“Five minutes.”
Camille looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because you think I don't know what I'm doing.”
“I never said that.”
“You implied it.”
“No.”
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you're above me.”
Camille sighed.
“I don't think I'm above you.”
“Then fight me.”
The room went still.
Richard stepped forward.
“Mason.”
Mason did not look at him.
“Just five minutes.”
Camille studied him.
Then she glanced toward Emily.
The young woman looked frightened.
Not of Camille.
Of what would happen if Camille agreed.
Camille understood.
She looked back at Mason.
“One condition.”
Mason smiled.
“Name it.”
“If I tap, you release immediately.”
Mason laughed.
“You won't need to tell me that.”
“And if you tap?”
“I'll release.”
“No.”
Mason frowned.
“You want something else?”
“I want you to understand that tapping isn't losing.”
Mason rolled his eyes.
“Fine.”
Camille nodded.
Richard looked unhappy.
“I don't like this.”
Camille answered quietly.
“Neither do I.”
Then she stepped backward.
“Five minutes.”
Mason removed his belt.
The audience gathered around the edge of the mat.
Phones appeared.
Richard raised his voice.
“No filming.”
A few people lowered their phones.
Mason stretched his neck.
Camille stood still.
Mason looked at her.
“You're not even warming up.”
“I don't need much.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The timer was set.
Five minutes.
Richard raised one hand.
“Start.”
Mason moved first.
Fast.
Much faster than the audience expected.
He shot forward for a double-leg takedown.
Camille stepped aside.
His hands caught empty air.
Mason recovered instantly.
He turned.
She was already behind him.
He spun again.
She wasn't.
He felt a hand touch his shoulder.
Then disappear.
A few people gasped.
Mason's face tightened.
He charged again.
This time Camille met him.
Not with strength.
With timing.
Their arms connected.
For a second, they appeared motionless.
Then Mason's balance shifted.
His heel moved half an inch.
Camille touched his elbow.
He stumbled.
He recovered.
The audience became silent.
Mason stared at her.
Camille waited.
“Again?” she asked.
He attacked.
And this time, everyone saw what she had been hiding.
Not power.
Experience.
Twenty-Three Years
Mason came forward with a combination he had used hundreds of times.
Grip.
Pressure.
Angle.
Takedown.
Camille recognized the sequence before his hands completed the first movement.
She turned her hips.
Redirected the force.
And Mason landed on the mat.
Not violently.
Not painfully.
Just decisively.
The audience erupted.
Mason immediately stood.
His face was red.
“Lucky.”
Camille nodded.
“Sure.”
That answer irritated him more than an insult would have.
He attacked again.
Camille moved.
Again.
He missed.
Again.
She redirected him.
By the fourth exchange, Mason stopped rushing.
He began circling.
His breathing changed.
Camille noticed.
“You're thinking too much.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You're trying to beat me instead of solving the position.”
“You're not my coach.”
“No.”
“Then stop talking.”
“Okay.”
She stopped.
Mason advanced.
This time he grabbed her sleeve.
Camille allowed it.
He pulled.
She stepped.
His body followed.
For a fraction of a second, he was completely off balance.
Camille could have thrown him.
Instead, she released his arm.
Mason stumbled past her.
The room was silent.
He turned.
“Why did you let me go?”
“Because I wasn't trying to hurt you.”
Mason stared at her.
Then he attacked with everything he had.
Camille's expression changed.
For the first time, something colder entered her eyes.
Not anger.
Recognition.
She knew this kind of aggression.
She had seen it before.
Years ago.
In another gym.
Another city.
Another life.
Mason grabbed her.
Camille dropped her weight.
Their bodies collided.
The movement was quick.
Controlled.
Then Mason found himself on his back.
Camille had secured his arm.
Not painfully.
But completely.
Mason tried to turn.
He couldn't.
He tried to pull free.
Nothing.
Camille looked at him.
“Tap.”
He gritted his teeth.
The crowd watched.
Mason pulled again.
Nothing.
“Tap.”
He refused.
Camille loosened her grip slightly.
“I'm giving you time.”
Mason looked furious.
“Let go.”
“Tap first.”
“I said let go.”
“You haven't tapped.”
He tried another escape.
Camille followed it effortlessly.
The realization arrived slowly.
He wasn't trapped because she was stronger.
He was trapped because every escape he knew had already been accounted for.
His face changed.
He tapped.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Camille released him immediately.
She stood and stepped away.
The room remained silent.
Mason sat up.
His chest rose and fell rapidly.
Camille extended a hand.
He looked at it.
For a moment, nobody knew what he would do.
Then Mason accepted.
She pulled him up.
“You're good,” she said.
He stared.
“What?”
“You're good.”
He didn't know how to respond.
“You don't have to be ashamed of losing a position.”
Mason looked around.
“I didn't lose.”
Camille smiled faintly.
“You tapped.”
A few people laughed.
Mason looked embarrassed.
But Camille continued.
“You tapped because you knew you were caught.”
She pointed toward Emily.
“She tapped because she knew she was caught.”
Then she looked at Mason.
“The difference is that you respected your own tap.”
Silence.
“You need to respect hers too.”
Mason looked away.
Richard stepped onto the mat.
“That is enough.”
Camille nodded.
Mason walked toward the locker room.
Halfway there, he stopped.
“Camille.”