As the tournament approached Zazm found himself more focused than ever. He spent hours at the Capoeira Institute, perfecting his moves and visualizing his performance. He felt a mix of excitement and nerves, but he was determined to give it his all.
Meanwhile, Jahanox continued to have fun with his powers, but he kept Zazm's warning in mind.
He practiced on his classmates, but he made sure to keep it light and harmless. He would nudge their thoughts just enough to create laughter and fun, but he avoided anything that could lead to serious consequences or suspicion.
One afternoon, as they met for their usual study session, Jahanox couldn't help but bring up the tournament again. "So, are you ready to become the Capoeira Champion?" he teased, leaning back in his chair.
Zazm grinned, his confidence shining through. "Absolutely! I've been training like crazy. I'm going to show everyone what I can do!"
"Yeah good luck at that.." Jahanox said before he continued, "Oh and I hope you aren't angry that I'm the most popular kid right now."
Zazm leaned backwards on his chair, "That sounds... Funny. I accept you've taken my place but...." He paused watching Jahanox getting restless.
"But what?" He asked leaning towards on the table, Zazm smirked and crossed his arms, "But do you really think you can compare yourself to me? I don't go to school often yet I'm invited to every hangout. That's just me."
Jahanox let out a mocking laugh, "Heh... Now you are just spouting bullshit." Zazm grabbed his glass and sipped the smoothie down, "whatever helps you sleep tonight."
---
The clouds covered the sky and the atmosphere was filled with moisture and cold. The pleasent scent of the training hall covered the entire area.
Zazm stood Infront of a mirror fixing his uniform and getting ready for the tournament. "Alrighty, let's get this tournament rolling." He smirked but something about that smile seemed off.
"I can never get used to this uniform..." From the very first day he hated the uniform the Titan institute had. And he knew when Jahanox sees this, if won't go down easily. He sighed and exited the locker room.
---
The "Titan Institute of Martial Arts" loomed, a monument of polished chrome and shimmering, aquamarine glass.
Zazm stared at his reflection in a particularly pristine window, the aquamarine light turning his already pale skin an unsettling shade of seafoam green.
He looked like a drowned goth. He tugged at the collar of his uniform, a blindingly bright turquoise that seemed to glow with an inner, mocking light. "Titan," he muttered, the word sounding like a cruel joke. "More like 'Teal-tan.'"
He'd envisioned sleek, black combat gear, something that whispered of power and precision. Something expected of a rich institute like this.
Instead, he looked like a tropical fish that had wandered into a mosh pit. He could practically hear the drumroll of impending ridicule. Today was the inter-institute tournament, and he was a walking, talking punchline.
He braced himself. As he saw a figure emerging from shadows...."Here it comes."
From the shadow Jahanox emerged but he stopped after looking at his friend,"Zazm! You look… magnificent!" He looked him up and down again and again. Zazm clenched his fists trying not to Ko this guy.
Jahanox spoke his voice, dripping with exaggerated awe, he sauntered towards him, a wide, mischievous grin plastered across his face. He gestured dramatically at Zazm's uniform. "Like a… a majestic, shimmering… aquamarine squid!"
Jahanox burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching his stomach. "Seriously, did they lose a bet? Did they run out of actual colors."
Zazm gritted his teeth, his dark eyes narrowed. "It's turquoise," he corrected, his voice a low growl. "And no, I don't know why they decided to make it look like a pool party threw up on me."
"A pool party thrown by a pack of hyperactive Smurfs," Jahanox added, wiping a tear from his eye. "Imagine facing down a rival, all serious and intimidating, and then… BAM!… they see that."
He pointed at Zazm's uniform. "They'll be too busy laughing to fight!"
"Exactly my fear," Zazm said, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. "I'm going to blind them with my… radiance." He struck a dramatic pose, the turquoise fabric shimmering under the institute's harsh lighting.
"Behold! The Turquoise Terror! The Aquamarine Avenger! The… the Seafoam Spectre!"
"I should say 'Fishes Assemble', it will look cool." Zazm said pulling his uniform in irritation
"The… the Drowned Disco Ball!" Jahanox offered, still chuckling. "Wait... I have another one... The Poseidon's lackey."
Jahanox laughed like a madman, "Oh, man, this is gold. You're going to be legendary. Legendary for looking like you swam through a bucket of blue paint."
Zazm sighed, a mixture of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "Just… try not to laugh when I'm actually fighting, okay?"
"No promises," Jahanox grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. "But hey, at least you'll be easy to spot in the crowd. Like a giant, glowing beacon of… well, of that." He gestured again at the uniform. "Go get 'em, Seaweed fighter!"
The arena thrummed, the air thick with anticipation. Zazm, a blur of turquoise against the polished chrome floor, spun into a lightning-fast meia lua de compasso, his foot whistling inches from his opponent, Brutus's, face.
