Storytime

Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ) is a martial art that focuses on grappling and ground fighting.

Last night, a new girl challenged me to grapple at the BJJ gym. I could tell immediately: she was a noob. It was one of those moments where I could sense her confidence, but she had no idea what she was about to face. I was just chilling, wiping down my gi and doing some light stretching (read: flexing my arms in the mirror), when this girl—let’s call her Amber - walks in with her friend. She looked like the type who thought she was a badass, like she’d been “training” for a few months and could take anyone on.

I was sitting there, the king of the mats, silently basking in the glow of my superior experience. But she had no clue. She looked at me, eyes full of that cocky energy, and said, "Hey, wanna roll?"

I could already tell, she thought I was just some guy here for “cardio.” What she didn’t know is that I’m a master of my art form. I’m like Scorpion of the Shirai Ryu—absolutely relentless, a perfect balance of calm and brutality. But in her mind? I was just some guy who probably didn't know a rear-naked choke from a guillotine.

Her friend, of course, was hyping her up, “I’ll bet 50 bucks she taps you out!”

I barely even looked up. “Double it,” I said, cool as ice. You can’t mess with a gigachad like me. I was about to demonstrate the power of true mastery.

I strutted over to the mats, slowly wiping the sweat off my brow, making sure she could see how effortlessly I moved. This was it. My time to shine. I had no doubt in my mind—i was going to break her.

She smiled, clearly thinking she had this in the bag. I could see it in her eyes: she didn’t respect my skill. But she would. Oh, she would.

We squared off, and I just waited. She shot for a sloppy takedown, full of desperation, probably trying to throw me off balance. But I saw it coming. Like the master I am, I pulled guard with perfect technique. I felt her body go stiff, like she had no idea what was happening. I had her trapped.

She tried to posture up, thinking she could shake me off. Big mistake. I smoothly transitioned into a sweep, flipping her onto her back. It was like I was in a different dimension, moving with the grace of a true artist. I knew what I was doing; she didn’t. I controlled the pace, every movement a calculated stroke of genius.

She tapped out almost immediately.

“First round’s mine,” I said, offering her a calm smile, as if I hadn’t just absolutely destroyed her.

Her friend looked disappointed, but she tried to mask it with a laugh. "Okay, okay, rematch!" Amber said, a bit more flustered this time. “Let’s go again.”

Round two? Same story. I dominated, I let her get in a few weak attempts, but they were all futile. The whole time, I could feel her panic rising. “You’re... you're too good," she stammered. But this wasn’t about skill for me. It was about absolutely asserting what a relentless warrior I am.

I caught her in a triangle and she tapped again. Clean. Effortless.

“You know, I really thought I’d do better,” she admitted, face flushed.

“Most people do,” I said, casually wiping sweat off my brow, like I wasn’t already three steps ahead of her.

Now, this is where I could’ve stopped. I could’ve been a gentleman and ended it there. But nah. She kept pushing, trying to pretend she wasn’t mentally broken. I could see the way she was looking at me: her eyes wide, like she was starting to understand that I was no ordinary grappler. I could feel the tension building.

At this point, I could tell she wasn’t just looking for a win. She was looking for more - maybe some validation, some hint of power, but she wasn’t going to get it. I was a master of my art form, a master of the mat.

She went for a single-leg takedown. She was desperate, but desperation is nothing in the face of true skill. I smoothly sprawled, trapped her, and before she knew it, I was on her back. I secured the choke with a precision that would make most BJJ black belts jealous. She tapped out again, completely powerless.

She wasn’t even mad anymore. She was impressed.

I took a long, deliberate sip from my water bottle, looking at her like I’d just shared some secret, ancient knowledge. “One more?” she asked, voice trembling. She wanted more.

I looked at her, and I could see she was hooked. She was learning. She was starting to appreciate the effortless mastery I exuded. "Sure,” I said, “But this will be the last one.”

I wasn’t just going to beat her. I was going to finish this with style. With flair.

I let her win the first round. Let her. She didn’t even know it, but it was part of my strategy. I was paying her back for her determination.

“0-1,” I said, my voice dripping with mock pity. "But don’t get too cocky.”

She looked at me, confused, as I casually set up my next move. I hit her with a clean sweep and transitioned straight into a mount. My knees locked in place like steel, and with a slight adjustment, I had her right where I wanted her. The choke was flawless.

Tap.

2-1.

I stood up, casually adjusting my gi, the ultimate gigachad victory. She stared up at me, breathless, probably wondering how she’d gotten so wrecked. She touched my arm as she stood up, feeling my massive bicep, looking at me with admiration—maybe something more, but I wasn’t there for that.

“Thanks for the roll,” I said, my voice calm and collected, like I had just finished a regular sparring session. “You’ve got potential, but you’re not there yet.”

She smiled weakly, and with a final glance at me, she left with her friend. I didn’t even care that I would never see her again. I was the master of my art form. My legacy was secured.

And she? She was just another girl who tried to challenge the gigachad.