They greeted each other before entering the circle, executing cartwheels in perfect succession.As the music played, I clapped along, entranced by how the players synchronized with the rhythm.
Their movements were so fluid that they resembled a dance, yet there were precise kicks that punctuated the flow.It wasn't a chaotic battle; rather, it was a dialogue of movement, rhythm, and strategy that entranced me.
The next duo entered with a quicker, more aggressive tempo as the rhythm shifted.Their acrobatics intensified, and I was eager to see Zane take the stage next.My heart raced, mirroring the fast, hypnotic beat that echoed around us.The master began to sing, and I was left in awe.The atmosphere buzzed with applause.
I caught sight of Zane and another fighter crouched, waiting for their moment.My breath hitched as Zane cartwheeled into the circle—barefoot and clad only in black sweatpants.His movements were slow and fluid.Then he froze in mid-movement, extending a hand as if to “call” the opponent into a symbolic duel.
Every motion was intentional, grounded, and focused on maintaining balance and control.It was a mesmerizing exchange of body language, and I found it impossible to look away—especially from Zane, who left me breathless.
His body was taut and glistening with sweat, but what captivated me most were his tattoos.I had caught a glimpse of something on his forearm before, but now it was a stunning canvas demanding my attention.I squinted to take in every detail.
A thin lightning bolt stretched from his right shoulder to his chest, while another zigzagged from his lower left side across his abdomen, with the word “Hope”inked beneath his left pectoral.
On his right arm and forearm, I could clearly see more tattoos, and another design spanned his back, extending from beneath his neck to almost his waist.I was entranced, forcing myself not to blink for fear of missing something.
Once the performance concluded, Zane and his opponent embraced and exited the circle.I was overwhelmed with emotion, struggling to catch my breath—it felt as if my heart was beating louder than the music itself.Sweat appeared on my forehead, and heat was invading my insides.Scattered butterflies flew chaotically, tickling my desire, my craving for him.
While other pairs entered the circle to perform, my focus remained solely on Zane, his image etched into my memory.After what felt like an eternity, the event came to a close.The players embraced and shook hands with the master, and people began to disperse.Unsure of what to do next, I noticed theVipershad already slipped away without a word.
The master caught my eye and approached me.He appeared to be in his fifties, with a bald head, narrow green eyes, a pronounced nose, and a plump lower lip.His physique was toned and lean.
“You must be Luna.I hope you enjoyed our performance,” he said with a smile, extending his hand for a handshake.“I'm Rob, nice to meet you.”His handshake was gentle, fluid—much like the performance I had just witnessed.“Zane is changing; you can head to the changing room.I think he's finished,” he gestured kindly.“Go ahead, don't worry,” he reassured me, sensing my hesitation.
I thanked him and walked through a metal door, finding myself in a dimly lit, narrow corridor.As I ventured deeper, I spotted a red metal door with a small window and saw Zane inside, already dressed and organizing his belongings in a locker.I stepped in.
“Hey…” he said, locking his gaze onto mine.
“Hey…” I replied, a bit lost for words.
“So, what did you think?Did you enjoy it?”
My mind was still racing with images of his performance and… his naked body.
“It was incredible.I can't even categorize it as just dance or just fighting,” I said, smiling.
“Both,” he chuckled.
“It was mesmerizing; I've never seen anything like it,” I admitted, my excitement bubbling over.“How long have you been practicing?”I asked, genuinely curious.
“Like I mentioned before, my uncle returned from Brazil about five years ago, bought that old building, and started teaching what he learned to friends and family.I was his first student.Then others expressed interest, and he agreed to teach.Each year, more guys got into capoeira, but it's just a hobby for him—he doesn't get paid,” Zane explained as I moved closer.
“I noticed your tattoos,” I said, watching for his reaction.
“Yeah, I got them last year when I turned eighteen.I wanted to get them for a while,” he said with a smile.
“When's your birthday?I realized I don't really know much about you,” I said, my tone becoming a bit colder as Marco’s words echoed in my mind.
“August 10th,” he replied, leaning in slightly.“Don't worry; you'll get to know me.Just ask whatever you want, and I'll answer,” he said earnestly.
“Anything?”
“Anything!”he almost whispered.I had countless questions but didn't know where to begin.I decided to start at a pivotal point.
“Why did you write my name in that classroom?”I watched his expression closely.
“I already told you, because I like you.”
“But why write my name so many times?That must have taken hours.”
