"Oh, come on!" Julian egged him on, playing to the crowd. "It's just light sparring. I promise I won't hurt you. Don't you want to show your daughter how brave you are?"
A murmur went through the crowd of parents. Some chuckled. Lily looked up at Arthur, her big brown eyes blinking in confusion. "Are you scared, Daddy?" she whispered innocently.
Arthur looked down at his daughter. He wasn't scared of Julian; he was scared of what might happen if the locked door inside his mind was opened even a fraction. But looking at Lily, and then looking back up at the arrogant, sneering face of the teenager who thought he owned the world, Arthur felt a very old, very cold ember ignite in his chest.
Slowly, deliberately, Arthur stood up.
"Alright," Arthur said softly, his voice barely carrying over the hum of the room. "Just light sparring."
The crowd applauded politely as Arthur walked onto the mat. He didn't bounce, he didn't stretch, and he didn't try to look tough. He just walked to the center of the ring, looking slightly awkward in his socks and sweatpants. He slipped off his gray hoodie, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath.
Julian chuckled, bouncing on the balls of his feet, throwing a few shadow-punches into the air. "Don't worry, old man," Julian smirked, flashing a row of perfectly white teeth. "I'll go easy on you."
Arthur didn't smile back. He didn't frown, either. His face went completely, terrifyingly blank. The apologetic, tired father vanished, replaced by an expression of serene emptiness.
"Take your stances!" Master Vance called out, acting as the referee. "Bow!"
Julian offered a shallow, dismissive nod.
Arthur bowed properly, a deep, respectful bend at the waist, keeping his eyes locked onto Julian's feet.
"Begin!"
Julian immediately went on the offensive. He wanted a quick, flashy finish. He lunged forward, throwing a rapid one-two punch combination aimed at Arthur's face guard, intended to force the older man to flinch and cower.
Arthur didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands into a traditional guard.
As Julian’s left jab snapped forward, Arthur simply tilted his head two inches to the right. The glove breezed past his ear. Julian followed up immediately with a heavy right cross. Arthur pivoted his lead foot just a fraction, twisting his torso. The punch sailed harmlessly over Arthur's shoulder, throwing Julian slightly off balance.
Julian frowned, quickly resetting. Lucky guess, he thought.
He initiated a kicking sequence. Julian threw a lightning-fast low kick at Arthur's thigh, followed instantly by a high roundhouse aimed at his head. It was a combination that had won him tournaments.