Noah smiled so wide his mouthguard almost fell out.
Derek watched.
Something moved behind his expression.
Later came advanced demonstrations.
Derek was scheduled for controlled sparring with another black belt.
His partner had injured his ankle the previous day.
Thomas announced a substitution would be found.
Derek looked toward Jordan.
Everybody saw it.
Thomas did too.
“No.”
Derek had not even spoken.
“Coach.”
“No.”
“It’s a controlled exhibition.”
“No.”
Jordan shook his head.
“I’m not interested.”
Richard Sloan stood near the back.
Watching.
Derek saw him.
That mattered.
His father had come despite threatening not to.
Derek looked at Jordan again.
“You’ve been training.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a black belt.”
“Yes.”
“Three minutes.”
Jordan sighed.
“Why?”
“Because we need a partner.”
“There are six other advanced students.”
“You’re closest to my size.”
“That’s not true.”
A few people laughed.
Derek did not.
He stepped closer.
“Three minutes.”
“Light contact.”
“Points.”
Thomas shook his head.
“Derek.”
Derek looked at his coach.
“I’m asking.”
Thomas studied him.
Something about the tone was different.
Still pride.
But not the same rage.
Jordan noticed too.
Thomas asked:
“Can you control yourself?”
Derek looked at Jordan.
“Yes.”
Thomas turned to Jordan.
“You do not owe anybody this.”
Jordan looked toward Noah.
Then Nia.
Then Derek.
He remembered Leon’s letter.
You do not owe martial arts anything.
Jordan smiled slightly.
“I know.”
Then:
“Okay.”
The crowd reacted immediately.
Whispers.
Phones.
Thomas raised one hand.
“No circus.”
He pointed toward both men.
“This is an exhibition.”
“Light contact.”
“Technical scoring.”
“No knockouts.”
“No hard head contact.”
“If either of you stops listening, I end it.”
Derek nodded.
Jordan did too.
They put on protective gloves.
Headgear.
Shin guards.
Jordan had not sparred publicly in almost two years.
As he stepped onto the mat, his heart pounded.
Not fear of Derek.
Something stranger.
Memory.
His father sitting ringside.
Red towel.
“Breathe.”
Jordan closed his eyes.
Four counts.
When he opened them, Thomas stood in front of him.
“You okay?”
Jordan nodded.
Thomas lowered his voice.
“You don’t have to be Leon.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Across the mat, Derek bounced lightly.
His father watched from the back.
Thomas called them center.
“Respect.”
They touched gloves.
Three-minute clock.
“Begin.”
Derek moved first.
Fast jab.
Controlled.
Jordan slipped.
Low kick.
Jordan checked.
Derek smiled.
Jordan had expected aggression.
Instead Derek was technical.
For twenty seconds they moved without scoring.
Derek attacked with a lead-leg roundhouse.
Jordan blocked.
Countered with a light straight punch to the body.
Point.
The crowd murmured.
Reset.
Derek’s face changed.
Not angry.
Focused.
They engaged again.
Derek feinted high.
Shot low.
Jordan sprawled.
Derek transitioned.
Good.
Very good.
Jordan felt himself smile.
He had missed this.
The problem solving.
Not the winning.
Derek caught a body lock.
Jordan turned.
They separated.
Thirty seconds.
Thomas watched closely.
Richard Sloan shouted:
“Take him out, Derek!”
Derek heard.
His shoulders tightened.
Jordan saw it.
Next exchange harder.
Derek’s kick landed against Jordan’s ribs.
Too much force.
Jordan backed up.
Thomas shouted:
“Control!”
Derek nodded.
“Sorry.”
Jordan believed him.
They reset.
Another exchange.
Jordan scored with a sweep.
Derek hit the mat.
Clean.
Controlled.
Jordan immediately stepped back.
No celebration.
Derek stood.
Richard shouted:
“Come on!”
Jordan saw the effect.
Derek’s breathing changed.
He attacked faster.
Combination.
Jordan defended.
Another.
Harder.
Thomas called:
“Derek.”
Derek ignored him.
Jordan recognized the old pattern.
The room.
Derek was fighting the room now.
His father.
The crowd.
Jordan’s score.
Every old insecurity.
A right hand came too hard toward Jordan’s head.
Jordan moved.
Derek overcommitted.
Jordan had an opening.
A perfect counter.
He could have landed it.
Instead he touched Derek’s shoulder and moved away.
Derek knew.
His eyes widened.
Jordan whispered:
“Breathe.”
Derek stared.
Another attack.
Jordan defended.
“Breathe.”
Derek’s jaw tightened.
Richard shouted:
“Stop playing with him!”
Something broke.
Derek charged with a takedown far harder than the exhibition allowed.
Jordan sprawled.
Turned.
Controlled an arm.
Derek attempted to rise.
Jordan shifted.
For one second, he had a clean path to a choke.
He did not take it.
Instead he released and stepped back.
Thomas stopped the round.
“Time.”
The clock showed one minute fourteen remaining.
Derek ripped off his headgear.
“I’m fine.”
Thomas stepped between them.
“No.”
“I can finish.”
“That’s not the question.”
Derek breathed hard.
Thomas continued:
“You stopped controlling yourself.”
Derek looked toward his father.
Richard shook his head.
Disgusted.
“Unbelievable.”
Derek’s face went pale.
Richard turned toward the exit.
“Dad.”
Richard kept walking.
Derek started after him.
Then stopped.
Something different happened.
For the first time, he did not chase.
He stood in the center of the mat.
Headgear in one hand.
Hundreds of eyes around him.
Jordan waited.
Derek looked at him.
“You had me.”
Jordan knew what he meant.
“Yes.”
“Twice.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you finish?”
Jordan took off his gloves.
“Because Coach said light exhibition.”
Derek laughed once.
Painfully.
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
Derek stared.
Jordan continued:
“And because beating you wasn’t why I said yes.”
“Why did you?”
Jordan looked toward Noah.
The boy sat in front.
“To see if you could do it without making somebody smaller.”