I was on the ground, bones aching, especially my ankle where Günter had grabbed me. The terror toddler himself was back in the hands of his muscle-monster mother, looking perfectly content as if he hadn't just tried to crush me.

  "For his first match, that was quite good," said the scrawny man I assumed was his father, stroking the baby's rosy cheeks. überfrau, on the other hand, looked furious and more than a little disappointed.

  I forced myself to stand up and dusted off my clothes. My ankle throbbed like hell, but at least it wasn't broken. If it were, there's no way I'd be able to stand on it.

  "That was great!" Marge said, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to send a fresh jolt of pain down my arm. "Head to the medical room for a quick check-up."

  She turned and gestured to two others.

  "Hana, Bozo, you know the place. Show him the way."

  I recognized the first one immediately: the faceless girl from before. The other was a boy who looked like a circus reject, complete with purple hair, a big red nose, and full clown makeup. His shirt and shorts were dyed in chaotic colors that somehow made him look worse.

  "You got that feaky baby good," Bozo chuckled as we walked. Each of his steps was punctuated by a faint squeak.

  “Yeah, but you could've just finished him off. The Muskelmann tribe is ridiculously durable. You could’ve punched him right in the face and he'd be fine,” Hana added, her voice echoing straight into my skull. She probably used telepathy since she had no mouth to speak.

  I didn't answer her. Honestly? I was pretty sure I couldn't have beaten him. Günter was a monster in every sense of the word, and I had no experience with fighting people like him.

  Bozo was on my side.

  "Can't blame him. Just imagine the PR disaster if he actually decked a newborn. Doesn't matter what kind of creature he is; nobody wants their debut fight to be remembered as ‘the guy who punched a baby.’ Bad start to a career."

  We reached the medical room soon after. My mother was already waiting at the door.

  "Congratulations, Max!" She patted my shoulder just where Marge did before, "You two can head back and prepare for your turn," she told Hana and Bozo, shooing them away.

  The room inside was definitely not a normal medical room. Sure, there were some familiar things (beds, cabinets, and other medical equipment), but the rest looked like a nightmare from a museum. Nonhuman body parts floated in jars, some twitching slightly as if still alive. Anatomical drawings covered the walls, but instead of humans, they showed centaurs, dragons, and stranger beings I couldn't even begin to recognize.

  "Claude? You in here?" Mom called out.

  A tall figure stepped in through a side door. He wore green scrubs, plus a cap and a mask.

  "Oh, he lost his first fight?" Claude asked, voice muffled by the mask.

  "No, just needs a check," Mom answered.

  I sat on one of the beds while Claude loomed closer. His hands moved with robotic precision as he examined me, tilting my ankle, tapping at my ribs.

  "Nothing serious, but I can give him a quick healer juice."

  Then a syringe grew out from the back of his wrist like a hidden blade, already filled with some blue liquid.

  “Thanks, but I’m fine,” I stood up. “I’ll walk it off.”

  "Don't worry," Mom said. "Claude's medicine is one of the best you can get. I used it a lot of time when I was a rookie.”

  "But, what kind of medicine is that?" I asked, staring at the syringe. Inside the blue fluid, something was moving: a tiny humanoid with bat-like wings, no bigger than the tip of my finger.

  Claude didn't answer. He just drove the needle into my arm. Half the liquid entered my vein before he pulled it back.

  "Half a dose is enough," he said calmly, and the syringe folded back into his flesh.

  "Or," I said, rubbing my arm, "you could've just told me first."

  At first, I felt nothing. Then some kind of warmth started to spread through my veins, soothing every ache the fight had left behind. My ankle felt better. Even the fatigue melted away.

  "Wow… that's actually… not bad," I admitted.

  "It won't treat broken bones," Claude warned. "But skin and muscle, yes. Come back if anything worse happens."

  We stepped out just as two more kids came in, one half-carrying the other.

  "That was… wild," I said as we walked down the corridor.

  "It's just standard medicine. You'll get used to it."

  "I meant the fight with the monster baby."

  "Oh, I've seen weirder things in the ring." Mom shrugged.

  Before I could argue, we passed two girls carrying a third on a stretcher. She was completely entangled in thick green vines, still twitching and writhing around her arms.

  Mom pointed me back toward the arena. "Go on. Marge said everyone has to stick around after their first fight."

