“Technical.”
“Yes.”
“No power.”
“Agreed.”
“If I say stop, you stop.”
“Yes.”
“If you start performing for the crowd, I walk.”
Derek nodded.
“Deal.”
The mat cleared.
No announcer.
No microphone.
Samuel refused to let anyone frame it as the event.
Just training.
That saved it.
Claire stood across from Derek.
Five feet three.
Thirty-eight years old.
Bad right wrist.
Left hip occasionally tight.
No competition in nineteen years.
Across from a national champion in his prime.
No one sensible expected her to dominate.
Claire did not either.
That mattered.
They touched gloves.
Derek moved first.
Light jab.
Claire parried.
He stepped outside.
She turned with him.
Low kick.
Controlled.
Claire checked late.
Felt it.
Good.
Derek smiled.
Not mockery.
Competition.
Claire jabbed.
He slipped easily.
She stepped left.
He cut her off.
Fast.
Very fast.
Claire reset.
Derek feinted high.
Touched body.
She exhaled.
He was better than she remembered.
Of course he was.
He had spent fifteen years doing this professionally.
Claire smiled.
Derek saw.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He laughed.
They continued.
Claire did not try to match speed.
That would be foolish.
She let Derek initiate.
Watched his hips.
Feet.
Breath.
He had a habit.
After throwing the right hand, he shifted weight slightly forward before exiting left.
Richard had taught him not to.
He still did it under rhythm.
Claire saw it.
Waited.
Derek jabbed.
Cross.
Claire slipped.
He shifted.
She stepped outside.
Touched his ribs with a short palm.
Not a strike.
Marker.
The crowd reacted.
Derek looked down.
Then at her.
Claire said,
“Rear hip.”
His face changed.
Richard used to say that.
Derek reset.
Now serious.
He feinted.
Claire did not react.
He kicked low.
She checked.
He jabbed.
She moved.
He cut the angle.
She escaped.
Thirty seconds.
Derek increased pace slightly.
Claire felt the difference immediately.
Champion speed.
Not full.
Enough.
He touched her shoulder.
Then ribs.
Then thigh.
Three clean scores.
Claire nodded.
“Good.”
Derek frowned.
“Don’t coach me.”
She smiled.
“Habit.”
He almost laughed.
Then Claire attacked first.
Jab.
Low feint.
Step across.
Derek read it.
Countered.
Claire barely avoided the touch.
She reset.
Breathing harder.
Reality.
She was older.
Smaller.
Less conditioned for this.
Good.
Truth made things useful.
Derek stepped in.
Claire angled.
He followed.
She tried to pivot.
His lead foot trapped the lane.
Excellent.
He touched her chest protector area.
Point.
Claire nodded.
Then Derek made the mistake.
Not technical.
Emotional.
He smiled toward the crowd.
Just one second.
Old habit.
Claire moved.
Closed distance.
Controlled his lead wrist.
Stepped outside his foot.
Turned the shoulder.
Not a throw.
Not enough leverage against his size.
But enough to force him to post.
His balance broke.
Claire swept the near ankle lightly.
Derek went to one knee.
The room exploded.
Claire released immediately.
Stepped back.
No celebration.
Derek stayed kneeling one second.
Then laughed.
A real laugh.
“Okay.”
He stood.
Samuel smiled.
Derek looked at Claire.
“Dad still hated showboating?”
Claire stared.
“Did you just call him Dad?”
Derek froze.
The room went quiet.
He looked horrified.
“I…”
Claire’s face changed.
Not anger exactly.
Something deeper.
Derek looked down.
“Sorry.”
Claire lowered her hands.
“Round’s over.”
He nodded immediately.
No argument.
Claire walked off the mat.
The room did not understand.
Samuel did.
Helen did too.
Derek stood alone for a moment.
Then removed his gloves.
The fundraiser continued.
But the important thing had already happened.
Not the sweep.
Not the belt.
The word.
Dad.
Derek had never called Richard that before.
Not aloud.
Maybe not even privately.
Claire sat in the locker room.
The belt lay across her knees.
Helen entered.
Closed the door.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Claire glared.
“Everyone says that like it helps.”
Helen sat.
“He loved Derek.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t take anything from you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Claire stared at the belt.
“He got the version of Dad everyone loved.”
Helen waited.
Claire continued.
“Patient.”
“Funny.”
“Wise.”
She laughed bitterly.
“I got the man who made me redo footwork before breakfast.”
Helen smiled.
“You also got the man who drove four hours to your anatomy exam because you said you were scared.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
“He was complicated.”
“I know.”
Helen touched the belt.
“So is Derek.”
Claire looked at her.
“He disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“He missed the funeral.”
“Yes.”
“He turned Dad into some inspirational quote in interviews.”
“Yes.”
Helen nodded.
“All true.”
Claire looked away.
Her mother continued.
“And he was also fourteen when Richard started feeding him dinner three nights a week.”
Claire became still.
“What?”
Helen looked surprised.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“His mother worked nights.”
Claire remembered.
Barely.
Derek always stayed late.
She assumed training.
Helen continued.
“Your father used to send him home with food.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Of course.
Another piece of Richard’s life she had never seen.
Helen said,
“Derek was family in a strange way.”
Claire’s jaw tightened.
“Family shows up.”
Helen nodded.
“Yes.”
No defense.
That mattered.
Claire looked at the belt.
“What do I do with this?”
“Wear it.”
“I mean after today.”
Helen shrugged.
“Your father said it’s yours.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Claire smiled faintly.
Outside, Derek sat behind the building alone.
No manager.
No students.
No cameras.
Samuel found him.
“Mind if I sit?”