The Little Dragon
They say a mother would lift a car to save her child. But nobody tells you what happens when you are the one on the ground, unable to move, and your child—your ten-year-old baby—is the only thing standing between you and a monster.
My name is Clara. I was thirty-four weeks pregnant. I felt like a water balloon wrapped in spandex. My ankles were swollen, my back was a constant knot of pain, and my center of gravity had shifted so much that walking felt like a balancing act on a tightrope.
It was a beautiful Sunday in Riverside Park. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I was holding onto the arm of my son, Leo.
Leo is small for his age. He has messy hair, big brown eyes, and a quiet demeanor that makes people think he’s shy. He’s not shy. He’s focused.
“You okay, Mom?” Leo asked, looking up at me. He was carrying my tote bag, which looked huge against his skinny frame.
“I’m fine, baby,” I wheezed, rubbing my lower back. “Just… need to sit down. That bench over there.”
We were ten feet away from the bench when the shadow fell over us.
Chapter 1: The Collision
I didn’t hear him coming. He was a runner—one of those serious, aggressive joggers who treat the public park like their personal Olympic track. He was huge. At least six-foot-four, wearing tight compression gear that showed off muscles built in a gym, not on a job site. He was wearing noise-canceling headphones and looking at his smartwatch.
He was a freight train. And I was on the tracks.
“Look out!” someone screamed.
I tried to turn. But at eight months pregnant, turning is a three-point maneuver.
The impact was hard. His shoulder clipped my side.
It wasn’t a brush. It was a collision.
I lost my footing. The world tilted. I let out a scream as I went down, instinctively twisting my body to land on my hip and elbow, shielding my belly.
Crack.
My elbow hit the pavement. Pain shot up my arm. My sunglasses flew off. The wind was knocked out of me.
“Mom!” Leo screamed.
I lay there, gasping, clutching my stomach. “I’m okay,” I whispered, terrified. “I’m okay.”
The runner didn’t stop to help. He stumbled, regained his balance, and then ripped his headphones off. He turned around, his face red and sweaty.
He wasn’t apologetic. He was furious.
“Are you blind?” he roared, towering over me. “You stupid cow! You ruined my split time!”
Chapter 2: The Shadow
I looked up at him. He was blocking the sun. He looked like a giant.
“You… you ran into me,” I managed to say, tears of shock stinging my eyes.
“You were in the middle of the path!” he yelled, stepping closer. He was vibrating with adrenaline and steroid rage. “Get up! Look at my knee! You scraped my knee!”
He raised a hand, pointing aggressively at my face. It was a threatening gesture.
“Hey!”
The voice was small. It didn’t boom like the man’s. It cut through the air like a whip.
Leo stepped in front of me.
My ten-year-old son, who still slept with a nightlight sometimes, stood between me and this two-hundred-pound mountain of muscle. Leo didn’t reach the man’s chest.
“Step away from my mother,” Leo said.
His voice was strange. It wasn’t the voice he used to ask for extra dessert. It was deep, flat, and terrifyingly calm.
The man looked down and laughed. “Move, kid. Unless you want to get stepped on too.”
“I said,” Leo repeated, “step away.”
Leo didn’t back up. He didn’t put his hands up in a defensive cower. He shifted his feet.
I saw it. I recognized it from the Tuesday and Thursday nights I sat in the waiting room of the dojo.
Leo dropped his hips. His feet widened slightly, gripping the asphalt. His breathing changed—in through the nose, out through the mouth.
It was the Sanchin stance. The “Three Battles.” Stability. Grounding.
“Leo, no,” I whispered, trying to reach for his leg. “He’s too big.”
The man sneered. “Get out of my way, you little brat.”
He reached out a massive hand to shove Leo aside, just as he had shoved me.
Chapter 3: The Strike
Physics is a funny thing. Size matters, usually. But leverage and speed matter more.
The man’s hand came down toward Leo’s shoulder.
Leo didn’t flinch. He didn’t close his eyes.
Snap.
Leo’s left arm shot up. It wasn’t a block; it was a deflection. He caught the man’s wrist on the inside, redirecting the force.
At the same time, Leo stepped in.