  I walked back, not sure what Marge had in mind, but at least I'd get a chance to watch the others.

  I saw some interesting fights. I won't describe all of them, except for three cases that I thought were interesting.

  ***

  The first one was between a boy called Armstrong and Bozo.

  Armstrong looked like the poster boy for “gym rat.” Broad shoulders, thick arms, and a chest like a slab of granite. But that wasn't everything.

  He took off his tank top, and two extra arms grew out of his sides, then another pair sprouted from his back.

  Bozo, on the other hand, bounced into the ring like… well, a clown. His hair puffed up as he waved to the crowd, his nose squeaked when he tapped it, and he threw me a wink before dropping into a bizarre, wide-legged stance.

  "Ready! Fight!" Marge announced.

  Armstrong wasted no time. Four fists lashed out at once, snapping toward Bozo from different angles. It was like watching someone play Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots on fast-forward.

  Bozo dodged the first, then the second, but the third clipped his shoulder and spun him halfway around. He laughed it off, cartwheeling backward, but Armstrong produced some extra-long and flexible tentacle-like arms that shot out, whipping like bullwhips. One caught Bozo around the waist, yanking him back in for a punch.

  The smack of Armstrong's fist against Bozo's cheek echoed through the place. It didn't have any funny sound.

  "Yikes," I flinched.

  For the first part of the fight, Armstrong dominated. Every time Bozo squirmed free with his clownish antics, Armstrong's extra arms would snag him again. He was like a human octopus with anger issues. At one point, Armstrong wrapped six arms around Bozo as if he were trying to crush him.

  I thought the show was over for Bozo, but he had other plans.

  With a goofy grin, his belly swelled like a balloon, then his arms and legs puffed up too. Within seconds, he looked like a clown-shaped sumo wrestler. The squeak of his overinflated skin made a couple kids in the audience snort with laughter.

  Armstrong wasn't laughing. He tried to choke Bozo with two tentacle arms, but they just sank into the squishy mass. Then Bozo belly-flopped onto him with the force of a car. The ground shook.

  "Clown-Fu at its finest," Bozo cackled, bouncing to his feet.

  For a minute, the fight evened out. Bozo used his bulk for stomps and belly smashes while Armstrong countered with rapid grapples and punches from every direction.

  He caught Bozo mid-bounce, grabbed two of his inflated limbs, and launched him across the arena.

  Bozo slammed into the concrete wall with a hollow BONG.

  "Yeah, that's it!" Armstrong shouted, pumping an extra fist.

  But then… Bozo bounced back. Literally.

  Like a rubber ball, his body ricocheted off the wall, flew back across the arena, and slammed square into Armstrong. The sound was like a car crash and a whoopee cushion happening at the same time.

  Armstrong staggered but managed to manifest a make-shift armor, made of fists. Dozens of overlapping hands covered his torso like scales.

  But it didn't matter.

  The bounce launched Armstrong across the ring and into the opposite wall. His fist armor absorbed some of the impact, but not enough. His head cracked against the concrete, and his extra arms all spasmed before pulling back into his body.

  Armstrong slumped to the ground, out cold.

  For a second, the crowd was silent. Then laughter, cheers, and even some confetti from Bozo himself exploded around the ring.

  "And the winner," Marge shouted, holding up Bozo's hand as he squeaked his nose triumphantly, "is Bozo!"

  Bozo bowed, still inflated, his body wobbling like a giant balloon animal. Then he deflated with a slow hiss, letting out a theatrical fart sound as he did.

  Armstrong was carried away on a stretcher. Bozo also had to visit the medical room since he had some light injuries as well, but he was soon back.

  ***

  The second match I want to describe was a few fights later. It was between Hana (the faceless girl) and a girl with antlers growing from her head.

  "Next up: Hana versus Stagora!" Marge announced.

  Hana walked in first.

  Her opponent, Stagora, looked more human at first glance, until the antlers sprouting from her skull twitched, like insect legs. The branching tines writhed and stretched, growing inches longer as the crowd cheered.

  The fight began.

  Hana moved fast and struck with precise, sharp karate chops. She wasn't flashy, just brutally efficient. Every time Stagora swung one of her antlers, Hana cut into it, snapping off the bone with loud cracks. But the antlers grew back immediately.

  Stagora's movements grew more aggressive, her antlers snaking forward like living tentacles.

