Then walked away.
Dylan listened to David tell Anthony's story.
He said nothing for several minutes afterward.
Then:
"You think I'm like him?"
David considered.
"No."
Dylan exhaled.
"Good."
"I think you could become something worse."
Dylan's head lifted.
"Worse?"
"Anthony hurt himself."
David leaned forward.
"You've started hurting other people to maintain an image."
Dylan became defensive.
"I don't injure students."
"Not physically."
"Then what?"
"Marcus quit after your challenge."
Dylan frowned.
A blue belt.
Twenty years old.
"I beat him."
"You humiliated him on livestream."
"He volunteered."
"You kept mocking him after he lost."
"He needed thicker skin."
David stared.
"Another teenager cried in the locker room last month because you called him useless."
Dylan looked away.
"I was motivating him."
"Did it work?"
No answer.
David continued.
"You used to help beginners."
"I still do."
"No."
"You use them when cameras are useful."
That hurt because it was partly true.
Dylan stood.
"I've given everything to this place."
"I know."
"Fourteen years."
"I know."
"I've won titles for Granite Peak."
"I know."
"So why are we acting like I'm the villain because some old guy threw me?"
David's voice softened.
"Because you're still talking about the throw."
Dylan stopped.
David continued:
"Walter isn't."
That night, Dylan watched old footage of himself.
At fourteen.
Skinny.
Nervous.
Helping clean mats.
At sixteen, losing a tournament and hugging the opponent.
At nineteen, teaching children.
When had that boy become embarrassing to him?
He opened his current social media page.
Perfect photos.
Luxury watch sponsor.
Training clips.
Quotes about dominance.
His entire identity looked like an advertisement for a person he was suddenly uncertain existed.
He shut the phone.
For the first time in years, Dylan went one entire evening without posting anything.
Three weeks after Walter's round, Granite Peak held competition practice.
Walter was repairing a locker.
He heard someone say:
"Stop."
Then:
"I said stop."
Walter froze.
He walked toward the mat.
A sixteen-year-old student named Kevin Tran was sparring with an older brown belt named Scott.
Scott had Kevin trapped in a shoulder lock.
Kevin tapped.
Scott released.
Immediately.
Everything was fine.
Then Dylan said from the edge:
"Kevin, you tap way too early."
Walter stopped walking.
Kevin looked embarrassed.
"My shoulder hurts."
"Everybody's shoulder hurts."
David was talking with a parent and did not hear.
Dylan continued:
"Again."
Kevin hesitated.
Walter saw Anthony.
Not literally.
Memory.
A young man saying I'm fine because everyone around him rewarded toughness.
Walter stepped onto the edge.
"No."
The room quieted.
Dylan looked over.
"What?"
"He said his shoulder hurts."
"We're training."
"So?"
Dylan laughed.
"You're coaching now?"
Walter's face hardened.
"No."
"Then let coaches coach."
Kevin began standing.
Walter looked at him.
"Do you want another round?"
Every eye turned toward Kevin.
That was the problem.
Social pressure.
He looked at Dylan.
Then Walter.
"No."
Walter nodded.
"Good."
Dylan crossed his arms.
"He's got a tournament in two weeks."
Walter answered:
"Then a damaged shoulder would be inconvenient."
A few students smiled.
Dylan didn't.
Later, medical evaluation showed mild rotator-cuff inflammation.
Nothing severe.
Rest.
No hard rounds.
Kevin's mother thanked Walter.
Walter felt sick afterward.
Rebecca found him sitting outside.
"Anthony?"
"Yes."
She sat beside him.
"Dad."
"I know."
"No."
She waited.
"You're trying to correct thirty years ago through other people."
Walter stared at the parking lot.
"Maybe."
"You can't."
"I know."
"But..."
He looked at her.
Rebecca continued:
"You can still do useful things now."
Walter smiled sadly.
"When did you get irritating?"
"Genetics."
Dylan's sponsor scheduled a public seminar.
The timing was terrible.
Comments still mocked him about Walter.
His management team suggested embracing the story.
"Rematch."
Dylan stared.
"No."
"It would explode online."
"No."
"Friendly."
"No."
Then one manager said:
"You need to reclaim authority."
That phrase stayed in his head.
Reclaim authority.
By Friday, Dylan convinced himself a rematch could settle everything.
He approached Walter.
"One proper match."
Walter laughed.
"No."
"Five minutes."
"No."
"Competition rules."
"No."
Dylan followed him down the hallway.
"Why not?"
"Because nothing good happens."
"If I win, everybody realizes the first round was nothing."
"And if you lose?"
Dylan stopped.
Walter looked back.
"Exactly."
"You think you'd win."
"No."
"Then?"
Walter leaned against his broom.
"I think your life will remain exactly as confused afterward."
Dylan's face tightened.
"You love talking like you're above all this."
"No."
Walter smiled.
"I'm below it."
He held up the broom.
"Literally."
Dylan almost laughed.
Then his frustration returned.
"I need this."
Walter became serious.
"That's why I'm saying no."
Dylan stared.
Nobody around him said no anymore.
Sponsors wanted content.
Managers wanted attention.
Students wanted approval.
Fans wanted victories.
Walter simply refused.
"Why?"
Walter answered:
"Because you're asking another person to solve a problem happening inside you."
That sentence followed Dylan home.
The seminar happened without a rematch.
Attendance remained high.
Dylan taught well.
Then something surprising occurred.
A twelve-year-old student asked:
"Is Mr. Walter really better than you?"
Adults became uncomfortable.
Dylan looked across the room.