But Thea knew judo too—there was no way she'd be caught so easily.
Wing Chun was famous for its tight, efficient defense. Her arms split outward in a quick circular motion, deflecting Barbara's grab, and she countered immediately with a straight-line strike aimed for the center of Barbara's body.
Barbara had never seen that style before, but her instincts were sharp. She instantly switched tactics, abandoning her throw attempt for a barrage of quick mixed-martial-arts punches and kicks, trying to seize back control through sheer tempo.
From the sidelines, it looked like an even, fiery exchange—but in truth, Barbara had already lost the advantage.
Barely a minute in, Thea had already read her entire rhythm.
Barbara's close-quarters skills weren't bad per se—she clearly had formal training—but her techniques were limited. Her repertoire cycled endlessly between basic karate strikes, judo throws, and standard kickboxing moves. Effective against common thugs, yes. But against Thea—who could trade blows with Lady Shiva herself—it simply wasn't enough.
First problem: her choice of moves.
They worked fine on opponents her own size, but anything bigger or heavier—like Killer Croc earlier—would have crushed her mid-throw. (Robin, watching, winced at the thought.)
Second problem: her conditioning.
Her empty-hand combat experience was shallow. All that constant footwork she was forced into against Thea's forward pressure was bleeding her stamina dry. She was used to fighting with a whip, not dancing circles against a close-range fighter.
*And third—and most crucial—*she had never faced Wing Chun.
Batman probably knew it (he allegedly mastered 127 martial arts, after all), but the man's towering frame made him favor heavy power styles over the tight, centerline control of Wing Chun. Since he never used it, Barbara had never learned to counter it.
With little real battle experience, she should've lasted five minutes at best—but she was already faltering after just over one.
Normally, Thea would have ended it right there.
The Thea of version 1.0 was not the type to "go easy." In her world, if you had the power, you used it; mercy got you hurt. But today was different—she was fighting on someone else's turf, against a friendly ally.
And this ally happened to be the daughter of their current coalition's de facto leader.
Crushing her outright would win no friends.
Still, she couldn't just throw the match either—that would be insulting.
She's too weak, Thea thought helplessly. I haven't even used half my forms yet.
With a quiet sigh, she relaxed her stance, switching out of Wing Chun entirely and adopting a slower, simpler karate posture. The fight's rhythm shifted from a duel to a spar.
From the sidelines, Robin's heart was hammering.
He'd seen Barbara get pressed hard at first and had been desperate to stop the match—except he knew neither woman would listen. Especially not Barbara, once her pride was involved.
Then, to his surprise, he noticed Thea change styles.
That earlier form—whatever it was—had been terrifyingly efficient, each move sharp and precise. But this? This he recognized.
Karate?
Hope flared in his chest.
Maybe… maybe Barb has a chance!
After all, what man wouldn't root for his girlfriend to win?
Thea, meanwhile, had no idea she'd just inspired false hope.
Truth be told, she wasn't that comfortable with karate. Like Bruce with Wing Chun, she knew it but never practiced it much—it simply didn't suit her.
Still, if she was going to put on a show, she might as well make it convincing.
Barbara didn't stop to question why her opponent had changed style—she just seized the breathing room to catch her wind. This time, she didn't rush in recklessly, focusing instead on clean counters and steady defense.
But as minutes passed, Thea's awkwardness faded. Her foundation—the months of grueling combat under Lady Shiva—began to shine through. All those daily "training" duels (that often left her black-and-blue) had hardened her instincts and refined her control.
Now, her movements flowed. Her breathing stayed calm.
For her, this spar was less fight and more light exercise.
Barbara, still trapped in the illusion of I can win this, kept pressing harder.
Her blows were sharp but her breathing ragged, her sweat dripping down her neck.
It didn't take long for the others to notice.
Catwoman leaned lazily against a lamppost, smirking. Robin's anxiety grew by the second. Thea wasn't even fighting seriously—she was playing.
"Haah… haah…"
Barbara's breathing turned heavy. It finally dawned on her that she was the only one struggling. Thea looked as composed as when they started.
The realization stung.
She wanted to yield—but the words stuck in her throat. Her pride wouldn't let her.
Fine, then. Stall for time.
Come on, Felicity… find my dad already. End this, please!
Her mind drifted with every half-hearted block.
Ten minutes passed. Then another ten.
What had started as a spar between heroines now looked like two mannequins swatting lazily at each other—slow, hesitant, and utterly graceless.
Catwoman couldn't take it anymore. She wandered off to inspect the frozen Croc instead.
Only Robin stayed, dutifully cheering for his girlfriend—not out of competitiveness, but desperation. Just hang on, Barb. Please don't faint in front of everyone.
Her early bursts of aggression had burned through her reserves, and now even the slower pace couldn't save her.
You could recover stamina mid-fight if you were a true master—but Barbara wasn't.
Her thoughts blurred between frustration and fatigue. Don't quit… Dad's coming… any minute now… he's coming, right? He's gotta be!
Finally—mercifully—her earpiece crackled to life.
"Hey, everyone!" Felicity's voice rang out, breathless but triumphant. "I found the Commissioner! We can start now!"
Her tone suggested she'd run halfway across Gotham to get him.
Barbara nearly cried with relief.