Rachel's breathing remained controlled.
Finally, Derek disengaged.
He stood.
Rachel sat up.
Nobody laughed anymore.
Derek looked at Samuel.
“What exactly did you tell her?”
Samuel said, “Nothing.”
“You've trained her?”
Samuel shook his head.
“No.”
Derek frowned.
“Then where did she learn?”
Rachel stood.
“My father.”
Derek laughed once.
“Your father?”
“He taught me.”
“Where?”
Rachel looked at him.
“Everywhere.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“It wasn't supposed to.”
Derek stared at her.
Rachel reached for her jacket.
“Thank you.”
Derek blinked.
“Thank me?”
“For the round.”
“You're leaving?”
“Yes.”
He couldn't believe it.
“You're walking out after that?”
Rachel paused.
Then turned.
“I came here to find out whether this place was what Samuel said it was.”
Derek looked at the coach.
“And?”
Rachel smiled faintly.
“I haven't decided yet.”
Then she walked away.
Derek stood in the center of the mat.
For the first time since he had earned his black belt, he didn't know whether he had won anything.
What Samuel Knew
The next morning, Derek arrived early.
He told himself he was there to train.
That was only partly true.
Samuel was already inside.
He was cleaning the mats.
Derek dropped his bag.
“Who is she?”
Samuel didn't look up.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Rachel Monroe.”
“I know her name.”
“You know what I mean.”
Samuel continued wiping the mat.
Derek followed him.
“She wasn't a beginner.”
“No.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Samuel finally stood.
“Would it have changed anything?”
“Yes.”
Samuel gave him a long look.
“No, it wouldn't.”
Derek looked away.
He hated that answer because it was true.
Samuel walked toward the office.
Derek followed.
“Who is her father?”
Samuel stopped.
“Daniel Monroe.”
Derek's expression changed.
He had heard the name.
Everyone serious about grappling had.
Daniel Monroe had been a legendary competitor twenty years earlier.
Not famous in the way modern social-media fighters were famous.
There were no viral clips.
No sponsorship campaigns.
No podcasts.
But among old competitors, his name carried weight.
Daniel had competed across the country.
Wrestling.
Judo.
Brazilian jiu-jitsu.
Catch wrestling.
He had trained with some of the best instructors of his generation.
Then, fifteen years ago, he disappeared.
Derek looked at Samuel.
“That's her father?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel Monroe?”
“Yes.”
Derek sat down.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
“Why didn't I know she trained?”
“Because she doesn't advertise it.”
“How long?”
Samuel sighed.
“Since she was eight.”
Derek stared.
“Eight?”
“She grew up around mats.”
“Why did she stop competing?”
“She didn't.”
Derek frowned.
Samuel smiled.
“She competed under her mother's surname.”
Derek suddenly understood.
“That's why I don't recognize her.”
“Exactly.”
“What was her record?”
Samuel shook his head.
“I don't keep records of other people's lives.”
“Coach.”
Samuel looked at him.
“Derek, you're making the same mistake you made yesterday.”
“What mistake?”
“You think knowing what she has done is more important than knowing what she can do.”
Derek was quiet.
Samuel continued.
“You saw a small woman in a jacket and decided the story before she ever stepped on the mat.”
Derek's jaw tightened.
“I was joking.”
“No.”
Samuel's voice remained calm.
“You were judging.”
Derek stood.
“So what? I'm supposed to apologize?”
“You're supposed to learn.”
That sentence stayed with him.
Later that afternoon, Rachel returned.
This time she wore proper training clothes.
No jacket.
No jeans.
No white sneakers.
Derek watched her walk through the door.
She saw him.
“Hello.”
“Rachel.”
She approached.
“I'd like another round.”
Derek stared at her.
“Against me?”
“If that's okay.”
He almost smiled.
“It's okay.”
Rachel placed her bag down.