'Nobody told me I'll be fighting a professional... Hell didn't they say it's for newbies?'
Brutus, a mountain of muscle and scowls, barely flinched, his own style a brutal mix of power punches and bone-jarring blocks.
Zazm knew he was outmatched in sheer strength. He had to rely on his agility, his speed, the unpredictable flow of capoeira.
He feinted left, then right, a whirlwind of kicks and cartwheels, trying to find an opening. But Brutus was a wall, a relentless, unyielding wall.
From the sidelines, Jahanox's voice boomed, a chaotic soundtrack to the fight. "Go, Turquoise Tornado! Show him the power of the… the… tropical tide!"
Zazm got distracted from Jahanox's shouting and looked at the crowd, who was now also looking at his pretty uniform. 'Fucking hell.' He looked like a clown in an underwater circus.
Zazm barely suppressed a groan. He needed focus, not a running commentary on his unfortunate attire.
He launched into a queda de rins, a low, sweeping kick, hoping to catch Brutus off guard. Brutus, however, anticipated the move, his massive hand shooting out like a bear trap, grabbing Zazm's ankle.
"Uh oh! He's got the Seaweed Snack!" Jahanox yelled, his voice laced with mock horror.
Brutus hoisted Zazm into the air, a terrifying display of brute force. Zazm, dangling upside down, felt a surge of panic. He had to do something, anything. 'This... Guy'
He twisted his body, using the momentum to swing his free leg up, aiming a desperate martelo do chão at Brutus's exposed temple. It was a risky move, a hail-mary, but it was all he had.
The kick connected with a resounding thwack. Brutus staggered, his grip loosening. Zazm dropped to the ground, landing in a precarious crouch.
"He kicked the Mountain! He kicked the Mountain with a… a fishy foot!" Jahanox roared, his voice echoing through the arena. The entire arena laughed at his funny commentary and laughter echoed throughout the arena.
Brutus, his eyes narrowed, charged, a raging bull. Zazm, his breath ragged, dodged and weaved, his capoeira a frantic dance of survival. He spun, kicked, and ducked, each move a desperate gamble.
He saw an opening, a flicker of vulnerability in Brutus's stance. He launched into a series of rapid armadas, his spinning kicks a blur of turquoise.
Brutus, momentarily disoriented, stumbled. Zazm seized the opportunity, his foot connecting with Brutus's chin in a final, decisive meia lua de frente.
Brutus crashed to the ground, a thunderous thud. The referee, wide-eyed, raised Zazm's hand.
"The Turquoise Terror triumphs! He's the… the aquatic ace!" Jahanox shrieked, his voice filled with triumphant laughter. The crowd also started applauding.
---
The finals. The grand stage. The spotlight, blindingly bright, reflected off the aquamarine walls of the arena, turning Zazm's uniform into a shimmering beacon.
He stood opposite his opponent, a girl named Lyra, who looked as delicate as a porcelain doll. She was slight, almost frail, with eyes that held an unsettling intensity.
Jahanox, naturally, was in his element. "Go, Zazm! Show that… that… minnow what a real shark can do!"
Zazm ignored him, focusing on Lyra. He knew better than to underestimate her. Her stance, though seemingly relaxed, held a coiled power, a quiet menace. The bell rang, and she moved. Not with brute force, but with a fluid, almost ethereal grace.
She flowed around him, her movements a mesmerizing dance of strikes and evasions. Zazm, now battle-hardened, met her attacks with a newfound precision.
He'd learned to harness the chaotic energy of capoeira, to channel it into focused power. His kicks were sharper, his spins faster, his reflexes honed by countless hours of training and the constant, hilarious distractions from Jahanox.
Lyra's style was a blend of swift strikes and subtle pressure point attacks. She was a master of exploiting his momentum, turning his own strength against him.
She seemed to anticipate his every move, her slender limbs deflecting his kicks and punches with effortless ease.
"She's dancing around him like a… a… sparkling jellyfish!" Jahanox yelled, his voice a mix of awe and bewilderment.
Zazm, sweating profusely, felt a growing frustration. He was faster, stronger, yet she was always one step ahead. He realized she wasn't just reacting to his attacks; she was manipulating him, leading him into traps.
He changed his approach, slowing his movements, becoming more deliberate. He feinted, drawing her into a counterattack, then shifted his weight, using her momentum to launch a powerful benção kick.
Lyra, however, was ready. She deflected the kick, her palm striking his pressure point on his leg, momentarily numbing his limb. He stumbled, giving her an opening.
She darted in, her fingers a blur of motion, striking a series of pressure points on his chest. Zazm gasped, his breath catching in his throat. He felt a wave of dizziness, his vision blurring.
"He's being tickled to death! Tickled by a… a feather duster!" Jahanox cried, his voice laced with panic.
