Part 5: Within the Palm

Ulu: I saw her tripping over herself as she ran, her flames ready to blaze out of control.
Ulu: All she needs is a little help to get that brightness back.
Ulu: I tried to share some light with her. So we could merge into a sacred flame atop that brilliant platform, just like we did in the past.
The flame persists, spreading onward, advancing in the darkness—almost reaching the feet of the one it's chasing.
Ulu: It's just like Malingee. I have to find a way to get to you... Only this is the first time I’ve seen it through the eyes of a competitor.
Ulu: Seriously, if we can revive the Uluru Games, we should simplify its rules ...
Coach: Are you ready?
Most of the people present simply nod their heads. Scattered echoes of agreement sound from all around.
This is the first time these children will have the chance to experience anything resembling a formal competition.
Even though it is just a friendly competition at their familiar training ground, the exchanging of blows is real.
Spathodea: This is it!
Spathodea: I’m ready to go!
Coach: When you step into the ring, you need to give it your all—don’t let everything you’ve learned so far go to waste.
Coach: In the ring, there’s only you and your opponent. Respect the work put in by the person standing across from you.
Coach: But while you’re still out of the ring, try to relax a bit.
The coach smiles and gives everyone a light punch, one by one, wishing them good luck. Finally, he punches Spathodea.
Coach: Seize your chance, kid.
Spathodea: ...Thank you.
???: Go get it, little girl.
This encouragement comes unexpectedly from a stranger.
Spathodea: Thank you! I will... Huh? Who are you?
Coach: Liam, you actually came! Keep your eye on this girl here—let me tell you, she’s going places—
With this gentle push to both motivate her and urge her on, the little girl leaps out from the rest area.
Coach: Go on. Adjust your breathing, and remember all the exercises we’ve been doing.
The arena stands before her. The familiar faces of friends, neighbors, and family who came to support her now surround this small square battlefield.
She breathes deeply. Then, exhaling her tension, she calmly crawls through the ropes.
Spathodea: breathes out
Spathodea: Let me see... I’m... red.
Ulu: Stay calm, Flammy! Keep your eyes on your opponent—
Spathodea: ...! Push your opponent to the edge of the ring and keep the distance between you as short as possible...
The light bulb above her head radiates a sharply piercing light.
Beneath the tips of her toes, the ring floor is as coarse as earth, and the earth is as red as crimson flames.
One voice, two voices—merged into a wave of cheers.
Spathodea: I’ve heard cries like this before.
Spathodea: Through brilliant flames rising from the soil—or were they falling?
Spathodea: Don't let yourself get pushed too far away, and don't clench too tightly.
Ulu: Sparks should be observed from an appropriate distance. Listen for their bursts—feel their warmth.
The wind howls in her ears, and the air heats up all around her, rushing to her cheeks.
Opponent: Yeah...!
Coach: ...
Spathodea: Lower your center of gravity, then step to the right—circle around your opponent's side...
Ulu: ...Find an opening, weave through the crowd.
Opponent: Then a hit...!
Spathodea: Step back! Create some distance...
Spathodea: Offense is defense... Raise your arms, protect your chin...
Spathodea: Hyah!
Her blow glances off her opponent's shoulder.
Opponent: Huh?! What was...
Ulu: Don't get distracted, remember your goal—reach out your arm!
Spathodea: It's okay... Just find another chance...
Opponent: Take this!
Spathodea: ...Ugh!
It takes a while for the stinging sensation to rise from her side to the top of her head.
Sweat soaks her hair and fingers. Her surroundings throb and pulsate in the reflection of flickering flames.
The sound of her beating heart drowns out the deafening crowd.
Spathodea: Which spark should I seize?
Mother: Maybe someday soon, your beloved Uluru Games will return. Come on, Cookie!
Ulu: You’re the strongest athlete I’ve ever seen, Flammy! We...
Coach: Spathodea will win that golden belt.
Ulu: Flammy! Eyes front!
Sam: Spathodea!!!
Mia: Come on! Spathodea!!
Crowd: Flammy! Flammy!
Myriad voices twist into a rope, suddenly pulling her up.
Spathodea: huff, puff Hah!
Spathodea: Whenever you punch, your strength needs to come from your feet...
Spathodea: Launch, twist your body...
Spathodea: I remember I grabbed at that burning flame just like this.
Spathodea: Straighten your arms and fearlessly throw your fingertips into it.
Spathodea: All in the... same direction!
Audience: Crikey! That little girl's stuck in the corner... She doesn’t stand a chance.
Coach: Exactly the opposite.
Opponent: You...!
Opponent: This is boxing, you little runt! You think a pipsqueak like you can...
Ulu: Hah! Flammy’s quick enough to find a way out of anything...
Ulu: It’s right in front of her!
Opponent: Oof... Urgh!
Crowd: Spathodea! Spathodea!
Coach: I knew that little boost would bag her the win...
Coach: I was right about this one.

Slightly prickly fabric, with visible stitch marks at the edges, a gaudy combination of yellow and green.
This was what she won from her junior boxing match. That competition felt more like a high-stakes talent show, with the prize nothing more than a cheap imitation of a real golden belt.
A beloved decoration and a symbol of past glory, it has been with her for a long time. And now, new glories adorn her waist.
Spathodea: Hehe, I’ve been good to you, haven’t I? You’re still as beautiful as a pastel painting.
