Hitting the Mark

by Aidan Wayne

  “Yeah,” Marcus said again, quietly.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. I just hope I haven’t fucked things up.”

  “Don’t think like that,” Leo said quickly. “He says he wants to see you again, just not right now. That’s something. It sounds like maybe he’s got some of his own shit to deal with and he wants some time for that. I mean, the Olympics is a big deal.”

  “Right,” Marcus said. “Yeah.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Leo assured him. “He apologized to you. That’s, you know, that’s important.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “And I mean, look, you saw him mad today, right?”

  “Um, right.”

  Leo looked at him. “But you still think he hung the moon.”

  It wasn’t a question, because it didn’t need to be. “Yeah.”

  “Right,” Leo said. “You hold on to something like that.”

  “Only if he wants to be held, though,” Marcus said miserably.

  “Yeah,” Leo said after a moment. “Okay, I get that. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “But I really don’t think you need to worry. Just, you know, wait ’til he comes back. Have a conversation. At least it sounds like he wants to have one.”

  “Right.” It sounded like Taemin did want to talk, just not right now. And he did have something incredibly important at the forefront of his mind. It made sense.

  Didn’t make it suck any less, but it made sense.

  Chapter Twelve

  WHEN TAEMIN arrived at his hotel room, his first order of business was to go out for a meal. He was going to try to make it a priority to actually follow a schedule for when he ate. Obviously he didn’t want to eat too close to full-on training, but he spent his time on the plane reading some articles—ironically, that Preeti had sent him but he’d never gotten around to—about how to plan out eating for maximum performance, especially with carb and protein cycling. So a full meal an hour or two before a training session, something light about thirty minutes before, and then something to refuel after. It was an awful lot to keep in mind, especially being so unused to paying attention to food, but he was going to put in the effort to try.

  Second order of business was to settle in for a nap. One, he could digest while unconscious, and two, it would help get his energy up again. He was going to go full rest-day, with the exception of stretching. Being in top form was important. He was good. He knew he was good. So he had to show that.

  When he woke up, he went to take a long walk, just to be outside and get out of his hotel room, as well as to help pass the time. After returning to the hotel, he had work to do on his laptop until he needed to get dinner. He did his best to keep occupied, but… every so often he reached for his phone. Scrolled through his messages until he got to the conversation with Marcus. Good luck out there. I’ll be rooting for you.

  Every time he sighed and set his phone back down. He missed Marcus. He’d only had him back in his life for a few weeks, but he’d already become someone to miss. Maybe he’d been wrong to leave without seeing him. But at the same time, he felt like he’d be stronger for this. He was doing something on his own, without Marcus, even with how important he’d become, and mountains weren’t moving.

  Next time he’d like to share the experience with him, though.

  Time passed like syrup until it was time for him to go to bed, even with him turning in early. He got under the covers and closed his eyes to meditate. Try to calm his mind and his heart to prepare for tomorrow.

  He wasn’t sure when he dropped off to sleep, but when he woke up with his alarm, it was to barely contained excitement. It was here. What he’d been working toward for months. It was finally here.

  He’d gotten up early specifically so he could get breakfast and give it time to metabolize before he went to the gym where the trials were being held. After breakfast he took a shower, did a simple warm-up and stretches (he’d really warm up at the gym), and spent some time on his phone, smiling at all the messages and posts on the academy’s Facebook wishing him good luck.

  Good luck out there. I’ll be rooting for you.

  Soon enough it was time to head out. He grabbed up his duffel bag and made his way over to the gym.

  It was even more exciting once he was there, looking at the mat and all the other competitors warming up and otherwise getting ready.

  “Master Choi! Hey, glad to see you made it!”

  “Master Adams,” Taemin said, delighted, going to shake his hand. Master Adams pulled him into an embrace, slapping him on the back. “Good to see you again.”

  “Same, same. Competition’s going to be given a real run for its money, with you here.”

  “I could say the same about you.” Taemin grinned. Master Adams was an old friend, years of history between them as they’d moved through taekwondo circles. He was in a different weight class than Taemin, so they’d never had an “official” competitive match, though they’d had plenty just for fun. Master Adams had medaled bronze four years ago. “Going for the gold this time?”

  “Absolutely. Just gotta get there first.”

  They made small talk, them and several other masters who came up to say hello and catch up. A big competition like this was pretty much a black-belt convention. Everyone was looking forward to seeing what they could do and how far they could go.

  Soon enough, though, it was time to get back into it. They all separated to warm up and stretch, and then they were divided up by weight class and taken to different parts of the huge mat to begin the elimination rounds.

  “PICTURE IS up! Everyone settle, please. This is picture. Camera ready?”

  “Ready!”

  “Sound ready?”

  “Ready!”

  “London, ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Okay! Boom in, slate in. Roll sound.”

  “Speed!”

  “Scene one hundred twenty-nine, fight two, take six.”

  “Roll camera!”

  “Speed!”

  “Marker.”

  “Action,” London said, focusing in on the off-camera screen.

  “Come on, kid,” Marcus said, holding a hand out to Hailey. “It’s been a long day, huh? Let’s get back to the ship.”

