Sideways.
People whispered.
"Watch it."
"Let her through."
"Who is that?"
Leo looked toward the opening.
A woman was walking through the crowd.
She carried a faded beige canvas tote bag with an old library logo peeling from its side.
She was small.
Perhaps seventy.
Maybe older.
Her gray hair was tied into a severe bun.
She wore a beige cardigan over a white blouse, dark slacks, and orthopedic walking shoes.
Nothing about her suggested athletic ability.
Nothing suggested aggression.
She looked like someone who might spend her afternoon buying groceries or returning books.
Jackson stared at her.
Then he looked at his social media manager.
"Toby."
Toby shook his head.
"Not me."
"You hire her?"
"No."
Jackson laughed.
The woman stopped in front of him.
She looked at the acrylic box.
Then at Jackson.
"The sign says ten thousand dollars."
Her voice was quiet.
Rough.
Jackson leaned down slightly.
"Yes, sweetie."
A few teenagers laughed.
"But you have to punch me in the face."
He pointed toward his jaw.
"Right there."
The woman nodded.
"I understand."
Jackson smiled.
"Then I think you're in the wrong place. The farmers market is three blocks down."
She did not react.
Her pale blue eyes remained fixed on him.
"I need the money."
The words were simple.
No explanation.
No plea.
No performance.
Leo immediately pushed away from the fence.
Something about her tone bothered him.
He stepped onto the mat.
"Ma'am, the show is over."
She looked at him.
Leo held up both hands.
"I'm serious. You need to step behind the tape."
She shook her head.
"The rules say one strike."
Leo frowned.
"You read the rules?"
"Yes."
"You understand that he's two hundred forty pounds?"
"Yes."
"The last person who hit him injured his hand."
"I saw."
"Then please go home."
The woman looked at Jackson again.
"Does he always talk this much?"
A few people laughed.
Jackson's smile faded slightly.
Leo stared at her.
There was something strange about the question.
It was not mocking.
It was observational.
"What's your name?" Jackson asked.
"Beatrice."
"Well, Beatrice, if you want the money, it's yours."
Leo stepped forward.
"Jackson."
Jackson ignored him.
"All you have to do is make me move."
Beatrice nodded.
"That is what the sign says."
Jackson put his hands behind his back again.
Then he pushed his jaw forward.
"Go ahead."
Beatrice placed her tote bag on the edge of the mat.
She slowly removed her cardigan.
Leo watched her hands.
They did not tremble.
Not even once.
That was the first thing that made him uncomfortable.
The second thing was the way she looked at Jackson's feet.
Not his face.
Not his muscles.
His feet.
Leo's breathing changed.
He had seen fighters look at an opponent like that.
Beatrice stepped forward.
Then she changed her stance.
It was subtle.
Almost invisible.
Her heel slid across the mat.
Her left foot turned inward.
Her hips dropped.
Her shoulders settled.
And suddenly the old woman looked different.
Leo stopped breathing.
He knew that stance.
Not exactly.
But he knew the principle.
The body was becoming one structure.
Beatrice tucked her chin.
Her right shoulder rotated backward.
Her fist slowly closed.
Jackson laughed.
"You ready, grandma?"
Beatrice looked at him.
Then she whispered:
"Yes."
Her heel lifted.
Leo's eyes widened.
"Jax!"
Jackson opened one eye.
"What?"
"Move!"
Beatrice exploded forward.
Leo reacted instantly.
He threw himself between them.
His shoulder slammed into Jackson's chest.
And then—
CRACK!
The sound tore through the beach.
The crowd fell silent.
Leo hit the ground.
Jackson stumbled backward.
Beatrice stood motionless.
But the acrylic box was gone.
It had shattered.
Hundreds of pieces of transparent plastic lay scattered across the mat.
Money fluttered through the air.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Beatrice calmly bent down.
She picked up one bundle of hundred-dollar bills.
Then she looked at Leo.
"He moved."
Leo stared at her.
"What?"
"The rules said if he moved backward, I won."
She put the money inside her tote.
Then she walked away.