Craig’s buddies are ready with water for me to rinse my mouth and ice packs to cool my head and sweating body. One of them enters the octagon with the first aid kit and grabs the foot with the broken toe.

“What the hell are you doing” Craig asks me.

“Fighting with honor,” I say. The words in my mouth taste odd, but for the first time in a long while I start to feel whole.

“You’re getting your ass kicked,” Craig corrects me. “There are no rules in this fight. You can’t break a rule that doesn’t exist!”

The bell dings, and we’re ready to go another round. Ripper leaps into the octagon, and I stand gently on my foot. Craig’s buddy taped my broken toe to a good toe, so I can hardly feel it now. I consider for a second what Craig said to me.

“I have rules, I have a code,” I tell him as I turn and bow to the Ripper.

The audience is laughing as though I’m acting like a clown. I understand now how far this club has fallen from the tradition of martial arts. I start to feel like a warrior whose duty it is to bring that honor back.