  One wrapped around Hana's arm. Another around her waist. Soon she was bound, her faceless head tilting slightly as if listening.

  "You're done," Stagora grunted, her antlers tightening.

  But Hana's free hand slowly rose to her face. Without hesitation, she dug her fingers in and peeled away the skin. I had no idea what to expect as the blank surface ripped off like wet paper.

  Underneath a demonic face, like that of an Oni, glared out. Red skin, tusks jutting from her mouth, eyes burning with fury.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  She got a surge of strength in an instant. Hana tore free, snapping the antlers like brittle sticks.

  Stagora panicked, forcing her antlers inward. They curled down around her body, weaving together until she was wrapped in a cage of jagged bone, a living suit of armor bristling with spikes. She charged Hana head-on.

  But Hana didn't dodge. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Stagora in a brutal bear hug. Bones cracked. The armor shattered piece by piece under Hana's strength.

  "STOP! I give up!" Stagora screamed before the bones inside of her could break as well.

  Hana simply let go, her Oni face still grinning as she walked away, leaving Stagora trembling on her knees.

  "Wow, that was creepy... and cool," I muttered to her as she came back.

  "Yeah, that was epic," Bozo joined in, "Are you a shapeshifter?"

  "No, I can only do this to my face," Hana explained and peeled off the monstrous Oni face, revealing her blank, empty face again. The remains of her monster face fell apart almost immediately and turned to dust.

  ***

  [The third one I'd like to describe was one of the last few fights, but before I continue, I think I should make a quick content warning. I have to warn you guys that the following segment contains mathematics. Viewer discretion is advised.]

  "Alright, folks, next up: Euler versus Flint!" Marge announced, gesturing for them to enter the ring.

  The upside-down face boy was Euler. He stepped into the arena first, his inverted grin stretching unnervingly where his forehead should have been. Opposite him, Flint stomped in: a broad, burly kid with a jaw like carved stone.

  The match started.

  Euler raised one hand and, with his finger, began scrawling glowing numbers in the air. Symbols hung there like paint on invisible glass. He etched "×2" across his forearm. His muscles bulged unnaturally. Another "×2" across his leg.

  "Whoa! Is he some kind of magician?" I asked Hana.

  "He's a Formulurgist."

  "A… what?"

  "Formulurgy. Think of it as math turned into magic. He kinda rewrites reality with equations."

  My skin goosebumped. Magic math. As if math wasn't already horrifying enough.

  Anyway, back to the fight.

  Flint raised his hands and turned them into stone. He clapped his stone-covered hands together, and sparks exploded, a shower of embers lighting the ring. Euler's upside-down eyes squinted against the flare, staggering back. Flint barreled forward, swinging his stone fist like a hammer.

  Euler ducked low, his finger already scrawling another symbol: "×2" between himself and Flint. Suddenly, the distance stretched, Flint's punch cutting empty air as if the two meters between them had doubled.

  "What the hell..." Flint growled, spinning.

  Euler struck back, fingers flashing another glyph: "?10." The distance collapsed instantly, and his doubled-strength fist smashed into Flint's chin. Just in time, he managed to grow stone across his entire upper body, but it wasn't enough. He stumbled back, coughing, stone cracking off him.

  But Flint didn't give up. He slammed his hands together again; this time the sparks burst brighter, blinding even us in the crowd for a second. He lunged in, his arm jagged like a spear. The point grazed Euler's ribs, drawing blood.

  Euler hissed. His fingers moved faster, scrawling a floating lattice of equations in midair. "x2" flared across both legs. He dashed forward. One punch connected with Flint's chin, sending the boy airborne.

  But Euler didn't let him drop.

  He slashed another glyph into the air: "+10." Then "+20." Then "+30."

  The space between Flint and the ground stretched. When he finally hit the ground, it was as if he'd plummeted from a building. The crack of impact was brutal. For a moment, I thought he was dead. But he wasn't.

  Flint lay sprawled, groaning, his stone armor fractured, and his arms were sticking out at odd angles. He didn't get up.

  Euler wiped the inverted grin across his forehead with his arm, the bloody smear making his upside-down face even more grotesque.

  "Winner: Euler!" Marge announced as Flint was carried away on a stretcher.

  ***

  Once everyone had their fights, Marge called us back into the center of the arena.

