minutes earlier.

“God damit, Len,” Liberty said. Tiffani could hear the soft footfalls of Liberty approaching closer. Her first instinct was to bounce backwards, but she held her ground. She pivoted, shifting slightly more into the shadows without making a sound. “I hate it when you’re right. Just... Please, no more god damn snakes in my god damn locker?”

“Deal,” Len giggled softly. A moment later she appeared in the hallway, grinning at Tiffani. “I need to pee, I can give you a ride home after that.”

She didn’t say a word about Tiffani eavesdropping. She didn’t need to. She knew, and Tiffani knew that she knew. For all that Tiffani liked to pretend to be the mystic zen master, she was beginning to wonder if Len really was one..

Tiffani stepped out into the dojo and picked up the broom where Len had left off. She began sweeping. Liberty had already sat down on the low stool beside her bike. In her hands, she held a 15mm polished chrome exterior wrench that carried the cloudy dull patina of use and wear, where the acid in her fingers had eaten away slightly at the chrome coating. It carried a few dings, and the closed end a few scars from stubborn steel bolts.

“I thought you had to pee- Oh,” she said, “Tiff, you can leave that.” She waved a hand dismissively, her tone a far cry from the drill instructor of training, or even the queen bitch battlefield commander. This was a quiet, reflective, and vulnerable Liberty. Even the mighty salad fork couldn’t bring out this side of her.

“I don’t mind,” Tiffani said. She hadn’t changed out of her dobok, but rather, just removed her training gear. Her school uniform was still tucked away in the duffle bag that she had slugng over her shoulder now, even as she swept the dojo floor. “It’s meditative.”

“Yeah,” Liberty said. She wanted to ask how much Tiffani had heard, but some part of her was afraid of the answer, so, for now, she stayed quiet, the quiet whirr of a balanced wheel joining the rhythmic sweeping, the grumbling radiator, and a light, winter wind that caused the old fire doors to creak as they settled.