  Hailey shook her head, looking mutinous. “I’m not going. They’ll just keep following you. I can hide out on my own.”

  Marcus sighed. “Do you really want to do this now?”

  “I’m not going!” Then her eyes widened, and Marcus turned to follow what she was looking at.

  “Cut! Set for stunt fight!”

  Marcus and Hailey froze while the stuntmen got into their positions.

  “Ready?”

  “Speed.”

  “Marker.”

  “Action!”

  Marcus waited for the thumbs-up from Leo, just off to the side, and then he moved, twisting away from the punch being thrown at his head. Hailey screamed as she was picked up, kicking and struggling, while Marcus fought to get at her. They went through the whole action sequence of Marcus being subdued while Hailey was whisked away. “And cut!”

  Marcus took the hand up off the ground and nodded to Daniel, who saluted.

  “Re-set! Angle on camera three. Makeup?”

  Hailey and Marcus got back into their positions, the stuntmen also stepping into place. Natasha, from makeup, padded away the sweat on Marcus’s forehead—it was fucking hot in his full wardrobe—and then went to smooth down Hailey’s hair. London looked them both over and nodded. “Good. Okay people, let’s do it again!”

  It was intensive work that took up Marcus’s energy and attention, and he was grateful that he had it today to pass the time and keep him busy and keep him from checking his phone every five minutes to see if Taemin had sent him an update.

  He’d gotten a text from Taemin yesterday saying that he’d landed safely but no word since then. Taemin really had meant it when he said he was going dark. Marcus had agonized over whe
ther to send him another good luck text that morning but had decided against it in the end. Since Taemin wanted to do this himself, then Marcus would let him. He could show Taemin that he did respect him and his choices.

  No matter what happened with the trials, Marcus would be there for Taemin to come back to. Ready to talk, ready to listen, and willing to do what he could to make things work for the both of them.

  TAEMIN TOOK out his mouth guard and grabbed up his water bottle, emptying a good half of it in one go. Seven matches down. Seven wins. He was doing his best and so far, it had been good enough.

  His stamina wasn’t deserting him either, which pleased him to no end. Thursday had really worried him, but after a good night’s sleep Thursday and Friday evening, on top of actually remembering to eat at reasonable times… he was holding his own.

  Seven matches down, seven wins, eight to go.

  He used his break to observe some of the other competitors as they participated in their own rounds. Ate half an energy bar and drank some more water. Spent some time taking several deep breaths to recenter himself.

  When he was called back up, he stood and pulled his helmet back on, put his mouth guard back in. Stepped to the middle of the mat in front of the referee. Bowed when he was instructed to, and then the match was off.

  The pace was brutal, fantastic just like all the other matches had been. He kept his arms up and went for as many points as fast as he could. That had been his strategy all along—get in, go fast, score.

  The match was called, points to him. Another round done, another round won.

  Taemin breathed out. He was getting closer.

  Another match, points to him.

  Closer.

  Time stopped but for the match beginnings and endings, and his focus narrowed down to speed and movement, blocks and attacks. Tenth round, eleventh, twelfth—

  Thirteenth round and he was up against a man on the larger end of the weight class. With him being on the lower end, that meant a shift in balance; he probably had more speed, his opponent probably had more power. Hopefully it would even out and Taemin would be able to take an advantage.

  They bowed in, the referee signaled them to start, and his opponent immediately struck out with a kick so fast the leg on his dobok snapped. Taemin just managed to move out of the way, but the speed and power of his opponent was clear. He would manage a point, his opponent got two, three to Taemin, one to the competition.

  At time for round two, they were tied. Reset for the third round, Sijak. They both went in for a kick at the same time, colliding and pushing each other back. Taemin recovered into a spin, aiming for the head, and his opponent brought his arm to block as he twisted away.

  It was the wrong set of movements for both of them at exactly the wrong time, and his opponent’s elbow collided at full-force with Taemin’s shin. Taemin hissed in pain but recovered, setting his leg back onto the ground.

  “Gamjeom!” the referee cried, throwing up a hand to stop the match.

  Panting, Taemin froze, grateful for the short break; his leg was on fire.

  The referee came up to determine if Taemin had been match-stoppingly injured. Taemin quickly assured him he was fine, and after some conferring, it was decided the match would continue.

  With his opponent’s penalty and only fifteen seconds left, Taemin played defensively until the match was called. Points to him. He’d won another round.

  It was an effort not to limp off the mat as he was given his breather, but he pushed through the pain. Two more matches. He could absolutely take on two more matches.

  “Sorry,” his opponent said, coming up to him, clearly upset. He had a thick Russian accent. “So sorry. You step, I move wrong. Not mean to hit so hard that way.”

  “I know,” Taemin assured him. “It’s okay.”

  “Your moves very good,” the man said. He held out a hand. “Sasha Petrov.”

  “Taemin Choi,” Taemin said, shaking it. “Thank you.”

  “How long you train?”

  “Thirty-four years, if you count childhood.”

  Sasha shook his head, grinning now. “Always should count. They make us work very hard.”

  “How long have you been practicing?”

