It had been a day since Ms. Pierce broke the news about Marc's new role in the ASL. During that time he'd stayed cooped up in his broom-closet-sized room. He hadn't been able to sleep a wink in all that time. It was cramped, it smelled funny, and it was dingy. Worst of all was the broken lock, which caused him no small amount of stress. Every now and then he'd hear footsteps coming down the hall and when he did, he'd hurry to the door, grab the handle, and pull on it as hard as he could, just in case any of the anthro fighters had figured out where he was living. He doubted fighters who dedicated their entire lives to the sport would look kindly on someone who was literally just going to be fighting as a joke. They'd probably consider it a mockery of their careers and want to deliver some payback--no matter how unwilling a participant he was in all of this. Luckily, none of the footsteps had stopped outside his room, and he wasn't dragged screaming from his new accommodations. However, the fear of who he'd run into on his own, without the back-up of an intimidating anthro mistress striding before him, kept him right where he was.
But he knew he couldn't stay in his room forever. He hadn't eaten anything at all yesterday and now today was halfway through. His stomach growled in protest as it tried to eat itself in lieu of real food. He looked at the pass Ms. Pierce had given him. He could head to the Fighter's Cafeteria... but the thought of willingly walking into a room filled with starving fighters who could literally eat him alive was a gamble he didn't want to take, even if he knew he'd have to either go there sometime, or starve to death.
Or he could head to the Training Room. The looming threat of next week's match hanging over his head filled him with utter dread. He knew that if he couldn't get out of it--which he doubted he would--that meant he'd need to actually train to fight. While he knew he'd only been made a fighter as a joke, that didn't mean he wanted to get totally creamed in his first match. It was bad enough he was in this scenario without having to worry about becoming a laughingstock on national television. He couldn't let his family and friends see him beaten to a pulp so effortlessly. Marc remembered Ms. Pierce talking about personal trainers he could work with to coach him. It might be a good idea to meet one. Hopefully, whoever it was, would go easy on him. After all, it was a trainer's job to help fighters get better.
Marc made up his mind. He took a deep breath and walked outside. Cafeteria or Training Room. Where does Marc go first?
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