Spathodea: I’ll keep you in the little cabinet in my bedroom and come say hi and chat with you once in a while.
Spathodea: Good bye, my old friend.
She arches her fingers and gently touches the textured embroidery.
She folds it in half and smooths out the wrinkles. The second fold turns it into a palm-sized green patch.
Finally, she puts it in her backpack and zips it up.
Coach: A new belt and a new set of gloves. Pretty decent, eh?
Coach: Take it. Towels, water—don't drink too much at once.
The coach nods and handing over the items in his hands.
Spathodea: Ah... Right. Thank you!
Coach: Congrats, kid.
Liam: A prize fit for a champion.
Spathodea: Oh! You’re...? In the rest area just now...
Coach: Let me introduce you—this is my old friend. Liam. He works as a boxing trainer assistant and volunteers to help out with the competitions. There’s a chance you might see more of each other in the future.
Coach: This plucky little thing’s name is Spathodea. She just won the friendlies' championship, so as you can see, she’s currently somewhere up on cloud nine.
He pats both of them on the shoulder, one with each hand.
Liam: Haha! Don't mind him, Spathodea. I used to train here too, but it's been a while since I was back.
Liam: Your coach doesn't want us to get complacent—that’s why he never has anything nice to say.
Liam: You were great out there, mate! I reckon I’d be hard-pressed to find another amateur at your weight class who could take you on.
Spathodea: Hehe... Does that mean I’m still a long way behind professionals in my weight class?
Coach: I’d say you’re only half a pinky finger away.
Coach: But you don’t really have any actual in-the-ring experience to speak of. Besides, you’re not old enough to join the professional competitions just yet.
Coach: In other words, you still have a final, final chance to make your final decision. You can still choose to turn back.
Spathodea: I'm not giving up! I’ve already talked it through with my parents!
Spathodea: Plus... I just won my first competition!
Spathodea: I...
The young man had listened with great interest until this moment—as he steals a glance at the clock on the wall.
Liam: Awh, sorry. You two carry on! I've gotta hurry back and clear up the venue.
Liam: I’ll be cheering for you, Spathodea! It was really great seeing a fight like that—even if I do end up getting told off, it’ll be worth it.
Coach: ... Alright, see ya later.
Liam waves to them, before he walks out of the rest area, a noticeable limp slowing him.
It felt like he left as suddenly as he appeared, vanishing from the door like so many others entering and exiting the boxing club.
Coach: Shame he was in a hurry today; otherwise, he could’ve told you a bit more about professional boxing.
Coach: So, Spathodea, how does it feel to be a winner?
Spathodea: It feels incredible! Like I could do four more sets of jump rope, three laps around the rings, and a bunch more sets of straight punches...
Coach: Did ya think at any point you were going to lose?
Spathodea: Before I got in the ring, I thought about it for a second...
Spathodea: But there's no time to think about anything else once you get in the ring.
Spathodea: And even if I had lost—sure, I would’ve been upset, but I’d still tell myself that, as long as I practiced harder and worked on whatever I did wrong...
Spathodea: I’d definitely win next time... or I’d definitely win next, next time!
Coach: But, you know, in the pros, you won't get that many opportunities.
Coach: Everyone remembers the winner, and of course, it’s easier for them to qualify for bigger events.
Coach: When you’re a pro, your performance in each fight determines your future value.
Coach: Your chances of getting injured are much greater than in an amateur friendly. Some injuries might even end up ruining your career.
Coach: Broken noses, avulsed ears, torn tendons—they’re all part and parcel of the sport.
Coach: ...
After a moment of silence, he continues speaking.
Coach: You’re a young girl, and you’re an arcanist. In the world of sports, you’re gonna need to put in a lot more effort than most to prove yourself—there’s no getting around that.
Coach: I’m not saying it’s fair... but the situation’s not likely to change in the short term.
Spathodea: ...
Spathodea: I understand.
Spathodea: After the last time you asked me, I searched around for some information... I... I saw some really, really bad accidents, like... people who got hurt and couldn’t box ever again.
Spathodea: Worse than that—some people end up with injuries that change their lives forever.
Spathodea: But I want you to know that I really am mentally prepared for the worst!
Spathodea: Professional boxers don’t have very long careers, do they?
Spathodea: So I don't want to waste any time second-guessing myself. The way I see it, every second counts.
Spathodea: I want to carry on boxing, at least for now... I think... I think I can stick with this one thing I’m actually pretty good at.
Coach: You’re something else, kid...
He raises his hand and leaves it hovering in the air for a moment before finally patting Spathodea’s gloves.
Coach: Glad to see you’re keeping your new gloves looking smart.
Spathodea: Hehe... I’m gonna keep the old ones in my backpack for training, since you said it takes time to get used to new gloves...
Coach: Hah, so you were listening! By the way, if you're interested, we're holding a small commercial competition here soon. You can come and join us, if you'd like.
Coach: Of course, you’ll be helping out as a volunteer, not fighting in the ring.
Coach: Your next training session won’t be easy. Get home early and remember to tell your family the good news.
Spathodea: I'll be off then ... See you tomorrow!
The young flame leaps gracefully through the doorway and bounds away into the distance.
Her boxing gloves swung from her shoulders, their embroidery slightly crooked but dazzling in the sunlight.
The golden pattern sparkling above the name "Spathodea" is sewn below, reflecting its own delicate light.