Leon used to do the same.
Thomas looked up.
“Jordan.”
“Sir.”
“Nia’s changing.”
“I know.”
Thomas leaned the broom against the wall.
“You staying?”
“Apparently.”
“Good.”
Derek entered from the locker room.
He saw Jordan.
His expression changed.
“Look who came back.”
Jordan ignored him.
Derek smiled.
“You joining?”
“No.”
“Probably smart.”
Thomas looked at Derek.
“Warm up.”
Derek shrugged and walked away.
Thomas nodded toward a chair.
“You can sit there.”
Jordan sat.
The children’s class began.
Nia was awkward.
Very awkward.
Her stance was too narrow.
She crossed her feet.
She forgot which hand was left.
Jordan tried not to react.
Then Nia attempted a front kick and nearly rotated herself sideways.
Jordan covered his mouth.
Thomas saw.
“Something funny?”
Jordan shook his head.
“No, sir.”
Nia turned.
“I saw you!”
The class laughed.
Even Derek smiled.
For ten minutes, the room felt normal.
Then the twelve-year-old from Tuesday arrived.
His name was Noah Klein.
Thin.
Quiet.
His mother dropped him near the door and hurried back to work.
Noah stayed close to the wall.
Derek was assisting.
During partner drills, Noah flinched whenever someone moved quickly.
Derek noticed.
“Again.”
Noah raised his hands.
A partner performed a controlled kick toward his body shield.
Noah stepped backward.
Derek frowned.
“No.”
He repositioned him.
“You can’t retreat every time something comes at you.”
Noah nodded.
Again.
He retreated.
Derek exhaled.
Jordan saw the irritation.
Thomas did too.
“Derek.”
“I’ve got him.”
“Keep it light.”
“I know.”
The next attempt came harder.
Not dangerous.
But unnecessary.
Noah stumbled.
His eyes immediately filled.
Derek shook his head.
“You’re fine.”
Jordan felt something inside him tighten.
Leon’s voice:
Watch the teacher when the student fails. That tells you what kind of teacher he is.
Derek tapped Noah’s headgear.
“Stop making that face.”
Noah whispered:
“I’m trying.”
“Then try harder.”
Thomas crossed the mat.
“That’s enough.”
Derek looked at him.
“He needs confidence.”
“You don’t build confidence by punishing fear.”
“I’m not punishing him.”
Thomas knelt beside Noah.
“Take water.”
Noah hurried away.
Derek shook his head.
“This is why kids stay soft.”
Thomas stood.
“No.”
“This is why coaches matter.”
Derek’s face hardened.
The class continued.
Jordan watched Thomas differently after that.
At the end, Nia ran toward him.
“How bad was I?”
“Horrific.”
She punched his arm.
Jordan smiled.
Thomas approached.
“You remember more than you pretend.”
Jordan looked over.
“What?”
“Your eyes.”
Thomas said.
“You’re correcting everybody in your head.”
“I’m not.”
“You moved your own foot when Nia crossed hers.”
Jordan stared.
Thomas smiled.
“Your father used to do the same thing.”
Jordan’s expression closed.
“I’m not him.”
“No.”
Thomas nodded.
“You shouldn’t be.”
Derek was standing close enough to hear.
He interrupted.
“So what did his dad do?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Not your business.”
Derek glanced at Jordan.
“Secret family?”
Jordan picked up Nia’s backpack.
“Come on.”
As they walked out, Derek called:
“Hey, Hale.”
Jordan stopped.
“Open mat Saturday.”
Jordan looked over.
“Come train.”
“No.”
“You keep watching everybody.”
“Maybe show us what ‘a little’ means.”
Thomas stepped between them verbally before Jordan could respond.
“He said no.”
Derek raised his hands.
“Just being friendly.”
Jordan left.
Derek watched the door close.
Then turned to Thomas.
“You know him.”
Thomas resumed folding pads.
“I know his father.”
“Who was he?”
Thomas ignored him.
“Coach.”
“Drop it.”
Derek walked closer.
“What’s the big secret?”
Thomas stopped.
“Derek.”
Something in his tone finally cut through.
“You need to understand something.”
“What?”
“Not every person who refuses your challenge is afraid.”
Derek’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t say he was.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Thomas looked at him.
“You’ve spent too much time around people impressed by your belt.”
Derek stared.
“And?”
“One day you’re going to mistake restraint for inability.”
Thomas picked up the pads.
“When that happens, I hope the person in front of you has more discipline than you do.”
Derek said nothing.
But the warning did not humble him.
It followed him home.
And like most warnings pride does not want to hear, it became something he needed to disprove.
Saturday morning, Jordan woke at 5:42.
No alarm.
He lay still.
Snow reflected gray light through the apartment blinds.
For several minutes he stared at the ceiling.
Then he heard it.
Not literally.
Memory.
Three soft knocks against a bedroom door.
Leon.
“Up.”
Jordan at fourteen:
“It’s Saturday.”
“Correct.”
“Normal people sleep.”
“We’re not discussing normal people.”
“Dad.”
“Five minutes.”
Jordan smiled despite himself.
The memory hurt immediately afterward.
He got out of bed.
The apartment was quiet.
Angela had worked overnight.
Nia slept.
Jordan put on sweatpants and stepped into the living room.
He did not intend to train.
He told himself that.
Then he began stretching.
Calves.
Hips.
Hamstrings.
Shoulders.
Old sequence.
His body followed.
Twenty minutes later, Jordan was barefoot on the living-room rug.
Stance.
Step.
Pivot.
Guard.
Slip.
Reset.
He moved slowly.
No punches at first.
Then one jab.
Another.
Cross.
Body hook.
He stopped.
Hands lowered.
His chest tightened.
Last hospital week.
Leon barely able to sit upright.
Jordan beside him.
“I’m done.”
Leon looked over.
“With what?”
“Fighting.”
“You’re sixteen.”
“I don’t care.”
Leon’s voice had become thin.
“That’s a bad reason.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Then don’t.”
Jordan stared.
Leon continued.
“But don’t confuse grief with choice.”
Jordan looked away.
“You made me do this my whole life.”
“No.”
Leon smiled faintly.
“I made you learn.”
“What you do with it was always supposed to be yours.”
Jordan wiped his eyes.
Leon reached toward him.
His hand shook.
Jordan took it.
“One promise.”
“What?”
“Never use what I taught you because your pride hurts.”
Jordan swallowed.
“Okay.”
“Say it like you mean it.”