"Yes."
"Because you know I wasn't trying."
Walter stopped.
Dylan continued.
"Real round."
David said:
"No."
Walter looked at him.
Then at Dylan.
"If I say no, what happens?"
"What?"
"You call me scared?"
Dylan shrugged.
"If that's what it is."
Walter sighed.
"Two minutes."
Dylan smiled.
"Now we're talking."
Walter held up one finger.
"Condition."
"What?"
"If either person says stop, we stop."
Dylan laughed.
"Obviously."
Walter's eyes remained fixed on his.
"No."
His voice became quieter.
"Say it."
Dylan's smile weakened.
"I'll stop."
"Immediately."
"Immediately."
Walter nodded.
David did not like this.
But something in Walter's expression told him interference would make things worse.
The second round began.
This time Dylan attacked seriously.
Fast jab.
Low kick.
Walter moved out of range.
Dylan pressed forward.
Another kick.
Blocked.
Cross.
Slipped.
For ten seconds, Walter did almost nothing.
Students began murmuring.
Then Dylan landed a light touch to Walter's chest.
He smiled.
"Point."
Walter looked down.
"Good."
That irritated Dylan.
No frustration.
No embarrassment.
Walter seemed pleased.
Dylan stepped forward again.
Walter's right hand caught his wrist.
This time Dylan expected the throw.
He widened his stance.
Walter didn't throw.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Dylan's balance shifted backward.
Walter swept the opposite foot.
Dylan dropped to one knee.
Before he could stand, Walter controlled his elbow.
No pain.
Just position.
Dylan tried powering out.
Walter followed.
Every movement seemed to create the next trap.
Dylan rolled.
Walter took his back.
Dylan stood.
Walter rode the movement.
Dylan finally turned hard.
Walter's arm slid around his neck.
Not squeezing.
Position only.
Dylan froze.
Walter whispered:
"Stop?"
Dylan's jaw tightened.
"No."
Walter released.
Dylan spun and attacked recklessly.
David shouted:
"Dylan!"
A kick came too hard.
Walter moved inside.
Dylan lost balance.
Walter caught him.
Instead of allowing him to crash, Walter lowered him safely.
Then controlled one wrist against the mat.
Dylan tried pulling free.
Couldn't.
His expression changed from anger to confusion.
Then fear.
Walter saw it immediately.
He released.
"Stop."
Dylan scrambled backward.
The timer still had thirty-one seconds remaining.
Walter stood.
"Round's over."
Dylan's chest rose and fell.
"No."
Walter looked at him.
"You said stop means stop."
"I didn't say stop."
"I did."
Silence.
Walter walked off the mat.
For the first time that morning, the academy's champion did not know what to say.
Dylan cornered David ten minutes later.
"Who is he?"
David continued closing his laptop.
"Walter."
"Don't."
"What?"
"Don't give me that."
Dylan shut the office door.
"He moved like a professional fighter."
David leaned back.
"He was."
Dylan froze.
"What?"
David looked toward the hallway.
Walter was visible through the office glass, changing a garbage bag.
"Thirty years ago, Walter Hayes was one of the best martial artists I ever knew."
Dylan laughed once.
"No."
"Yes."
"Competition?"
"Karate. Judo. Boxing. Later submission grappling before most people around here knew what it was."
"Titles?"
David smiled sadly.
"That matters to you."
"I'm asking."
"National judo medalist."
Dylan's eyes widened.
"Two international karate championships."
Pause.
"Fourteen professional kickboxing matches."
"Record?"
"Twelve wins."
Dylan sat.
"Why is he cleaning bathrooms?"
David's expression hardened.
"Careful."
"I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did."
Dylan looked away.
David opened a cabinet.
Behind old certificates lay a photograph.
Three young men standing outside a shabby gym.
David.
Walter.
And another man Dylan did not recognize.
Walter looked different.
Thirty.
Muscular.
Smiling.
Championship belt over one shoulder.
"Who's the third guy?"
"Anthony Hayes."
"Walter's brother?"
"Yes."
David took the photo back.
"Died when he was twenty-seven."
"What happened?"
David looked toward the hallway again.
"Ask Walter."
Dylan almost laughed.
"He's not exactly conversational."
"Maybe because most people only speak to him when a toilet breaks."
That landed.
Dylan crossed his arms.
"So he let me embarrass myself."
"No."
"You knew."
"I told you not to do it."
"Not why."
David's eyes hardened.
"You shouldn't require someone's résumé before treating them with dignity."
Dylan stared.
David continued:
"If Walter had never trained a day in his life, what you did would've still been wrong."
Dylan's face flushed.
"It was a challenge."
"You chose the oldest employee in the building because you thought he couldn't hurt your reputation."
Silence.
"Then he could."
David leaned forward.
"And suddenly you care who he is."
Dylan stood.
"Everyone's making this bigger than it is."
David shook his head.
"No."
"You are."
"How?"
"Because you're still thinking the problem is that you lost."
Dylan opened the door.
Before leaving, he glanced at the photograph.
Walter smiling.
A person Dylan could barely connect to the quiet maintenance worker.
For the first time, curiosity replaced humiliation.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Walter had been twenty-nine when Anthony died.
Anthony was younger by three years.
Faster.
Louder.
More naturally talented.
Walter trained because discipline gave his life structure.
Anthony trained because fighting made him feel alive.
Together, they were dangerous.
Their father had died when they were teenagers.
Their mother worked two jobs.
Martial arts became the place where the brothers raised each other.
Walter became champion first.