“He’s tired?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“When people get tired, they stop hearing ten corrections at once.”
The room became quieter.
Derek laughed.
“You coach now?”
“No.”
“Then how about you clean and I coach?”
Marcus nodded.
“Fair enough.”
He went back to the cage door.
The exchange should have ended there.
But Derek had thirty people watching.
He wanted the last word.
“So what would you tell him?”
Marcus ignored him.
“Come on.”
No response.
“You had an opinion.”
Marcus finally turned.
“I’d tell him to breathe, slow down, and do one thing correctly.”
Derek looked at Lucas.
Then back at Marcus.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Brilliant.”
Marcus shrugged.
“Usually simple works.”
Derek stepped closer.
“You ever train?”
Marcus paused.
“Years ago.”
“What?”
“Judo.”
A few fighters looked interested.
Derek smiled.
“There we go.”
Marcus immediately regretted answering.
“You a black belt?”
“Yes.”
Derek’s eyebrows lifted.
“How long ago?”
“A long time.”
“Still got it?”
Marcus picked up his spray bottle.
“Probably not.”
Derek laughed.
“Honest.”
Then another fighter asked,
“You compete?”
Marcus did not answer.
Derek caught that.
“Oh.”
He smiled wider.
“He competed.”
Marcus looked at him.
“I said years ago.”
“What level?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Regional?”
Marcus wiped the cage.
Derek followed him.
“State?”
Marcus stopped.
“Derek.”
It was the first time he used the champion’s name that evening.
“I’m working.”
That should have been enough.
Instead Derek took the silence as an invitation to invent the answer.
“Probably local tournaments.”
Marcus resumed cleaning.
Derek laughed toward the others.
“You know how every old guy who did martial arts in 1997 suddenly becomes a secret killer?”
A few people laughed.
Marcus did not.
Lucas looked uncomfortable.
Rachel Kim stepped closer.
“Derek. Enough.”
Derek raised both hands.
“I’m joking.”
Rachel looked at Marcus.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
That answer gave Derek exactly the excuse he wanted.
“See?”
Then he pointed toward the mat.
“Come on, Marcus.”
“No.”
“Thirty seconds.”
“No.”
“Not even sparring.”
“No.”
“Just grappling.”
Marcus looked at him.
“No.”
Derek’s voice sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because I’m working.”
“Afraid?”
“No.”
“Then prove it.”
Marcus looked around the gym.
Thirty faces.
Some curious.
Some amused.
Some uncomfortable.
Henry had already started walking toward them.
“Derek,” he said.
But Derek raised a hand.
“No, Coach. I’m just asking.”
Marcus looked at Henry.
Henry stopped.
Their eyes met.
There was history in that look.
Not spoken history.
The kind that came from knowing someone longer than most people realized.
Henry swallowed.
“Marcus,” he said quietly, “you don't have to do this.”
Marcus nodded.
“I know.”
Then he looked at Derek.
“Thirty seconds?”
Derek smiled.
“Thirty.”
Marcus removed his work shirt.
Underneath was a plain white T-shirt.
He folded the shirt carefully and placed it beside his cleaning cart.
Then he removed his watch.
His wedding ring was absent.
He had been widowed six years.
Marcus stepped toward the mat.
“Before we start,” he said, “one rule.”
Derek laughed.
“You’re setting rules?”
“No strikes.”
“I wasn't planning on striking you.”
“Good.”
Marcus looked at Henry.
“Timer?”
Henry nodded.
Rachel moved toward the wall.
Derek bounced lightly on his feet.
“Ready to get embarrassed?”
Marcus said nothing.
The gym became silent.
Henry looked at the digital clock.
“Thirty seconds.”
Derek raised his hands.
Marcus stood completely still.
The timer beeped.
Derek exploded forward.
And in less than three seconds, everyone in Titan Fight Club realized they had made a terrible mistake by laughing.
Three Seconds
Derek moved exactly as he had been trained to move.
Fast.
Aggressive.
Confident.
His first step was a level change designed to drive Marcus backward.
Marcus did not retreat.
He shifted.
Just one step.
Derek's hands closed around empty air.
A murmur passed through the gym.
Derek immediately adjusted.
He circled left.
Marcus followed him with his eyes.
Not his shoulders.
Not his feet.
His eyes.
Derek feinted high.
Marcus didn't react.
He shot again.
This time he got close enough to touch Marcus's hip.
Marcus turned.
Derek's balance disappeared.
He didn't fall.
Marcus had not thrown him.
He had simply redirected him.
Derek stumbled past.
The timer displayed twenty-five seconds.
“Come on!” Derek shouted.
Marcus said nothing.
Derek attacked again.
This time with anger.
He reached for an underhook.
Marcus caught his wrist.
For one brief second, Derek felt something strange.
Not strength.
Timing.
Marcus moved at exactly the moment Derek's body committed.
Derek's wrist turned.
His elbow folded.
His shoulder dropped.
His knees touched the mat.
The gym erupted.
Not in laughter.
In shock.
Derek immediately scrambled upright.
Marcus stepped back.
“Twenty seconds,” Henry called.
Derek's face had changed.
The champion was gone.
In his place was a young man who had just discovered that someone had been hiding a door in a room he thought he owned.
Derek charged.
Marcus sidestepped.
Derek grabbed.
Marcus pivoted.
Derek's momentum carried him past.
Marcus touched his back with two fingers.
“Dead.”
Someone whispered,
“Oh my God.”
Derek spun around.
“You got lucky.”
Marcus nodded.
“Maybe.”
That answer made Derek furious.
He rushed again.
This time Marcus met him.
Their bodies collided.
For half a second, it looked like Derek had the advantage.
He was younger.
He was stronger.
He was heavier.
Then Marcus changed levels.
Derek felt the floor disappear beneath one foot.
He twisted.
Marcus adjusted.
Derek landed on his side.
The impact wasn't hard.
It didn't need to be.
The message was enough.
Henry stopped the timer.
“Enough.”
Derek sat up.
The room was silent.
Marcus stood.
He wasn't breathing heavily.
Derek was.
“How long?” Derek asked.
Henry looked at the clock.
“Eleven seconds.”
Nobody spoke.
Derek looked around.
His championship belt sat on the chair.
Suddenly it seemed very far away.
Marcus walked toward his folded work shirt.