Training: day 13
 
>After senselessly beating that trash bag on day one, You have found the sensation to be  an excellent stress reliever. so much so that you’ve started doing it every day thereafter.
>Improvising a punching bag out of some rolled canvas and gloves out of duck tape and old rags, you now find yourself spending every minute of your spare time beating on your substitute equipment
>Every second spent sweating, every punch thrown and every calorie burnt brings a seemingly bliss liberation from your woes
>and after its gone, it still leaves a lasting impression on you
>Even after it fades, you still feel free from the irritations of your job and the worries of your relationship.
>Its Almost gotten to be addicting. You find yourself staying up late at night to punch the bag and getting up early to punch the bag
>On day 13, you sit down to eat lunch with Applejack again. She can’t help but notice your performance, mood and overall disposition has improved dramatically since the two of you shared your last conversation.
>“Ya look ‘lot better, Sugarcube. Did’ya win Dash back yet?”
Nope, I’m not even worried about it anymore.
>“Why not?”
I thought on what you said. I’m just going to let it go. Our relationship was ill-fated from the word go. All things considered, I’m glad that her and I are just distanced from one another and not a couple who argues all day long.
>She lowers her head. Acknowledging your sturdiness on the matter
>“That’s a hard decision to come to, but your takin’ it well. I’m proud of ‘ya, Anon.  ”
Well, I did find a great way to cope with the stress
>Applejack grows a sudden and slight suspicion, wondering if you might be involved in any sort of regrettable activities in your spare time
>“Y’all ain’t doin’ anything I wouldn’t do, are ya?”
>You identify her suspiciousness immediately. However, you genuinely have no idea if she’d be into boxing or if boxing is stigmatized in pony culture. Thus you shrug and choose your next words with some precise verbal manipulation, Careful to find a response that is both truthful and low-risk
Not that I know of
>She buys it
>“just wonderin’”
>With the distraction of your new hobby, working the remainder of your shift is the easiest its been in ages. Your body sinks back into it’s automaton movement as your mind wanders back to beating the rolled up canvas.
>You wonder how you will punch it today. How will you punch it tomorrow? Will you ever get sick of punching it? Why do you like punching it so much?
>such simple-minded questions for such a simple-minded interest. Yet its all so satisfying
>With your mind pre-occupied, your shift passes by so quickly, almost as if it didn’t even happen.
>You merrily make your way home and find Rainbow Dash not present anywhere in the house, as usual. You’re unshaken by it. As best as you can figure, she went off to nap on a cloud or whatever.
>You find your tape and rags and begin making your improvised gloves right away. You Pad the Rags up against your knuckles and wrap your wrists and hands in tape, save for your fingers as to give you a little more free movement.
>As you head down into the basement, you find that Dash is not off in the clouds as you had guessed, she is in fact waiting for you next to the bag.
>She looks at you, filled with curiosity.
>“Anon, what do you do down here all the time?”
>You raise your wrapped hands up and look at them. She looks with you, now somewhat interested
>Only feeling tentatively invested in her interest, you just shrug as if it doesn’t even matter to you
Oh, you know. Just practicing boxing.
>Dash looks at your hands then back to you, You wonder what’s going on in her mind as she scrutinizes your improvised equipment. Will she not care? Will she decide to leave you? Should you even worry if she does? Your contemplations continue as silence fills the room
>“…Can I watch?”
>Your eyes widen in surprise. Does she actually want to do something with you again?
Y-yeah, You can watch.
>“Okay, you gonna start?”
>You approach the bag and stand still for a moment in amazement that this is actually happening. You take a moment to look back at her in bewilderment. Perhaps you may have jumped to the conclusion of letting go of your relationship too soon…
>“Don’t worry about me. Just pretend that I’m not here”
>Pretending she isn’t present is strikingly difficult.
>You do your best to focus on the bag as you begin punching it with her watching.
>You’re thrown off by this sudden turn of events. It turns out there is hope for the two of you after all. More than one would think could spawn from such a small and insignificant event…
 
Raging Minotaur: Round 2
>You return to your corner and collapse in your stool. As you remove your mouth guard to allow yourself a quick rinse and spit, you consider throwing in the towel before you’re seriously injured
>But as you lie in doubt of yourself, you hear a familiar voice ready to shout a rebuttal to your uncertainty
>“He‘s nothing! You can do this, Anon!”
>You turn to greet your faithful manager, trainer and only pony in the entire arena
Dash, I don’t know what I’ve gotten into! I’m getting killed out there! He’s too much!
>Rainbow Dash, being the headstrong bull that she is herself, shares none of your despair
>“He’s not too much! He’s too full of himself! Look at him over there, He’s not taking you serious!”
