Samuel nodded.
“I know.”
Ryan should have let it die there.
He didn’t.
“You’re the one who started talking.”
Samuel looked at him.
“No.”
“I said one thing.”
“You made it personal.”
Ryan laughed.
“Okay.”
“Then show me.”
Marcus stepped between them.
“Ryan.”
Ryan ignored him.
“You want to tell me how to train?”
“Come show me.”
Samuel said:
“No.”
Ryan smiled.
“That’s what I thought.”
Marcus’s eyes closed briefly.
Samuel started to turn away.
Then Ryan added:
“Everybody’s an expert until the mat opens.”
Samuel stopped.
Jacob looked uncomfortable.
So did several spectators.
Samuel turned back.
“Thirty seconds?”
Marcus immediately said:
“No.”
Samuel looked toward him.
“Technical.”
Marcus stared.
“You do not need to prove anything.”
“I know.”
Samuel looked at Ryan.
“That’s not why.”
Ryan’s confidence returned.
“Rules?”
Samuel began unbuttoning the cuffs of his denim shirt.
“No strikes.”
“Obviously.”
“No hard takedowns.”
Ryan nodded.
“No forcing submissions.”
“Fine.”
Samuel continued:
“If either person says stop, easy, or tap, the exchange ends immediately.”
Ryan glanced toward Jacob.
“Fine.”
“And no bonus.”
Derek frowned.
“What?”
Samuel looked at him.
“If he needs two thousand dollars to make this worth doing, I’m leaving.”
Ryan’s face tightened.
“I don’t need the money.”
“Good.”
Samuel removed the denim shirt.
Underneath was a plain white T-shirt.
His body did not suddenly reveal superhero muscle.
He looked exactly seventy.
Lean.
Strong for his age.
A little rounded through the shoulders.
Right knee slightly swollen.
Old surgical scar visible when he rolled his jeans above the ankle.
Marcus watched him remove his boots.
Then Samuel stepped onto the mat.
Bare feet.
One step.
Then another.
Marcus’s expression changed.
He leaned toward Ryan.
Very quietly, he whispered:
“Watch his feet.”
Ryan looked at him.
“What?”
Marcus did not take his eyes off Samuel.
“His feet.”
Samuel walked toward the center.
No bouncing.
No stretching.
No dramatic pose.
His steps were short.
Balanced.
His weight settled without ever appearing heavy.
Marcus stared.
Something from decades earlier moved through his memory.
A wrestling room with cracked mats.
A younger version of himself.
A coach tapping the floor with a broomstick and yelling:
Your hands are lying to you. Watch his feet.
Marcus looked at Samuel’s face.
Older now.
Thinner.
Gray hair hidden beneath the tan cap he had placed by the wall.
Marcus whispered:
“No way.”
Ryan heard him.
“What?”
Marcus looked at Samuel.
“Mr. Price?”
Samuel smiled for the first time.
“Took you long enough.”
Marcus stepped onto the mat.
“You’re Samuel Price.”
Samuel nodded.
Ryan looked between them.
“You know him?”
Marcus laughed in disbelief.
“You have no idea.”
Samuel raised one finger.
“Do not.”
Marcus stopped.