[ Abandoned Amusement Park, Gotham city ]
But Thea knew judo too—there was no way she would be caught that easily. Wing Chun thrived on compact, layered defense. She extended her arms swiftly, intercepting Batgirl's grip before it could tighten, and drove a sharp counter straight into her opponent's center.
"Hrk—!" Batgirl had the wind knocked out of her. But she didn't stop.
She launched another strike—a flurry of fast jabs meant to push Thea off balance.
But Thea didn't retreat. She stepped forward into the storm, arms folding and unfolding like water against stone. Her wrists knocked Batgirl's punches aside with tight, efficient motion, until finally, she slipped inside Batgirl's guard again.
Her punch went for Batgirl's stomach again, but this time Batgirl dodged the attack by taking a few steps back.
Batgirl's brow furrowed, but she adjusted quickly, shifting into a looser stance. "Haah," she grunted, swinging a leg low for a trip.
Thea stepped over it with minimal effort and landed a punch to Batgirl's shoulder.
"Oof!" Surprised by the sudden attack, Batgirl quickly put some distance between them.
Batgirl, now surprised by the unfamiliar fighting style of Thea, instinctively shifted into free fighting. A barrage of fast, aggressive strikes followed, Quick combos. A backhand. An elbow. She was relentless, sharp, aggressive to flip the momentum.
To an outsider, it might have looked like an even match—or even her upper hand. But in reality, Batgirl wasn't gaining any ground. If anything, she was falling behind.
They hadn't even crossed the one-minute mark before Thea deciphered most of Batgirl's technique. It wasn't that Batgirl was weak—far from it.
She's practiced, Thea thought. That much is clear. But she's only got a few cards in the deck—karate, a bit of judo, a few flashy strikes. Enough to scare thugs, not enough to take down real threats.
And against someone like Thea—someone who had gone toe-to-toe with Lady Shiva barehanded for few minutes—it simply wasn't enough.
Barbara lunged, trying for a shoulder lock. Thea twisted like smoke, slipping under and countering with a soft strike to the ribs that knocked Barbara off her rhythm.
Robin flinched. "Ouch. That one connected."
First issue? Thea thought while analyzing Batgirl fighting style. Her techniques relied heavily on throws and locks, which were only effective against similarly built opponents. Against a brute like Killer Croc, those moves would be suicide. Even Robin had learned that lesson the hard way today. Right now, the only reason she wasn't flat on the ground was because we had similar builds and strength.
Batgirl charged again, this time going low for a another sweep.
Thea stopped her with a palm to the shoulder—gentle, but firm enough to knock her momentum sideways. Batgirl stumbled, caught herself, and breathed heavily.
Second, she lacked experience in pure hand-to-hand combat. Her energy expenditure was too high—burning stamina on dodging instead of countering, constantly trying to maintain distance. Maybe she was used to relying on her whip, where footwork didn't have to be so active. But without it, she was cornered and defensive, struggling to keep up with my pressure.
And the biggest flaw—Batgirl had never seen Wing Chun before.
Logically, Batman should've known it. The man was said to have mastered over a hundred martial arts styles. But maybe he considered Wing Chun too subtle, too compact for his towering frame and brooding intimidation style. If he didn't use it often, Batgirl wouldn't have seen it. That lack of familiarity was costing her now.
Had Batgirl known what she was facing, she might have lasted five minutes. But as things stood, she wasn't even going to make it past the first.
If this had been a real match with the original timeline's Thea, Barbara would've already been flat on her back. Thea 1.0 didn't know how to hold back—and wouldn't have wanted to. After all, this world didn't reward kindness in combat. Show mercy to your enemies, and they'd repay it with cruelty.
But this wasn't the original timeline. Thea was fighting far from home and, more importantly, fighting allies. The political stakes were... delicate. And the "ally" in question happened to be the daughter of the man leading Thea's temporary side in this city's mess. Humiliating Barbara too thoroughly would make for a very awkward morning meeting—assuming the two sides still wanted to work together after that.
Yet she couldn't just throw the fight. That would be obvious. And insulting.
Thea sighed inwardly. Her opponent wasn't strong enough to last through her usual style—she hadn't even used half her arsenal. So she made a deliberate choice, withdrawing from the tight, punishing pressure of Wing Chun and easing into slower, broader karate forms. It looked like a transition to balance the rhythm. In truth, she was stalling.
