Jason had shrugged.
“I win.”
“That isn't the point.”
“It is if we're fighting.”
His father shook his head.
“One day you'll meet someone who doesn't care how good you think you are.”
Jason laughed.
“I haven't yet.”
He believed that.
Until Monica.
After the first exchange, Jason returned to his corner.
Coach Silva watched him carefully.
“You all right?”
“Fine.”
“Slow down.”
Jason nodded.
Then whispered:
“Who is she?”
Coach Silva looked across the mat.
“Monica.”
“She's a beginner?”
“No.”
Jason looked at him.
“You said this was a beginner round.”
“I said it was a technical round.”
Jason frowned.
“She's forty-six.”
“So?”
“She doesn't even look like a fighter.”
Coach Silva's expression hardened.
“That's not a measurement.”
Jason didn't answer.
Coach Silva had known fighters like Monica.
Quiet people.
Older people.
People who didn't need to announce themselves.
Jason had not.
That was partly why Silva had paired them.
He wanted Jason to learn something.
Unfortunately, Jason had decided the lesson was going to be about dominance.
He came forward again.
Monica moved.
He threw a low kick.
She checked it.
He jabbed.
She slipped.
He attempted a clinch.
She turned.
The room became quieter.
Jason's breathing changed.
He was beginning to understand.
She wasn't reacting.
She was anticipating.
That was different.
A beginner reacts to what happens.
An experienced fighter makes you do what they want.
Monica had been making Jason move.
And he hadn't noticed.
The Second Exchange
“Again,” Jason said.
Monica nodded.
The timer started.
This time Jason didn't rush immediately.
He circled.
Monica mirrored him.
He feinted.
She didn't move.
He feinted again.
Nothing.
Jason frowned.
He threw a jab.
Monica blocked.
He stepped in.
She pivoted.
Jason suddenly smiled.
“There.”
He lunged.
Monica stepped back.
Jason followed.
He threw a combination.
Monica parried.
The room was no longer laughing.
People were watching closely.
Jason tried to force her toward the edge of the mat.
Monica allowed it.
That was his mistake.
He believed he had trapped her.
He threw a right hand.
She slipped outside.
His shoulder passed her.
She touched his ribs.
Jason stopped.
It was another controlled counter.
Nothing damaging.
But precise.
Coach Silva called:
“Time.”
Jason stepped away.
His face was red.
Monica removed her mouthguard.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You're moving too hard.”
Jason stared at her.
“You've done this before.”
Monica said nothing.
Jason looked toward Silva.
“You knew.”
Coach Silva crossed his arms.
“Knew what?”
“She isn't a beginner.”
“I never said she was.”
“You let me go in thinking—”
“What?”
Jason stopped.
He didn't want to say it.
He didn't want to admit that he had judged her.
Coach Silva did it for him.
“You thought she was easy.”
Jason looked away.
Nobody laughed.
Coach Silva said:
“That's your problem.”
Jason's jaw tightened.
“What problem?”
“You walked into the round fighting the person you imagined.”
He pointed toward Monica.
“You haven't started fighting the person standing in front of you.”
Jason didn't answer.
Monica looked uncomfortable.
She wasn't interested in the lesson becoming public.
“Coach,” she said quietly, “I really am here for beginner classes.”
Silva smiled.
“I know.”
Jason looked at her.
“Why?”
Monica hesitated.
“My daughter.”
That answer confused him.
“She's a fighter?”
“No.”
“She trains here?”
“Not yet.”
Jason nodded.
For the first time, he looked at Monica without seeing her age.
Without seeing her plain clothes.
Without seeing the absence of sponsors.
He saw an opponent who had just exposed a weakness in him.
And he didn't like that.
Kayla Walks In
The following Monday, Kayla entered Summit Ridge.
She almost turned around.
The room seemed louder than before.
Heavy bags thundered.
People shouted.
A timer beeped.
Shoes squeaked against mats.
She stood near the doorway.
Monica noticed.
“Ready?”
Kayla shook her head.
“No.”
“Good.”
Kayla looked at her.
“Good?”
“You don't have to be ready to begin.”
Kayla exhaled.
Then stepped inside.
Jason was working the heavy bag.
He noticed them.
He didn't say anything.
But he watched.
Monica introduced Kayla to Coach Silva.
“This is my daughter.”
Silva smiled.
“Welcome.”
Kayla nodded.
“Hi.”
“We start with fundamentals.”
“Okay.”
Jason continued punching the bag.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Kayla looked at him.