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7/10/2025, 10:38:47 PM
Continuing the next part of DL Greentexts so it's gonna be long
>The tension in the air hadn’t vanished—it simply shifted.
>As Willow stepped onto the mat, her padded gear in place and tail flicking with anticipation, the rest of the class gathered back into their sitting spots, buzzing with quiet chatter and loaded looks.
>Aya leaned against Gwendolyn’s side, still groggy but watching with a half-lidded interest. Ronnie sat silently, arms crossed, recovering from both pain and shame, while Sailor Norm nursed his bandaged arm and tried to sip from a juice pouch with his off-hand.
>Nobody said the words “Willow’s gonna win.”
>Because nobody believed it.
>Coach Roma wasn’t just strong—she was seasoned. Her body was built from years of real battles, not drills.
>She moved like a predator and trained like a gladiator. Every student had seen her dismantle dummies, bark commands mid-spar, and laugh through blows that would knock out half of them.
>Willow? She was enthusiastic. Energetic. Trained, sure—but this was different.
>So the bets weren’t about if she would win.
>It was about how she’d lose.
>Ronnie finally spoke up, breaking the silence with a calm, detached tone. “We’re betting on the outcome. Not who wins—that’s obvious. The bet’s on how the match ends.”
>Aya groaned, rubbing her temples. “You guys seriously never learn…”
>“Shhh,” Ronnie snapped. “I say points. Roma will go easy on her. End it before Willow does something reckless.”
>Gwendolyn frowned. “I think she’ll hold her own for a bit, but then tap out.”
>“Knockout,” said Norm, grinning. “Calling it now. Coach Roma’s gonna hit her so hard she thinks she’s a literal beaver.”
>Aya blinked. “Elimination. Maybe she gets tossed outta bounds or something.”
>Ronnie nodded, counting off each bet with a mental note. “Everyone betting their lunch for a week?”
>Nods and muttered agreements followed.
>The tension in the air hadn’t vanished—it simply shifted.
>As Willow stepped onto the mat, her padded gear in place and tail flicking with anticipation, the rest of the class gathered back into their sitting spots, buzzing with quiet chatter and loaded looks.
>Aya leaned against Gwendolyn’s side, still groggy but watching with a half-lidded interest. Ronnie sat silently, arms crossed, recovering from both pain and shame, while Sailor Norm nursed his bandaged arm and tried to sip from a juice pouch with his off-hand.
>Nobody said the words “Willow’s gonna win.”
>Because nobody believed it.
>Coach Roma wasn’t just strong—she was seasoned. Her body was built from years of real battles, not drills.
>She moved like a predator and trained like a gladiator. Every student had seen her dismantle dummies, bark commands mid-spar, and laugh through blows that would knock out half of them.
>Willow? She was enthusiastic. Energetic. Trained, sure—but this was different.
>So the bets weren’t about if she would win.
>It was about how she’d lose.
>Ronnie finally spoke up, breaking the silence with a calm, detached tone. “We’re betting on the outcome. Not who wins—that’s obvious. The bet’s on how the match ends.”
>Aya groaned, rubbing her temples. “You guys seriously never learn…”
>“Shhh,” Ronnie snapped. “I say points. Roma will go easy on her. End it before Willow does something reckless.”
>Gwendolyn frowned. “I think she’ll hold her own for a bit, but then tap out.”
>“Knockout,” said Norm, grinning. “Calling it now. Coach Roma’s gonna hit her so hard she thinks she’s a literal beaver.”
>Aya blinked. “Elimination. Maybe she gets tossed outta bounds or something.”
>Ronnie nodded, counting off each bet with a mental note. “Everyone betting their lunch for a week?”
>Nods and muttered agreements followed.
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