Derek's jaw tightened.
“Then what am I asking?”
“You're asking me to prove something.”
Derek smiled.
“Exactly.”
Marcus shook his head.
“I have nothing to prove.”
That sentence landed harder than an insult.
Derek stepped closer.
“Everybody has something to prove.”
Marcus looked toward Henry.
The coach had remained silent.
Marcus waited.
Henry finally sighed.
“Derek, let it go.”
Derek turned.
“Why?”
“Because he said no.”
“He's standing right there.”
“And he said no.”
Derek pointed at Marcus.
“Then why is he still looking at me?”
Marcus answered quietly.
“Because I'm trying to decide whether you're serious.”
Derek smiled.
“I am.”
Marcus looked at the timer.
Then at the championship belt.
Then back at Derek.
“Thirty seconds?”
“Thirty.”
“No striking?”
“No striking.”
“Just grappling?”
“Just grappling.”
Marcus was silent.
Henry walked over.
“Marcus.”
“I know.”
“You don't have to.”
“I know.”
Henry lowered his voice.
“Don't do this because he embarrassed you.”
Marcus met his eyes.
“He didn't.”
“Then why?”
Marcus glanced around the room.
At Lucas.
At Tyler.
At Rachel.
At the younger fighters who were watching.
“Because if I leave now, he'll think this is how you get people to say yes.”
Henry understood.
Derek did not.
Marcus placed his spray bottle down.
“Thirty seconds.”
Derek grinned.
“That's right.”
Marcus raised one finger.
“Under one condition.”
“What?”
“If I say stop, you stop.”
Derek laughed.
“Obviously.”
Marcus didn't smile.
“I mean immediately.”
Derek shrugged.
“Fine.”
Rachel stepped toward Henry.
“Are you sure?”
Henry nodded slowly.
“No.”
That was the truth.
Marcus walked to the edge of the mat.
He removed his work shirt.
Underneath was a plain black athletic shirt.
Derek noticed the difference immediately.
Marcus's shoulders were broader than he had assumed.
His forearms were thick.
There were old scars across his left shoulder.
Not dramatic scars.
Small pale lines.
The kind that suggested years rather than one spectacular injury.
Derek's smile faded slightly.
Marcus removed his shoes.
Then stepped onto the mat.
Henry started the timer.
“Ready?”
Derek bounced lightly.
“Always.”
Marcus stood still.
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Ready?”
Marcus nodded.
The timer beeped.
Derek exploded forward.
He expected Marcus to retreat.
Instead Marcus stepped diagonally.
Not backward.
Not sideways.
Diagonal.
Derek's right hand shot toward Marcus's shoulder.
Marcus caught the wrist.
Derek immediately tried to turn the grip into an underhook.
Marcus rotated his forearm.
Derek felt his balance shift.
He planted his foot.
Marcus released him.
Three seconds.
The room went silent.
Derek blinked.
“What was that?”
Marcus said nothing.
Derek attacked again.
This time he drove forward with his hips.
Marcus moved around him.
One hand touched Derek's shoulder.
The other controlled his elbow.
Derek suddenly found himself facing the cage.
He twisted.
Marcus let go.
Seven seconds.
Derek's confidence had changed.
Not disappeared.
Changed.
He had felt something.
Timing.
Not strength.
Not speed.
Timing.
Derek had fought men who were stronger than him.
Faster than him.
Younger than him.
But timing like this was different.
He attacked again.
Marcus slipped.
Derek grabbed his waist.
For a fraction of a second, Derek thought he had him.
Then Marcus dropped his weight.
Derek's grip collapsed.
Marcus turned.
Derek stumbled.
The timer showed eighteen seconds.
“Come on!” Derek shouted.
Marcus didn't answer.
Derek charged.
This time Marcus met him.
Their bodies collided.
Derek pushed.
Marcus yielded.
Then redirected.
Derek's feet moved before his brain understood why.
He landed on one knee.
The gym erupted.
Nobody laughed.
Marcus stepped away.
Derek jumped back up.
“Again.”
Marcus looked at the timer.
“Twenty-four seconds.”
“I said again.”
Marcus waited.
Derek attacked.
Marcus caught him.
A smooth hip turn.
A controlled sweep.
Derek landed flat on his back.
The timer beeped.
Thirty seconds.
Silence.
Marcus stood over him.
Not triumphantly.
Not arrogantly.
Just waiting.
Derek stared upward.
Then sat up.
“You've been training.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
“You don't move like someone who hasn't trained.”
“I didn't say I hadn't trained.”
Derek stood.
“When?”
Marcus picked up his shirt.
“A long time ago.”
“How long?”
Marcus looked at Henry.
Henry closed his eyes.
The past was no longer staying buried.
“Twenty years,” Marcus said.
Derek laughed.
“Twenty years?”
Marcus nodded.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don't care what you believe.”
Derek's face reddened.
“You got lucky.”
Rachel stepped forward.
“Derek.”
“What?”
“You lost.”
“I slipped.”
“You lost.”
Derek looked around.
Several fighters avoided his eyes.
That made it worse.
He pointed at Marcus.
“Again.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the thirty seconds are over.”
Derek laughed bitterly.
“So that's it?”
Marcus nodded.
“Yes.”
Then he walked off the mat.
He picked up his spray bottle.
And began cleaning.
That was when Henry finally understood the real problem.
Marcus had not been trying to defeat Derek.
He had been trying to stop him.
There was a difference.
The Name on the Wall
The gym slowly returned to normal.
People resumed drilling.
Music started again.