That would have been simpler.
Robert Mercer had come to Apex Harbor for another reason entirely.
And Mason Vance had just volunteered to become part of it.
Leonard stepped between them.
"Robert, you don't have to."
"I know."
"Mason, this is a technical round."
Mason nodded.
"Of course."
Robert looked at him.
"How technical?"
"Fifty percent."
Robert smiled faintly.
"Make it thirty."
A few people laughed.
Mason did not.
"Fine."
Leonard established rules.
Three minutes.
No slams.
Catch submissions, release.
Tap means immediate stop.
Mason stretched his neck.
Robert simply stood.
The timer started.
Mason circled.
Robert did not follow.
He waited.
Mason reached for a collar tie.
Robert moved one hand.
That was all anyone clearly saw.
Mason's wrist redirected.
His lead foot became light.
Robert stepped behind it.
Mason sat down hard.
Not thrown.
Not slammed.
Just suddenly seated.
Several people laughed.
Mason stood quickly.
"Slipped."
Robert looked down.
"Dry floor."
Leonard covered his mouth.
Mason shot for a takedown.
Faster now.
Robert sprawled just enough.
No dramatic movement.
One underhook.
One step.
Mason found himself facing the wrong direction.
Robert released him.
Mason spun.
"Stop giving me space."
Robert raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not."
Mason attacked again.
For thirty seconds, the younger man worked.
Single leg.
Arm drag.
Snap-down.
Robert defended everything with movements so small they looked almost lazy.
Then Mason finally got deep on a double-leg.
The crowd reacted.
Robert gave ground.
Mason drove.
Robert turned.
Suddenly both men were on the floor.
Robert on top.
No one understood the transition.
Mason tried to bridge.
Robert floated with it.
Mason turned.
Robert took his back.
One hook.
Second hook.
Arm around the neck.
No squeeze.
"Position," Robert said.
Mason's face turned red.
"I know."
Robert released.
They reset.
Leonard looked at the clock.
One minute, twenty seconds remaining.
Mason stared.
"You're playing with me."
"No."
"Then finish something."
Robert became still.
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why do you need me to?"
The question irritated Mason more than the control.
He rushed again.
Robert caught the wrist.
Stepped inside.
Mason's shoulder became trapped.
For one second, pain appeared.
Robert released before Mason tapped.
Mason stared.
"You had it."
"Yes."
"Why'd you let go?"
"Because you knew."
Leonard called:
"Thirty seconds."
Mason's frustration became visible.
Robert saw it.
"So does everyone."
"What?"
"Your breathing changes when you're angry."
Mason lunged.
Robert shifted.
The champion stumbled past him.
Timer.
Leonard shouted:
"Time."
Robert immediately stepped away.
Mason did not.
"Again."
Robert reached for his coffee.
"No."
"You didn't submit me."
"No."
"So what exactly did you prove?"
Robert picked up the cup.
"Nothing."
The answer stunned him.
Mason looked around.
People were whispering.
He felt humiliated.
Robert took one sip.
Then said:
"But you proved something."
Mason's eyes hardened.
"What?"
"You couldn't handle a round where nobody agreed to make you look impressive."
Silence spread across the gym.
Leonard closed his eyes.
Mason laughed once.
Sharp.
"You're some old legend, right?"
Robert looked toward Leonard.
Leonard finally spoke.
"Robert coached me."
Mason turned.
"Before Apex Harbor existed."
"He trained some of the best fighters I've ever known."
Mason looked back at Robert.
"So this was a setup."
Robert's expression hardened.
"No."
"You knew I didn't know who you were."
"Yes."
"You let me think you were some random old man."
Robert stared.
"You wanted a random old man."
Mason had no answer.
Robert finished his coffee.
Then walked away from the mat.
No celebration.
No bow for the crowd.
No dramatic revelation.
And that absence of triumph bothered Mason more than losing ever had.
Robert Mercer had not entered a serious martial arts gym in nine years.
That surprised Leonard.
After the fundraiser, they sat in his office.
Mason had left.
The crowd had mostly dispersed.
Leonard closed the door.
"Why now?"
Robert looked through the office window.
"Your email."
Leonard frowned.
"What email?"
"The one you sent eight months ago."
Leonard remembered.
He had written Robert during a particularly bad week.
Three students had quit.
A parent complained about Mason humiliating her son.
Another instructor threatened to leave.
Leonard wrote:
I think I've created something I don't know how to control.
Robert never answered.
Until now.
"I thought you ignored me."
"I did."
"Helpful."
Robert almost smiled.
Then his expression changed.
"I wasn't ready."
"For what?"
"To walk into another gym."
Leonard knew part of the story.
Not all.
Robert had once run a respected training center in Denver.
Then it closed almost overnight.
Rumors spread.
Burnout.
Divorce.
Financial problems.
Nobody knew.