>You gaze across the ring to see your opponent sharing a casual chuckle with his trainer as he mimics the events of round one. Mockingly throwing punches, taking punches, dodging punches and such
>“He’s made so many careless mistakes this round. Focus so you don’t miss them. You can win this if you exploit them, Anon. Don’t tell yourself you can’t”
>Before you can reply, the bell rings and the next round starts. No doubt for the better as if you had the opportunity to respond, you were liable to continue undermining yourself
>You stuff your mouth guard back in as you head for your foe with Dash’s coaching in mind.
>Exploit a mistake, how hard can it be?
>As Will begins his attack, you take defense by covering up your face with your hands, watching his movements and anticipating your opportunity
>In response to you defending your face, He throws a straight punch into your stomach.
>In your anticipation, you’ve forgotten that area of your body was open to attack.
>Will knocking the wind out of you is a handy reminder
>You cover it up with your forearms, readying to dodge the oncoming swings that you predict he’ll be throwing at your face in response
>Sure enough, he doesn’t disappoint. You’re able to dodge the first three coming in
>Then the five coming in after that
>then the six coming in after that
>You’re not taking any hits directly or indirectly but him dishing out so many consecutive attacks turns waiting for that mistake into a battle of it’s own
>Dodging just isn’t enough, you need a ploy
>You take the first thing that comes to mind; tricking him into thinking you’re ready for the KO
>You push Him away and lunge back to keep your distance. You shake your knees and act like you’re starting to fatigue
>He turns back to his trainer and smirks before closing in for you.
>His jabs resume. You shift from dodging them to blocking them halfheartedly, hoping to make the tired act seem more realistic.
>You wonder if your scheme is going to work at all. He just keeps throwing one quick and well recovered jab after the next.
>In time you do actually grow tired and even somewhat drowsy from taking the jabs indirectly.
>He may very well continue to throw jabs until you ARE KO’d
>But with no warning or foreshadowing, Will pulls his arm back for a wide and exaggerated left handed haymaker.
>You identify your opportunity right away.
>This is it, this is the careless mistake you’ve been waiting for.
>You take a deep breath and concentrate. In the intensity of your focus, time seems to slow down.
>He throws his punch with little to no worry about recovering from it. As its less than an forearm’s length away from your face, you cut the act and slip back slightly, causing the punch to miss you completely.
>After it sails past you, Will becomes thrown off balance by such a careless and clumsy move. His whole body falls forward and his eye widen in terror as he realizes he’s just made a horrible mistake.
>You follow up your dodge by using the inside of your right forearm to swat away his misfired punch, causing him to lose balance even further.
>You follow that up by curling your left hand into a tight fist and tossing an uppercut right into his chin.
>It hits square on, not a hair off in any direction. His dilated eyes squint in pain as the forward momentum of his staggering body only makes what was by itself a hard hit even more so.
>He changes direction, stumbling backwards clumsily and completely defenseless
>He’ll most likely fall down from that alone, but after standing through such a one sided round you’d rather not leave it to chance
>As he’s half a ring‘s distance away, you pull back your right arm for a wide and exaggerated haymaker of your own.
>You charge in rapidly, channel all your might into your fist and leap into the air to ensure that his height advantage won’t serve as a hindrance to your accuracy.
>Your body hangs suspended in midair, undaunted by such a cumbersome notion as gravity.
>You hear the whistling screech made by your soaring fist as it hurls for it’s destination.
>You’re deafened for a split second as the clash of fist on flesh makes a loud, crashing, clattering, clanking, crunch.
>Will is thrown to the deck violently. his body thuds loudly as it hits the mat before recoiling back up into the air and landing with a second loud thud.
>In stark contrast, you land gracefully on the soles of your feet just as the flow of time resumes it’s normal pace
>The crowd explodes in uproar, half of it cheering loudly and the other half letting out an audible and dramatic gasp in unison
>Even the referee seems stunned by this sudden turn of events but he quickly begins counting will out nonetheless.
>“1...2..3...4...5...6...”
>But the round ends before Will can be counted out.
>Despite him being saved by the bell, you continue counting to assess just how devastating that swing punch really was
…7...8..9...10...11...12...13...14..15...
>If the breathing patterns of his oversized torso weren’t so obvious, you’d have half a mind that you killed him.
>He finally makes a movement after you count to 25. That would have counted as a knockout two and a half times over. with that in mind you head back to your corner with renewed spirits.
>You look over your shoulder on the way there. Now merely sitting up, The recuperating Will glares you down as he comes to the conclusion that this will not be as easy of a fight as he had first anticipated.