Zazm, fighting through the pain, knew he had to end this. He couldn't rely on speed or power. He needed a surprise, a move she wouldn't expect.
He dropped to one knee, performing a low, sweeping rasteira, aiming for her ankles.
Lyra, expecting a high kick, was caught off guard.
She stumbled, her balance momentarily disrupted. Zazm seized the opportunity, launching a meia lua de frente, his foot connecting with her shoulder.
She fell, her eyes wide with surprise. Zazm, his body screaming in protest, rose to his feet. He had to finish this.
He launched a flurry of rapid kicks, a relentless barrage of armadas and martelos. Lyra, still disoriented, couldn't defend herself. The referee, seeing her unable to continue, stepped in, raising Zazm's hand.
The crowd erupted in cheers, the sound echoing through the arena. Zazm, his body aching, his uniform soaked in sweat, stood victorious. He had won. He'd actually won while wearing a uniform that made him look like a tropical fish.
"He did it! The Turquoise Titan! The… the Aquamarine Ace reigns supreme!" Jahanox roared, his voice hoarse with excitement.
Zazm looked at his friend, a weary smile spreading across his face.
Zazm, gasping for air, managed a weak smile. He'd won, but at what cost? He looked down at his turquoise uniform, now covered in sweat and dust. He was a champion, a battered, turquoise-clad champion. He just hoped his next uniform was black. Or at least, anything but this.
The humiliation he left today would never b forgotten. He was a laughing stock today. It was less of a fighting tournament and more of a roasting session. He swore in his mind, 'I'll get you back for this Nox.'
---
The day of dance finally arrived. The gym throbbed with the bass of a pop anthem, the strobe lights painting the scene in a kaleidoscope of colors.
Jahanox, now sporting a sleek, custom-tailored silver suit that actually looked good, strutted onto the dance floor with an air of practiced swagger.
He'd spent weeks perfecting his moves, a meticulously choreographed routine he was sure would crown him the undisputed king of the dance.
Zazm, as usual, lurked in the shadows, a dark silhouette against the flashing lights. He wore a simple, elegant black suit, a stark contrast to Jahanox's shimmering spectacle.
"Tonight," Jahanox announced, his voice amplified by the gym's speakers, "is the culmination of weeks of grueling practice! Prepare to be amazed!"
He winked at Zazm. "You, my friend, can witness greatness from the sidelines." He then launched into his routine, a series of slick, surprisingly well-executed dance moves.
He was doing actual pop dance choreography, not some random flailing. The crowd was impressed, and he was soaking it all in.
But then, Zazm stepped onto the dance floor. He moved with a quiet confidence, his movements fluid and precise. He started with a subtle ginga, the foundational step of capoeira, then seamlessly transitioned into a series of graceful au (cartwheels) and queixadas (spinning kicks) that looked more like dance than fighting.
The crowd, initially captivated by Jahanox's polished routine, was now mesmerized by Zazm's effortless artistry. To Zazm it was just fighting stance but Zazm made them look like a cool dance.
"How's that? I made my fighting style a dance."
Jahanox, mid-pirouette, saw the shift in attention. His meticulously crafted routine, once the center of the universe, was now relegated to a sideshow.
He looked like a silver robot experiencing a software glitch. Zazm, fueled by the subtle joy of a perfectly executed revenge, escalated his performance.
He incorporated flowing macacos (monkey jumps) and a breathtaking au batido (capoeira backflip), his movements a blend of power and grace, his moments beautiful he always stopped them halfways and added some random dance steps.
The crowd erupted, their phones flashing, capturing every move. He wasn't even doing flashy fight moves, he was just making capoeira look like the most amazing dance anyone had ever seen.
Jahanox, his silver suit now a symbol of his impending defeat, tried to salvage the situation.
He attempted a dramatic spin, but his foot caught on a stray streamer, sending him stumbling towards the refreshment table.
He managed to avoid a full-on collision, but sent a tray of chocolate chip cookies flying, coating himself and a nearby group of students in a sugary mess. He looked like a glittery, cookie-covered statue of defeated pride.
Zazm, with a final, elegant bananeira (handstand) that held for an impossibly long time, brought his routine to a close. The gym exploded with cheers, the crowd chanting his name. He walked over to Jahanox, who was picking cookie crumbs from his silver suit, his face a mask of mortified disbelief.
"Having fun?" Zazm asked, his voice laced with gentle amusement. "I thought you said you'd been practicing for weeks."
Jahanox, his voice a strained whisper, could only manage, "But… but… It was good!"
Zazm smiled. "You were. But sometimes, effortless cool trumps practiced perfection." He then executed a smooth, almost casual au and walked away, leaving Jahanox to contemplate the bitter taste of cookie-flavored humiliation.
"Haha fuck you! asshole you win this time." Jahanox laughed bitterly and got up to follow the Zazm, he hit him in the back if his head and both continued to enjoy the part afterwards.
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