dragons and high-kicking silhouettes. Through the glass, he could see a crowd inside. Ivan had
apparently turned this into a spectacle. He wanted an audience for his victory.
Devonate killed the engine. He closed his eyes for three seconds, controlling his breathing,
shifting his mental state from CEO back to Operator. The switch flipped. The world slowed down.
His peripheral vision expanded. He stepped out of the truck and walked toward the door, his face
an unreadable mask of stone.
T
he bell above the door chimed cheerfully as Devonate walked in. The dojo smelled of
stale sweat, cheap floor cleaner, and testosterone. The layout was standard: a small
reception desk, a wall of mirrors, and a large expanse of blue training mats. Around the edges of
the mat, about thirty adults—Ivan's "advanced" students—were gathered, murmuring in
anticipation. Patricia sat on a folding chair near the back wall, looking pale, her eyes fixed on
Devonate.
In the center of the mat stood Ivan Okafor. He was wearing a pristine black gi, a heavily worn,
heavily washed black belt tied proudly around his waist. He was a large man, standing six-foot-two
and weighing perhaps two hundred and twenty pounds of gym muscle. He looked like a fitness
model. He puffed out his chest as Devonate approached the edge of the mat.
Devonate didn't stop. He stepped right onto the blue foam, his tactical boots leaving faint
impressions.
"Hey! Take your shoes off the mat, suit!" Ivan barked, his voice echoing in the sudden silence of
the room. He took two aggressive steps forward, trying to use his size to intimidate.
Devonate ignored the command entirely. He walked until he was three feet from Ivan and held
out the manila folder. "These are the divorce papers for Patricia. And a legal demand for the one
hundred and ten thousand dollars you both embezzled from my accounts. You have thirty days to
repay it in full. If you do not, my legal team will seize this business, your car, and any other assets
you possess, and pursue criminal charges for fraud."
Ivan's face flushed with anger. He slapped the folder out of Devonate's hand. The papers
scattered across the mat. Several students gasped. Patricia stood up from her chair. "Ivan, just make
him sign the settlement!" she yelled.
"I'm not signing anything, Patricia," Devonate said, his voice dead flat, his eyes never leaving
Ivan's.
Ivan cracked his knuckles loudly, playing to the crowd. He turned his head slightly to address
his students. "Listen up, everyone! This guy here thinks he can walk into our dojo, disrespect our
customs, threaten my woman, and demand money. I'm going to give him a free, painful lesson in
respect. The waiver is implied when you step on my mat with shoes on, buddy."
Devonate calmly unbuttoned the top button of his henley. "Are we doing this under a specific