  I wasn't sure how Claude fixed broken bones, but it clearly worked. Flint stood among us, only one arm in a sling while the other looked like nothing had ever happened.

  "Thanks to all of you for coming," Marge said, flashing her toothy grin. "It was a damn entertaining show watching the next generation throw down."

  "As I said, today’s tournament had no stakes. Just staff and a few guests watching. But next Saturday is a different story."

  She leaned forward. "I'm bringing in some of my old friends. Big names. If they like what they see, it can kickstart your careers. The best part? You don't need to win; hell, sometimes losing with style is better. You just need to show potential. I lost my first big fight in front of a crowd, got stomped into the dirt… but people remembered me. That was enough."

  No one said anything after that.

  Finally, Marge waved us off.

  "Alright, kids. That's it for today. Get some rest. You'll need it."

  Mom was waiting near the locker room where I'd first woken up.

  "Soooo…" she asked, a spark in her eyes. "What do you think?"

  I scratched the back of my head. "Honestly? It was a lot less creepy just watching. Fighting was something else. But… it felt good, too."

  Mom chuckled. "Would you like to come back next Saturday?"

  "Yeah, I guess. But a week isn't much time. I barely survived Günter. I can't beat these guys with skill alone. I need power."

  "You did beat him," she reminded me. "And as Marge said, you don't need to win. You just need to show what you’re capable of."

  "Hmm… alright. No promises. But I'll try."

  "Excellent." She grinned. "Shall we head home?"

  "I'm ready."

  She pulled something small and black from her pocket. I barely caught a glimpse before she tossed it at the ground. Smoke exploded outward, thick and choking, swallowing us whole.

  When it cleared, I was staring at her office wall. Same shelves. Same clutter. Same garden gnome on the corner of her desk.

  "We teleported?"

  "Yes," she said simply, brushing off her coat. "Claude gave me that. Only works with one fixed point, though. Which means…" She tapped the glued gnome with her finger. "…you always end up here."

  ***

  Mom's gym wasn't far from our place, so we got home by early evening.

  I dragged myself straight into the shower, letting the hot water wash away sweat and soreness. By the time I stepped into my room, I had a hundred questions lined up for Mom, but sleep was already winning. I just hoped none of the things I'd seen today decided to follow me into my dreams.

  It was Friday night. One week until the next tournament. One week to figure out how not to get murdered in front of an audience.

  I flipped on the TV. I hate sleeping in silence. White noise helps, but a show I like is even better; something I'd want to stay up for but usually pass out halfway through. I caught a Family Guy marathon, and I barely made it through the first cutaway gag before sleep claimed me.

  "Wake up, Max. überfrau is here to avenge Günter's defeat."

  I bolted upright, heart hammering in horror.

  "What?!"

  She burst out laughing. "Relax. Just kidding. I only wanted to make sure you'd actually wake up."

  I rubbed my face. "Mission accomplished."

  "Good. Get into something comfortable you'd like to fight in," she said, already walking out.

  I stared at the clock. A little past midnight. So technically, I had a couple hours of sleep.

  ***

  "Where are we going?" I asked, still confused and half-asleep.

  "Here," Mom said, stopping in front of a Taxidermy Workshop.

  She knocked on the door, and a scrawny blonde man opened it. His pale skin and jittery grin didn't exactly scream "trustworthy."

  "Oh, Creepy, nice to see you. You came to watch the show?" he asked, voice thin and excited.

  "No," she shook her head. "You still accept outsiders for fights, or do you only use your own fighters these days?"

  "Mostly mine," he said with a puffed-up pride. "Most people don’t dare face my boys. You want to test yourself against them?"

  "No," Mom answered, jabbing a thumb at me. "But my boy here could use a strong opponent for training."

  "Then you came to the best place. Follow me."

  He locked the door behind us and led us toward the basement stairs.

  "Do you have an audience tonight?" Mom asked as we descended.

  "No, I save tournaments for Saturday nights. Tonight's just practice."

  The basement lights were already on. At first I thought the place was full of pets (cats, dogs, foxes, even a raccoon) scurrying around the concrete floor. Then I noticed the stitches. The stiff, jerky way they moved. Their glassy eyes.

  They weren’t alive. They were taxidermied animals.

  "You were working on something new?" Mom asked.

