Marcus laughed softly.
“That's because you usually see people after they've spent years learning.”
Ben looked at him.
“You ever feel like that?”
“Every day.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“Do you think I walked into my first gym and knew how to fight?”
Ben shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“I couldn't keep my hands up for two minutes without getting tired. My first coach made me repeat the same movement until I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
“What happened?”
“I got better.”
Ben smiled.
“That's it?”
“That's most of it.”
They sat quietly for a moment.
Then Marcus stood.
“Ready?”
Ben got up.
“Yeah.”
They resumed the drill.
This time, Marcus did not shout when Ben made a mistake.
He showed him where his balance had shifted.
He explained why the movement had failed.
Then he gave him another chance.
Across the gym, Elena watched.
She did not interrupt.
Althea entered a few minutes later with her cleaning cart. She paused near the doorway when she saw Marcus working with Ben.
Their eyes met briefly.
Marcus nodded.
Althea returned the nod.
Then she continued with her work.
It was a small exchange.
No cameras.
No applause.
No statement released to the public.
But it mattered.
Grant Holloway arrived that afternoon.
He entered the gym carrying a leather folder and wearing the same polished expression he used whenever he believed a situation required professional control.
He found Elena in the training office.
“Where's Marcus?”
“Training.”
“I need him.”
Elena gestured toward the main floor.
“He's working with Ben.”
Grant glanced through the glass.
Marcus was demonstrating a movement while Ben watched carefully.
Grant frowned.
“Is that part of the new campaign?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it's training.”
Grant placed the folder on the desk.
“The league wants a live media session tomorrow. We need to get ahead of the discussion.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“Which discussion?”
Grant gave her a look.
“Don't pretend you don't know.”
“I know what happened.”
“Then you understand why we need to move on.”
Elena remained silent.
Grant opened the folder.
“We're planning a short segment. Marcus will talk about respect, discipline, and the importance of the entire team. Then we'll film him working with younger athletes.”
“Does Ben know?”
“He can be told.”
Elena's expression hardened.
“That's not what I asked.”
Grant sighed.
“Why does everything have to become complicated?”
“Because Ben is not a prop.”
Grant looked toward the training floor.
“It's a good opportunity for him.”
“Then ask him whether he wants to participate.”
Grant closed the folder.
“Fine. I'll ask.”
Elena looked at him.
“And if he says no?”
Grant shrugged.
“Then we'll find someone else.”
Marcus entered the office at that moment.
“What are we discussing?”
Grant turned.
“Tomorrow's media session.”
Marcus looked at the folder.
“What about it?”
“We're going to film you working with the amateur team. It'll demonstrate that you're taking the criticism seriously and that you've become more involved with the gym.”
Marcus frowned.
“Is this about Ben?”
“Partly.”
“Has he agreed?”
Grant looked irritated.
“I haven't asked him yet.”
“Then ask him.”
Grant sighed.
“Marcus, this is not a legal deposition.”
“No. It's a simple question.”
Grant stared at him.
Marcus continued.
“If he wants to be involved, fine. If he doesn't, leave him alone.”
Grant shook his head.
“You're making this harder than it needs to be.”
Marcus picked up his water bottle.
“Maybe we should stop making people feel like they don't get a choice.”
Elena lowered her eyes.
She did not want Grant to see her smile.
Grant gathered the folder.
“You're going to regret handling your career this way.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Maybe. But at least it'll be my career.”
Grant left.
Elena waited until the door closed.
Then she looked at Marcus.
“You're learning.”
He smiled.
“Don't get used to it.”
That evening, Marcus remained at Crownline after the professional team had finished training.
He sat alone in the small office and opened a blank document.
He wanted to write down what he had learned during the previous weeks.
Not for a speech.
Not for a sponsor.
For himself.
He wrote:
I thought respect was something people owed me because I had earned a title.
He stopped.
Then continued.
I thought being strong meant never allowing anyone to question me.
He read the sentence.
Then added:
I was wrong.
He thought about his father.
He thought about the first time he had won a regional tournament. His father had stood near the entrance, arms crossed, and told him that the competition had been weak.
He remembered the first professional victory that had earned him a televised interview.
His father had watched the broadcast and called afterward.
“You looked good,” he had said.
Then, after a pause:
“But you left your right side open.”
Marcus had spent years trying to close every opening his father could see.