"I think because you're a man responsible for young people, you owe him something."
Brock's eyes narrowed.
"Get out."
Wanda didn't move.
"I said get out."
She placed her purse gently on the floor.
Brock stared at it.
Then at her.
"What are you doing?"
Wanda removed her cardigan.
She folded it carefully and placed it beside her purse.
Underneath, she wore a plain black athletic shirt.
The room became strangely silent.
Brock smiled.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Wanda slipped off her shoes.
Then she stepped barefoot onto the mat.
A young student near the wall whispered, "She's serious."
Brock heard him.
"Apparently."
Wanda walked to the center.
Then she turned toward Brock.
"I'm here for my grandson."
Brock shook his head.
"You want to fight me?"
"I want you to understand something."
"What?"
"Sometimes the person you think is weak is simply the person who doesn't need to prove anything."
Brock laughed.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
He looked around.
His students were watching.
His reputation was watching.
His pride was watching.
And pride was something Brock Dalton had never learned to control.
He stepped forward.
"You challenge me in my own gym?"
Wanda nodded.
"One shot."
The words sounded ridiculous.
Someone snickered.
Brock's eyebrows rose.
"One shot?"
"One."
"You think you can knock me down with one shot?"
"No."
That answer surprised him.
Wanda raised her eyes.
"I think I can teach you something with one shot."
The gym went silent.
Brock smiled.
But this time, there was no humor in it.
"You're going to regret saying that."
Wanda simply stood there.
Left foot back.
Arms open.
Still.
Very still.
And for the first time that afternoon, Brock noticed something strange.
She wasn't afraid.
Not even a little.
Daniel's Last Day
Six days earlier, Daniel Ellis had stood in the same gym with his nose bleeding.
He remembered the exact moment.
The bell had sounded.
Three short bursts.
Training was over.
Daniel had lowered his hands.
He had barely taken a breath when Brock's glove struck him across the face.
Daniel stumbled backward.
The room erupted in laughter.
He touched his nose.
Blood covered his fingers.
Brock looked at him and said, "That's what happens when you stop protecting yourself."
Daniel stared at him.
"The bell rang."
Brock shrugged.
"Real fights don't have bells."
Daniel swallowed.
"But you told us to stop when the bell rings."
"I told you what I expect from fighters."
"You hit me after the bell."
Brock stepped closer.
"Are you arguing with me?"
Daniel looked around.
Nobody said anything.
Not the assistant instructors.
Not the older students.
Not the younger students.
Nobody.
Daniel had joined the academy because he wanted discipline.
His father had died when Daniel was twelve.
His mother worked two jobs.
His grandmother Wanda had been the person who kept their family together.
Daniel had always admired her.
She had taught him to stand straight.
To speak respectfully.
To never mistake kindness for weakness.
When Daniel first joined Brock's gym, he had been excited.
He wanted to become stronger.
He wanted confidence.
He wanted to compete.
At first, Brock seemed impressed.
"You've got natural speed," he told him.
Daniel trained harder.
He arrived early.
He stayed late.
He cleaned equipment.
He helped younger students.
But after several months, something changed.
Brock started calling him names.
"Slow."
"Soft."
"Too emotional."
"Not a real fighter."
Daniel ignored it.
Until the afternoon of the incident.
After Brock hit him, Daniel walked into the locker room.
He washed the blood from his face.
Then he sat on a bench.
His hands were shaking.
One of the younger students approached him.
"Daniel?"
Daniel looked up.
The boy hesitated.
"Are you okay?"
Daniel forced a smile.
"I'm fine."
The boy looked toward the door.
"Brock said you deserved it."
Daniel didn't answer.
The boy lowered his voice.
"I don't think you did."
Daniel looked at him.
"Don't repeat that."