  "Always," he said, rubbing his bony hands together. "But the details are my secret project for now."

  "Sooo… are these things dead?" I asked.

  "Yes," Mom said, casually. "He is Juju Jim, an amateur necromancer. He reanimates stuffed animals for fun."

  Jim chuckled. "Fun and business. People pay good money to watch them fight. These little guys", he waved at the raccoon chewing on an electric cable, "are just my pets. The real fighters stay locked away."

  "Oh, so cute," Mom cooed, stroking the patchy fur of a fox with a stitched-on jaw.

  "Just wait until you see my fighters," Jim said confidently.

  He slipped behind a heavy steel door with an eager laugh, leaving me staring at his creations.

  "So… fighting zombie animals is your training idea?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said simply. " I could see that you were uncomfortable fighting Günter. So I figured I'd find you an opponent you don't need to feel guilty about hurting. Whatever Jim brings out, you can go all in; it's already dead."

  "Right, I just hope it won’t be as traumatizing as the titan toddler was."

  Mom smirked.

  Truth was, I didn’t like the thought of fighting a cat, a dog, or anything remotely cute. But the fact that I couldn’t actually hurt them made it better. I still didn’t know what my tactile telekinesis could really do at full force, and I wasn’t eager to test it on something living.

  Then Jim opened the door and brought out my opponent: a taxidermied brown bear.

  It was big. Very big. Definitely an adult.

  The beast shuffled forward on all fours before rising upright a few meters from me, looming over like a nightmarish giant.

  "Wow, Jim! This one looks amazing," Mom said, walking closer as if it were just an oversized stuffed toy. "How did you even get a dead bear here?"

  "It was a gift. I do a lot of work for big-game hunters. Sometimes they give me little tokens of appreciation for… keeping quiet about what they bring me."

  I locked eyes with the towering beast. Its stitched lids didn’t blink, but I swore I heard a low, hissing noise deep inside its chest.

  "Ever tested this beauty against anyone?" Mom asked.

  "Only other animals. Teddy’s a bit much for amateurs." Jim smirked at me. "But I doubt Creepy’s son will have any problem."

  "What? You call him Teddy?" Mom asked.

  "I know, I know, it’s cliché. But it fits, doesn’t it?"

  "Hmm... he’s huge," Mom said, standing right beside the monster, utterly dwarfed by it.

  "Yeah, close to three meters. But it’s not just size, he’s got some… enhancements."

  "Perfect," Mom said, turning to me with a grin. "That’s what you need, Max."

  "Yeah," I answered, forcing a smile. "That’s definitely what I needed."

  "Would you mind if Max roughed Teddy up a little?" Mom asked.

  "Nah, I can stitch him back together easy," Jim chuckled. "Would you mind if Teddy roughed Max up a little?"

  "I’ve got Claude on speed dial," Mom said cheerfully.

  Then Jim whistled, and all the other reanimated animals scampered into place, forming a perfect circle around me and Teddy, an impromptu ring of stitched-together fur and glassy eyes.

  Okay, I survived the monster baby; I can survive this. I thought.

  "We can start in a minute. I just want to say something to Max," Mom gestured toward Jim.

  "Sure," he nodded, stroking the mangy feathers of a two-headed parrot that had just landed on his shoulder.

  "Alright, sweetie," Mom stepped close to me. "You will face a paranormal enemy you barely know. A quick, precise strike can be efficient, but when you don’t understand your opponent, patience is safer. Dodge, observe, and learn before you commit."

  "Dodging and observing. Nothing hasty," I repeated with a nod.

  "Exactly. But remember, this isn’t a sparring match. It’s a street fight. No rules."

  "She’s right," Jim added. He gave the undead bear’s flank a hard slap, and the stitched hide rippled like a drum. "Teddy’s full of surprises. Nothing’s off-limits for him."

  Mom leaned in again. "So yes, dodge and observe, but don’t get stuck in defense forever. You don’t have the luxury to avoid blows for too long. If you wait for the ‘perfect’ opening, you’ll be too exhausted to take it when it comes. Sometimes, you have to risk it. Because while you’re studying your enemy…" She tapped my chest. "They’re studying you too."

  "Okay, Mom. Anything else?" I asked, trying not to stare at Teddy’s glassy eyes.

  She smiled, sharp and calm. "Just one thing: have fun."

