Free (fighters)

"I did not order delivery, I do not serve food to homeless kittens."

The sound of the door slamming in Pete's face rings in his ears for another minute as he tries to collect his thoughts and not lose control of his emotions. No. Of course, he did not expect a warm welcome, but... not exactly like that, right?

Shaking his shoulders, Pete presses the bell button again. After a while, the door opens.

"So?"

Pete swallows and responds:

"Hello… Khun Kornwit Teerapanyakun, I... I didn't get the wrong address, did I?"

Once upon a time — probably — an expensive silk swamp-colored gown, loosely wrapped around a bare chest; bare feet, on which muscles and bulging veins alternate; massive cheekbones, a sharply defined nose and somewhat slanted dark eyes, intently watching Pete's embarrassment.

And a half-empty bottle of stinky whiskey in his right hand.

"Let's say. What the hell do you need from me?"

What a boor.

"My name is Pete. And I want you to train me."

There is a pejorative laugh. Then the man takes a sip straight from his throat and says:

"And I want you to get out of here as soon as possible. Get lost."

Pete clenches his fists, gathering all his will there, and steps out the door uninvited:

"I came to Bangkok from the devil knows where, before that I worked for three years wherever I could. And all this to earn money for training with you. So I will train with you. No matter what it costs me."

On the contrary, they stand, taken aback either by his arrogance, or by his courage. The man tilts his head to the side, looking at a young guy of twenty-three years old. Pete knows that Kornwit turned thirty-eight this year. And Pete really hopes that he hasn't had time to drink out his experience and skills yet. A few years ago, Kornwit, known as Vegas in the ring, won the title of Muay Thai champion himself more than once. Then he left for a coaching job. One day something happened that unsettled him, forcing him to leave the world of Thai boxing. But Pete doesn't care about that. He knows why he's here, and he's not going to back down.

"Come here," Kornwit puts the bottle on the wedge in the hallway and beckons Pete to him.

Pete obediently stands in front of him. Vegas Kornwit grabs him by the shoulders, presses and feels him at the same time. Then it goes down the arms, stopping at the elbows.
"Bend your arms and strain."

Pete does as he's told.

Vegas is pressing down on the elbows to the point of pain. When his hands are on Pete's clenched fists, he frowns and shakes his head. Then his hands, bypassing Pete's body, go down to his legs. He is especially interested in knees and shins. Pete patiently tries not to blush while Vegas meticulously examines his muscles and joints. And then stands in front of him at full height and angrily gives out:

"Do you know why Muay Thai is called the battle of eight limbs?" 

Pete blows on his own face, wiping away the telltale redness.