From the sidelines, Robin watched with his stomach twisted in anxiety. Seeing Barbara on the defensive had lit every protective instinct he had. He almost stepped in—almost—but he knew better. Neither of them would stop mid-fight. Not Barbara, and certainly not the girl in the red hoodie who just cooled down the Killer Croc. Metaphorically and Literally both.
Just when he was wondering how to salvage this before Barbara lost her pride, he noticed the shift. Thea's style had changed. He couldn't name the first one, but it was tight and explosive, the kind of thing that would've had him down in seconds. But this new style—he recognized it. Karate. And she was clearly less comfortable with it.
He leaned forward, for the first time, hope flickered in his chest. Barbara might actually win this.
Maybe, just maybe, his future wife wouldn't lose face in front of the entire Bat-family.
"Come on, Barbara," he whispered. "You've got this."
Thea didn't know her tactical retreat had given her opponent the illusion of equal footing. If anything, she found the whole thing a little embarrassing. She hadn't trained much in karate—not because she couldn't, but because it simply didn't suit her. Just like Bruce probably passed on Wing Chun for the same reason. She knew enough to fake it, and that was all she needed.
Barbara, meanwhile, didn't question why her opponent had shifted mid-fight despite holding the clear advantage. She just took the opening for what it was. With a quick breath and a sharpened gaze, she stopped gambling on risky throws and settled into rhythm, matching Thea's pace and treating the fight more like a spar.
As the spar dragged on, the cracks in Thea's feigned inexperience began to vanish.
Her true martial prowess gradually emerged. After all, she had been training under Lady Shiva for months—if "training" was even the right word for getting thrown, slammed, and bruised within an inch of your life every other day. Sometimes, Thea suspected Shiva wasn't mentoring so much as amusing herself with a new toy. But pain had its lessons. And Thea had learned.
Her combat ability had skyrocketed. Though her movements still carried traces of awkwardness here and there—an occasional imbalance, a missed beat—her instincts, refined in blood and bruises, helped her stay in control. For her, the current level of exertion felt about as taxing as a light jog.
Barbara, on the other hand, was still wrapped in the illusion of possible victory. She charged again and again, launching flurries of attacks without guarding properly, convinced she could break through. But no matter how hard she pressed, Thea absorbed it all calmly, letting her burn herself out.
It didn't take long for the difference to show.
On the sidelines, even Dick could see the truth. Thea wasn't fighting seriously—she was clearly holding back. Dick clenched his fists, torn between concern for his girlfriend and admiration for her determination. Selina, however, was unfazed. She'd already seen through Barbara's odds of winning. To her, it even felt like Thea was doing them a favor by drawing the fight out.
"Hu... hu..." Barbara's breathing grew ragged, her body dripping with sweat. Across from her, Thea stood almost untouched, barely winded. The realization was bitter and undeniable: She's holding back. It stung.
She wanted to say it—to tap out, to yield—but the words stuck in her throat. Pride was a heavy thing.
If she couldn't surrender, then she could only stall. Barbara turned all her hopes to Felicity. Please, find my dad already... stop this match before I collapse in front of everyone... The fight had gone on nearly ten minutes. Where the hell is he? He's not back in university, is he?
Her fear of losing made her even more reluctant to act. Her rhythm flipped entirely—from nine parts offense and one part defense to nine parts defense and one lonely attempt at attack. Thea, sensing it, didn't press. Whether out of mercy or strategy, she slowed her pace too.
The result was a drawn-out, awkward exchange—two exhausted fighters exchanging half-hearted blows. It wasn't a battle anymore. It was a slow-motion slap fight between two overworked mannequins.
Ten more minutes crawled by. Catwoman lost interest and wandered off to inspect the ice sculpture. Only Dick stayed rooted in place, whispering quiet encouragements. He wasn't cheering in hopes that Barbara would win—that dream had long passed. Now he just wanted her to stay standing.
Barbara, however, had run herself into a corner. Her early energy expenditure haunted her now. Recovery was a skill mastered by the elite, those who balanced exertion with pacing. Barbara wasn't one of them. Her breathing grew shallow, and every movement took more effort than the last.
Still, she pushed herself, whispering Don't stop... Dad will be here any second. Hold on, just hold on...
And then, like salvation from the heavens, Felicity's voice crackled into their earpieces.
"Hi, everyone, I've found the Commissioner. Let's officially get started." Her voice was breathless and a little rushed, clearly having sprinted all over the university to find Commissioner Gordon.
To Be Continued...
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