Fightful Fantasy
A Choose Your Own Adventure Martial Arts Saga
“Look,” says the caller, “the last thing either of us wants is a fight.”
You grit your teeth and wonder if that’s true.
“You can’t just deny my claim!” shouts the nasally voice at the other end of the line. The insurance claimant’s whining oozes deep into your ear.
Professionalism, you remind yourself. You chose this job.
“I’m not just denying your claim,” you reply. “I’m dropping it like a sack of cement. There’s a mountain of evidence that you torched your garage for a big payout. Now, you can either take the L, or we can start talking about arson.”
That shut him up. But you’re not done.
“I’ll give you one chance to do the right thing. You can either hang up and forget the word insurance, or I can fuck you up sideways.”
You sit back in your chair. Combo x3. Knockout.
“Have a wonderful day,” you say with finality.
The call ends. Your heartbeat subsides. Fighting with words just doesn’t feel the same.
It seemed to make sense at first. Give up the dojo, buckle down with an honest job and make something of yourself in your peak earning years. What were you really going to accomplish donning a gi and sparring on weeknights anyway? It was all a fantasy, living like a makeshift samurai while everyone else rode a Peloton.
“I don’t seem to remember threats as part of Dojo Kun.”
A voice from long ago crashes through your doorway like a tidal wave and collides with you in the present.
“Boss?”
Neither Master or Sensei, she opted for Boss. What she said was done — with loyalty to the very end. You never understood why she chose Boss as her name. Everything else about her was bound in tradition.
“What happened to Respect Others?”
Dojo Kun — the training hall rules — were phrases that defined your life but seemed to corrode with each day spent in the insurance office.
“The person in question behaved with dishonor,” you counter. “Their false claims respected neither our business or themselves.”
“What about Refrain from Violent Behavior?”
“Last I checked, I couldn’t strike anybody over the phone.”
You’ve rarely seen Boss in street clothes. She looks sharp in your doorway with a wry smile and tobacco leather jacket.
“And then there’s Be Faithful.”
You straighten.
“I need your help.”