He didn’t retreat. He invaded the giant’s space.
“Kiai!”
The shout came from Leo’s gut, a sharp, explosive sound that froze the crowd gathering around us.
Leo drove his right palm upward. A ridge-hand strike. Not to the face—Leo couldn’t reach the face. He struck the solar plexus. The bundle of nerves right below the ribs.
Thud.
The giant man gasped. His eyes bugged out. The air left his lungs instantly. He doubled over, his body reflexively curling around the pain.
He was no longer six-foot-four. Now, bent over, his head was level with Leo’s.
Leo didn’t stop.
He grabbed the man’s arm, used his own small body as a fulcrum, and swept the man’s lead leg.
Osoto Gari. Major Outer Reap.
The giant’s feet left the ground. Gravity took over.
BAM.
The man hit the pavement flat on his back. The sound was sickeningly loud. The impact stunned him. He lay there, wheezing, staring up at the sky, unable to comprehend how a fourth-grader had just put him in the dirt.
Leo stood over him. He didn’t kick him while he was down. He simply held his fist out, poised, ready to strike again if necessary.
“Stay down,” Leo commanded.
Chapter 4: The Youngest Disciple
The park was silent. Then, chaos erupted.
“Oh my god!” someone screamed.
“Did you see that kid?”
Two park security guards came running over, their radios crackling. Bystanders rushed to help me up.
“Ma’am, are you hurt?” a woman asked, helping me sit up.
“I’m… I’m fine,” I said, my eyes glued to my son.
The security guards looked at the scene. A massive man groaning on the ground, and a small boy standing guard.
“What happened here?” the guard asked, confused.
The jogger groaned, rolling onto his side. “That… that kid… he attacked me! He’s crazy!”
“He defended his mother!” a bystander shouted. “You ran her over, you psycho!”
The guard looked at Leo. Leo dropped his stance. He bowed—a quick, sharp bow to the unconscious threat—and then ran to me.
“Mom!” The warrior was gone. My little boy was back. “Mom, are you okay? Did I hurt him too bad? Master Tanaka says never to use full force unless it’s life or death, but he was going to hurt you…”
I pulled him into a hug, burying my face in his sweaty hair. “You were perfect, Leo. You were perfect.”
The guard looked at Leo, then at the emblem on the small t-shirt Leo was wearing under his open jacket. It was a black lotus flower.
“Wait,” the guard said. “That’s the Iron Lotus crest.”
He looked at Leo with wide eyes. “Kid… do you train with Master Tanaka? The Grandmaster?”
Leo nodded shyly. “Yes, sir. I’m in the junior elite class.”
“Junior elite?” The guard laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Lady, your son is a disciple of the toughest dojo in the state. Tanaka doesn’t accept kids unless they’re prodigies.”
I looked at my son. I knew he loved karate. I knew he practiced in his room every night. But I had always thought of it as a hobby. A way to burn energy.
I didn’t realize I was raising a weapon.
“I just… I didn’t want him to touch the baby,” Leo whispered to me, his hand resting gently on my stomach.
Chapter 5: The Walk Home
The police arrived. They took statements. The jogger, whose name turned out to be Brad, was helped up. He was limping. His ego was bruised far worse than his back. He tried to bluster, but when the security camera footage was reviewed—showing him shoving a pregnant woman—he went very quiet. They escorted him away with a citation for assault.
I refused the ambulance. I just wanted to go home.
We walked out of the park. This time, Leo didn’t hold my arm. He walked slightly ahead of me, his head swiveling, scanning the path.
He looked different to me now. His shoulders seemed broader. His shadow seemed longer.
“Leo?” I asked.
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Do you want ice cream?”
He stopped. He turned around, and a big, goofy, ten-year-old grin spread across his face. The gap in his front teeth showed.
“Can I get a double scoop? Chocolate and mint?”
“You can get three scoops,” I said. “You can get the whole tub.”
He laughed and took my hand. His hand was small, but his grip was iron.
As we walked, I saw people staring. They weren’t looking at the pregnant woman anymore. They were looking at the boy.
The Little Dragon. My protector.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter what happened in this world, my new baby was going to have the safest big brother in history.
