Somai scoffed, assuming his perfect mu tai thaai stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands up, elbows protecting his ribs, weight balanced. 130 fights had refined that stance to perfection. Bruce adopted his own stance. Feet closer together, weight back, hands in a position that looked simultaneously relaxed and ready to explode.
“Go ahead, Bruce,” he said expressionlessly. Somai immediately attacked with his favorite weapon. A low roundhouse kick, hardened shin aimed at Bruce’s thigh, intent on crippling the leg. It was the technique that had destroyed dozens of opponents. The leg spun with terrifying speed, the air whistling through the air. Second one.
Bruce moved forward into the arc of the kick before it generated power. His hand drove Somchai’s knee down, while his right fist shot toward Somchai’s throat, stopping an inch from contact. It could have crushed him. It didn’t. Second two.
Somchai, surprised but not intimidated, unleashed a boxing combination: jab, cross, hook. Perfect technique, real speed. Bruce dodged by moving his head precisely where needed, each punch passing exactly where his face had been a moment before. He countered with a palm strike to Somchai’s solar plexus, stopping at the contact without following through with force.
Another message. You’re open here too. Somchai’s friends stopped shouting. Something was wrong. This wasn’t what they expected. Second three. Somchai attempted a Thai clinch, grabbing Bruce’s head to gain control and unleash devastating knee strikes. His hands almost reached Bruce’s neck. Almost.
