Daniel looked at the photograph again.
"Did you ever fight someone like Brock?"
Wanda thought about it.
"Many times."
"Did you win?"
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"Winning isn't always knocking someone down."
Daniel was silent.
Then he asked:
"Are you going to do something?"
Wanda looked directly at him.
"I am going to ask him for an apology."
Daniel shook his head.
"He won't."
"I know."
"He'll laugh."
"I know."
"He'll challenge you."
"I know."
Daniel's expression changed.
"You aren't actually going to fight him, are you?"
Wanda didn't answer.
"Grandma?"
She stood.
"I hope I don't have to."
The next morning, Wanda drove to Brock's academy.
She didn't go there looking for revenge.
She went there looking for accountability.
But Brock had no interest in accountability.
He wanted a spectacle.
And he was about to get one.
One Shot
Back inside the gym, Brock stared at Wanda.
"Last chance," he said.
She didn't move.
His trainer, Raymond, stood near the edge of the mat.
Raymond was fifty-three and had trained Brock for nearly fifteen years.
He had seen Brock become stronger.
He had also seen him become arrogant.
Now he watched Wanda.
Something about her stance bothered him.
She wasn't bouncing.
She wasn't flexing.
She wasn't making threats.
She wasn't even watching Brock's hands.
Her eyes were focused on his chest.
Raymond frowned.
He had seen that before.
Not in amateurs.
Not in recreational fighters.
In professionals.
In people who had spent decades learning how to read movement.
"Brock," Raymond said quietly.
Brock ignored him.
"You really want to do this?" he asked Wanda.
"Yes."
Brock pulled off his gloves.
He replaced them with lighter training gloves.
Then he walked toward her.
"One shot, right?"
"That's what I said."
"You hit me once."
"Correct."
"And if you miss?"
Wanda's expression remained calm.
"I won't."
Brock laughed.
He looked toward his students.
"Everybody hear that?"
A few students laughed nervously.
Brock turned back.
"Okay."
He tossed a stack of bills onto the mat.
"Five hundred dollars."
Wanda glanced down.
"What's that?"
"You hit me clean, you get the money."
"I don't want your money."
Brock picked it up.
Then threw it directly toward her.
The bills scattered across the mat.
"Now you have to."
Wanda looked down at the money.
Then at Brock.
She bent over.
Picked up every bill.
Straightened them.
And handed them to Raymond.
"Hold these."
Raymond hesitated.
Then accepted the money.
Brock's smile disappeared.
Wanda stepped back.
Left foot behind.
Her weight settled.
Her arms opened slightly.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Her breathing slowed.
The gym became silent.
Brock raised his fists.
"Ready?"
Wanda nodded.
"Ready."
Brock moved.
Fast.
Much faster than the students expected.
He stepped forward with a powerful right hand.
Wanda shifted half a step.
The punch missed.
Brock immediately followed with a left.
Again, she moved.
Not backward.
Sideways.
Brock's eyes widened.
He attacked again.
Wanda continued to evade.
No wasted movement.
No panic.
No aggression.
Just precision.
Raymond's face went pale.
"Stop," he whispered.
Brock didn't hear him.
He swung again.
Wanda ducked.
Brock turned.
And suddenly Wanda was directly in front of him.
Her right foot planted.
Her hips rotated.
Her shoulder moved.
Her fist traveled less than two feet.
It struck the center of Brock's chest.
Not his face.
Not his throat.
Not his head.
His sternum.
There was a dull crack of impact.
Brock's body froze.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then his feet left the mat.
He stumbled backward nearly six feet.
He crashed onto his back.
The entire gym went silent.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody moved.
Brock stared at the ceiling.
His lungs refused to cooperate.
He tried to breathe.
Nothing.
Panic entered his eyes.
Raymond ran toward him.
"Don't move."
Brock tried to sit up.
Raymond pushed him gently back.
"Stay down."
Wanda stood exactly where she had been.
Her hands were open.
Her breathing was calm.
One student whispered:
"What just happened?"