But he had developed a problem that no belt could fix.
He needed people to know he was good.
If someone praised him, he smiled.
If someone challenged him, he became sharper.
If someone ignored him, he became reckless.
Eric had warned him about it more than once.
“Your biggest opponent isn't across from you,” Eric told him one evening.
Jason wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Who is it?”
“Your need to prove something.”
Jason laughed.
“You sound like a therapist.”
“I sound like your coach.”
Jason looked away.
“I've heard this before.”
“Then maybe listen this time.”
Jason didn't.
The next morning, he found Danielle sitting on the academy's wooden bench, watching a beginner class.
She was wearing the same gray shirt.
She had a notebook in her lap.
Jason walked past.
She didn't look up.
That irritated him.
He stopped.
“You taking notes?”
“Yes.”
“On what?”
“The students.”
Jason nodded.
“You coaching?”
“No.”
“Then why take notes?”
Danielle closed the notebook.
“Habit.”
Jason smiled.
“You a fighter?”
“Sometimes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means sometimes I fight.”
Jason laughed.
“That's vague.”
Danielle looked at him.
“Most useful answers are.”
Jason studied her.
There was nothing aggressive in her expression.
That somehow made him more curious.
“You're Eric's friend?”
“Yes.”
“Old friend?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
Danielle smiled.
“Very.”
Jason shook his head.
“You know, if you want to train, we have classes.”
“I know.”
“You don't look like you've trained in a while.”
Danielle looked down at her plain shirt.
“You can tell?”
“No logos.”
“That's your evidence?”
Jason shrugged.
“Usually people who are serious have gear.”
Danielle smiled.
“Usually.”
Then she stood.
“See you later, Jason.”
He frowned.
“You know my name?”
“Eric mentioned you.”
“What did he say?”
“That you're talented.”
Jason smiled.
“That's right.”
Danielle continued.
“He also said you need patience.”
Jason's smile disappeared.
She walked away.
That was the first moment Jason disliked her.
Not because she had insulted him.
Because she had accurately repeated something Eric had already told him.
And Jason didn't like hearing it from a stranger.
The Second Round
The sparring session happened two days later.
Eric had scheduled technical rounds.
Jason had volunteered immediately.
Danielle hadn't.
She was standing beside the mat, talking to Eric.
Jason walked over.
“You spar?”
Danielle looked at him.
“Sometimes.”
“Today?”
“Maybe.”
Jason smiled.
“You should.”
Eric immediately said, “Jason.”
“What?”
“Don't.”
Jason raised his hands.
“I'm just asking.”
Danielle looked at Eric.
“It's fine.”
Eric's expression said it wasn't.
But he nodded.
They put on gloves.
The first round lasted three minutes.
Jason did not rush.
He moved carefully.
He tested her.
Danielle responded with minimal movement.
No wasted steps.
No unnecessary combinations.
Jason landed several light touches.
But every time he tried to increase pressure, Danielle changed the rhythm.
She made him miss.
She made him reset.
She made him think.
At the end of the round, Jason was breathing harder than expected.
Danielle wasn't.
He pulled off his gloves.
“You've done this before.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“A long time.”
“You competed?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Different places.”
Jason laughed.
“You answer everything like that?”
“When people ask questions they haven't earned answers to.”
Jason stared at her.
Eric stepped in.
“Enough.”
Jason looked at him.
“Coach, who is she?”
Eric didn't answer.
Danielle did.
“Someone who used to train here.”
Jason looked surprised.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Long before you.”
He looked around the academy.
“How long ago?”
Danielle glanced at Eric.
“Seventeen years.”
Jason blinked.
“Wait.”
He looked at Eric.
“You trained her?”
Eric nodded.
Jason looked at Danielle again.
“What belt?”
Danielle smiled.
“Black.”
Jason laughed.
“Seriously?”
Eric's voice hardened.
“Yes.”
Jason stopped laughing.
“Why didn't you say?”
Danielle shrugged.
“You didn't ask.”
That answer stayed with him.
Because Jason realized something.
She had never once told him she was better than him.
She had simply refused to tell him anything he hadn't earned the right to know.
What Eric Remembered
That night, after the academy closed, Eric and Danielle sat in the office.
The cardboard box was open between them.
Old photographs covered the desk.
In one, Danielle was twenty-five.
Her hair was braided.
Her face was bruised.
She was standing beside Eric.
In another, she was on a podium holding a medal.
In a third, she was sitting alone after a competition, staring at the floor.
Eric pointed to the photograph.
“That was after the Richmond tournament.”
“I remember.”
“You lost the first match.”
“I remember that too.”
“You almost quit.”
Danielle smiled.
“I did quit.”
“For three days.”
“Three very serious days.”
Eric laughed.
“You called me on the fourth.”
“You answered.”
“You said, ‘I don't know if I'm good enough.’”