North Ridge Combat Academy was a converted warehouse outside Denver, Colorado, filled
with the familiar scents of disinfectant, sweat, and well-worn leather. It was a place built on
discipline, grit, and respect. But lately, the culture had begun to sour, and at the center of that rot
was twenty-six-year-old Derek Sloan.
Derek was undeniably talented. Standing six feet tall and weighing a muscular one hundred
eighty-five pounds, he had earned his Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belt at an unusually young age. He
was fast, strong, and technically gifted. He had won several regional grappling tournaments and
four amateur MMA fights. On paper, Derek was exactly the kind of athlete a gym should have been
proud of.
The problem was that Derek had gradually decided being talented meant being important. And
being important, in his mind, meant other people existed partly to confirm his dominance.
Beginners learned quickly not to choose him for sparring. If the coach called for fifty percent effort,
Derek gave seventy. If a younger athlete managed to catch him in a hold, Derek spent the next