  ***

  Jim gave a sharp whistle, and Teddy’s glassy eyes locked on mine.

  Then he moved.

  The reanimated beast jumped at me. I barely rolled aside before a paw, tipped with metal claws, smashed into the concrete floor. The ground cracked like it had been hit with a sledgehammer.

  “See that?” Jim called proudly. “Swapped out his bones for metal. Reinforced the muscles too with the tissues of other dead bears. Teddy hits like a wrecking ball now.”

  Great. Thanks for the encouragement.

  I darted in, throwing a punch into the bear’s ribs. My tactile telekinesis flared, just enough to make the monster stagger back a step. But that was all. It shook me off like a mosquito before I could lift him.

  Teddy roared, sounded like a real bear, then swung again. I dodged the first swipe, but the second raked across my side. Pain shot through me, and warm blood spread under my shirt.

  I gritted my teeth, backing away. I had to end this quickly. Since there were no rules, I would have gone for something dirty, like a groin attack, but I doubt an undead can feel pain. His head would have been a good target as well if he hadn't been nearly twice my height. So I charged, aiming for his chest instead.

  Well, as Jim said, Teddy was full of surprises, literally. His jaw opened wide, and a snake shot out from his throat.

  Its scaled body lashed forward like a living whip, sinking fangs into my forearm. I screamed, trying to wrench free. The thing’s head twisted viciously before snapping back into Teddy’s skull, retreating like some nightmare tongue.

  "I warned you," Jim remarked.

  The bite throbbed. My blood dripped onto the concrete.

  Teddy lumbered closer. I staggered back, every muscle screaming at me to quit. My lungs were burning, my heart was about to explode. I couldn’t win.

  And then... something shifted.

  The panic dulled, like someone had pulled a blanket over it. My breath slowed, steady. The pain didn’t end, but it felt… distant, like it belonged to someone else. The world narrowed to me and Teddy. Nothing else mattered.

  Adrenaline. Endorphins. Whatever it was, it kicked in. I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  Teddy swiped again. I ducked low, slid under the arc of his claws, and came up inside his guard. My hand pressed against his chest, and I shoved, not with muscle, but with every ounce of force my tactile telekinesis could muster.

  The bear lifted off its feet, hundreds of kilos worth of reanimated muscle and metal suspended like a puppet.

  Then I slammed him down.

  The floor buckled under the impact. Then, I yanked him up again and smashed him into the ground. Again. And again. Each blow rang with the sound of twisting metal and tearing stitches.

  “Hmm, maybe I should have used elephant muscles,” Jim was thinking aloud.

  Finally, I let go. Teddy slumped in a mangled heap, limbs bent at odd angles, chest caved in. He twitched once, then went still. The undead animals forming the circle broke the formation.

  I stood there, gasping, covered in my own blood and sweat, my bitten arm throbbing, my shirt shredded by claws. And yet… I felt incredible. Alive.

  For the first time, my power hadn’t sputtered out after a few moments. It had endured.

  Mom didn’t say anything at first, just looked at me the way a coach sizes up their fighter after a breakthrough.

  "I did it," I whispered, mostly to myself.

  ***

  "Are you sure we don't need to see a doctor?" I asked as we finally got home.

  Jim had patched me up with a first-aid kit before we left, disinfecting and bandaging the claw marks.

  "I already texted Claude," Mom replied. "That medicine he gave you is still active for about a few hours. Your tissue damage will heal overnight."

  "Overnight?" I frowned. "That fast?"

  "Faster if you sleep. He said rest speeds it up."

  I groaned and took the stairs. The pain was already fading, but not as sharply as when Claude had injected me.

  "Next time, warn me, Mom."

  "Okay, I'll warn you."

  "Thanks."

  "Hey, Max!" she called just as I reached the top step.

  "Yeah?"

  "Here's a warning: we're continuing your training in the morning."

  I stopped and turned, giving her a look. "You mean… Saturday morning?"

  "No no no," she shook her head. "Not just Saturday, and not just morning. You've got a whole week before the next tournament. I'm going to make sure you learn how to tap into your potential properly."

  I couldn't tell if I should be mad or excited. All I knew was that I wanted to collapse face-first onto my bed.

  "Fine," I muttered. "But I'm sleeping first."

  That was the last thing I said before dragging myself upstairs, every muscle in my body begging for rest.