“Three minutes.”
Marcus looked at the ring.
For one brief second, the gym disappeared.
He saw concrete.
Dust.
A dark hallway.
A young man's frightened face.
A radio crackling.
His own hands covered in blood.
Marcus blinked.
The memory vanished.
He looked back at Derek.
“I'll give you one chance.”
Derek laughed.
“To do what?”
“Walk away.”
The laughter died.
Derek stared at him.
Then shook his head.
“No.”
Marcus nodded.
“Okay.”
He removed his gray work shirt.
Underneath was a plain black T-shirt.
He stepped toward the octagon.
Every eye followed him.
Sarah whispered:
“Marcus…”
He stopped beside her.
“It's fine.”
“You don't have to do this.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Marcus looked through the cage.
“Because he needs to learn something.”
“What?”
Marcus stepped inside.
“That strength isn't the same thing as control.”
Derek climbed in after him.
The doors closed.
The gym became completely silent.
Derek raised his gloves.
Marcus didn't.
He simply stood there.
Relaxed.
Almost bored.
Derek smiled.
“Last chance.”
Marcus looked at him.
“You already had yours.”
The bell rang.
Ten Seconds
Derek attacked immediately.
A fast right hand.
Marcus moved.
Not backward.
Sideways.
Derek's punch cut through empty air.
The crowd murmured.
Derek spun and threw a left hook.
Marcus ducked.
Another punch.
Missed.
Another.
Missed again.
Derek's expression changed.
Marcus wasn't fighting.
He was simply moving.
No wasted motion.
No panic.
No dramatic footwork.
Just small adjustments.
A half-step.
A pivot.
A shift.
Derek's punches became faster.
Marcus continued avoiding them.
“Stop running!” Derek shouted.
Marcus said nothing.
Derek charged.
That was the mistake.
Marcus stepped inside.
His left hand caught Derek's wrist.
His right hand touched Derek's shoulder.
For less than a second, their bodies aligned.
Marcus shifted his hips.
Derek's balance disappeared.
The wealthy champion crashed onto the mat.
The room gasped.
Marcus didn't strike him.
He simply stepped back.
Derek scrambled up.
“What the—”
He attacked again.
Marcus caught the arm.
Twisted.
Derek's knees buckled.
Marcus released him.
Derek stumbled backward.
Ten seconds.
Maybe twelve.
That was all.
The man who had promised to make Marcus last three minutes was already breathing heavily.
The students stared.
Nobody understood what they had seen.
Derek charged again.
Marcus moved.
This time, Derek hit the fence.
Marcus caught him before he could fall.
“Stop.”
Derek pushed him.
Marcus released him.
Derek swung wildly.
Marcus ducked.
Then Marcus tapped Derek's chest with two fingers.
Derek froze.
Marcus whispered:
“You're telegraphing everything.”
Derek's face turned red.
“Shut up!”
He attacked.
Marcus sidestepped.
Derek fell.
The bell rang.
Three minutes had not passed.
The coach holding the timer looked down.
“One minute, fourteen seconds.”
Nobody spoke.
Derek stood slowly.
His pride had been destroyed.
But Marcus hadn't humiliated him.
That made it worse.
Because Marcus looked almost disappointed.
Derek ripped off his gloves.
“You cheated.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“How?”
“You know something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Marcus looked at him.
“Enough.”
Derek stepped forward.
“You were trained.”
Marcus said nothing.
Derek's voice became louder.
“You were trained!”
Marcus walked toward the cage door.
Sarah opened it.
As Marcus stepped out, Derek shouted:
“Who are you?”
Marcus stopped.
He looked over his shoulder.
“My name is Marcus.”
Then he walked away.
The gym erupted into whispers.
Ethan followed him.
“Marcus!”
Marcus stopped.
“Yeah?”
“How did you do that?”
Marcus smiled.
“Practice.”
“Where?”
Marcus looked at him for a long moment.
“Somewhere you don't need to know about.”
Then he disappeared through the back door.
That night, Derek couldn't sleep.
He replayed the fight again and again.
The movement.
The timing.
The balance.
The way Marcus had controlled his wrist.
It wasn't ordinary martial arts.
It wasn't boxing.
It wasn't jiu-jitsu.
It was something Derek couldn't identify.
So he began searching.
He searched Marcus Williams.
Nothing.
No fight records.
No competition history.
No social media.
No martial arts profile.
Nothing.
Then Derek called an old friend in law enforcement.
“I need a background check.”
“On who?”
“Marcus Williams.”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Two hours later, Derek's phone rang.
The voice on the other end sounded different.
“Where did you get this name?”
“Why?”
“Derek, listen to me.”
“What?”
“Don't mess with this guy.”
Derek sat up.
“What did you find?”
“I can't tell you everything.”
“Then tell me something.”
Silence.
“His records are sealed.”
Derek frowned.
“Military?”
Another pause.
“Something like that.”
“What does that mean?”