  “Nineteen years. I’m start when I’m seven.”

  They chatted a little longer in between sips of water, Taemin resting most of his weight on his right leg. He’d been lucky in that, at least. His right leg was stronger, his left more flexible, so most of his power needed to come from the right. That his dominant leg was still in good shape meant he had a much higher chance of moving forward.

  “Your turn again,” Sasha said, nodding at the ring when Taemin was called back. “Good luck. I’m hoping for you to win.”

  “Thank you,” Taemin said before putting his helmet back on, mouth guard back in.

  It wasn’t too bad, walking to the ring now that he’d gotten a bit of rest. It was probably mostly shock, he thought, that had made his shin hurt the way it had at time of impact. Now things, okay, did still hurt, but he knew he’d be able to fight through. He stood in front of the referee and bowed to his new opponent.

  “Sijak!”

  Go hard, go fast, go strong. Breathe and think of nothing else. Pain had no business here. Taemin was going to fight and score and win—

  First round to him.

  Again.

  Second round to his opponent.

  Again.

  Third round—

  Taemin squeezed his eyes shut when the match was called. Points to him. He’d done it.

  One more match.

  MARCUS CHECKED his phone. Still nothing. It was about two o’clock, and he had been given a break while lighting and rigging worked on some set stuff. He used the time to drink and eat something, just to fuel his body. He really hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Preeti about how much he had to eat to sustain himself. Sometimes that even meant eating when he didn’t feel like it or particularly want to.

  And that was just getting him to think about Taemin yet again. How he was doing. How the competition was going of course, but how he was doing. Marcus couldn’t get the image of Taemin falling to his knees out of his mind. He worried. Of course he worried. He wanted to check in, but he needed to give Taemin his space, and Taemin wouldn’t have his phone on him anyway. So that didn’t even matter. He’d talk to Marcus when he was ready. If he wanted to.

  Marcus was rooting for him, but he hoped that if Taemin did make it, he’d try to still take a step back. Not run himself so hard into the ground. Surely he’d understand that to be in top form, there was only so far you could push your body before it became a detriment.

  THE FOURTEENTH round had been a hard-won battle. Even if Taemin wasn’t putting most of his weight on his left leg, it was still his main striking leg, not to mention he used it to bound, to circle, when he changed things up to strike with his right.

  He hurt. He couldn’t deny that he hurt. Fighting with the injury had only exacerbated it.

  But he could do it. He could do one more.

  However, first he had to go through the medical check. At the beginning of the trials, everyone competing had to undergo a medical check to make sure they were fit to participate. For the last round, there was another one for the two competitors, to determine that they were still good to go.

  When the doctor came over to Taemin, he went straight for Taemin’s left leg and prompted Taemin to pull up his dobok. He did so, wincing even at that small movement and then more so when he saw his leg.

  A bruise the size of a fist already started to color the skin, a dark, angry purple. It… it looked pretty bad. The doctor felt around it carefully, Taemin hissing in pain, and then moved on, checking the rest of Taemin over.

  When the check was complete, the doctor told Taemin to wait and then went to talk to the committee.

  After several minutes of conferring, one of the judges came over.

  “Doctor Mason says that you’ve probably bruised t
he bone, if not splintered it,” he said. “You have two options. You could compete and possibly break your leg, or you can take a medical bye that will allow you to recompete at the next trials in four years.”

  Taemin took a shaky breath. That wasn’t much of a choice. “The injury is that bad?”

  The judge nodded. “Doctor Mason strongly suggests you take the bye.”

  Taemin’s mind whirled. To give up now was almost unthinkable. He had to at least try, didn’t he? He was skilled. And he was so close. He couldn’t go home having just given up. What would he tell his school? They were all rooting for him. Expecting him to go all the way. What would he say about getting so far and then deciding he’d had enough?

  But… what would he tell his students, who trusted him and looked up to him and saw him as a role model, if he pushed too hard and got seriously hurt as a result?

  What would he say to them then?

  What sort of example was he setting to be pushing himself so hard and brushing off the concerns of those he cared about? To even consider unnecessarily doing something that could result in a broken bone? If Jamal or Roshen, or even Preeti, had been doing to themselves what he had been doing to his own body….

  Besides, if he did end up injuring himself that badly, he’d be useless. Forget competing at the games—he wouldn’t be able to teach. And that… that was really the most important thing, wasn’t it? Not bringing home medals to display at his school, but being able to run it the way he believed it should be run.

  A bye was not what he wanted, but it still gave him a chance in four years. And he could take it knowing he had done his best. He’d competed in good form and gotten as far as the final match. He’d done well. Even if this wasn’t how he wanted things to end.

  What choice did he have, in the end?

  He’d done well.

  Taemin bowed his head. “I’ll take the bye.”

  The judge nodded. “Let me speak to the rest of the committee.”

  Fifteen minutes later, and Taemin was on his way to urgent care. He had planned to stay after the fights were all over and go out with the other masters, but part of him couldn’t summon up the strength to. Instead he said his goodbyes, traded contact information with the people he’d met anew (included Sasha, who had been stricken at the news), and went where Doctor Mason suggested.