“I do.”
Elena picked up the second glove.
“Good. Then let's make sure you remember everything we worked on.”
“Don't chase.”
“Don't force an exchange.”
“Don't let frustration make decisions.”
“Protect your balance.”
“Listen to your corner.”
“And?”
Marcus smiled.
“Don't confuse winning a round with winning the fight.”
Elena returned his smile.
“That's my fighter.”
She finished checking the gloves and stood.
“Ready?”
Marcus took a slow breath.
“Yes.”
Elena did not immediately move toward the door.
Instead, she studied him for another moment.
“You've changed some things.”
Marcus looked down.
“I'm trying.”
“I know. I'm not talking about the public apology or the way you speak to the cameras. I'm talking about the things nobody notices.”
He looked at her.
“The early mornings. The way you treat Ben. The way you ask the staff whether the training area is ready instead of assuming someone will arrange everything for you.”
Marcus said nothing.
“You've been doing the work when there isn't an audience.”
He smiled faintly.
“Does that mean I'm forgiven?”
Elena shook her head.
“That's not my decision.”
“I know.”
“And it isn't something you can demand from Althea either.”
“I know that too.”
“Good.”
She picked up his water bottle.
“Then keep earning the kind of respect that doesn't disappear when the cameras turn off.”
Marcus nodded.
A knock sounded at the door.
Ben Keller appeared in the doorway.
He was wearing a black Crownline jacket and carrying a small backpack. His hair was still damp from the rain. He looked as though he had rehearsed what he wanted to say and had forgotten every word as soon as he saw Marcus.
“Hey.”
Marcus smiled.
“Hey, kid.”
Ben stepped inside.
“Am I interrupting?”
Elena glanced at the clock.
“Not yet. You have a minute.”
Ben approached the bench.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Ben looked at Marcus's gloves.
“They look heavier than usual.”
Marcus raised his hands.
“Maybe they are.”
“Does that mean you're going to hit harder?”
“No. It means somebody put too much tape on them.”
Elena gave him a warning look.
“It's the correct amount.”
Ben grinned.
Marcus laughed.
For a moment, the dressing room felt almost ordinary.
Ben shifted his weight.
Then he said, “I think you're going to win.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because you've been working.”
Marcus smiled.
“That's a good reason.”
“You've been training differently. You're not trying to win every practice round anymore.”
“That's because practice isn't a competition.”
Ben nodded.
“I know that now.”
Marcus studied the young fighter.
When they had first met, Ben had watched Marcus with the kind of admiration that made every careless remark seem important. Marcus had enjoyed being admired. He had not considered what responsibility came with that attention.
He had believed that younger fighters needed to see strength, confidence, and dominance.
He had failed to show them patience.
Now Ben was beginning to understand that discipline was not something a fighter put on when a referee entered the ring. It was something that appeared in the way he listened, trained, responded to correction, and treated people who had no power over his career.
Ben glanced toward the arena entrance.
“Althea says the same thing.”
Marcus nodded.
“She usually does.”
“She's here.”
“I know.”
Ben looked surprised.
“How?”
“Elena told me.”
“Oh.”
He hesitated.
“Are you glad?”
Marcus smiled.
“Very.”
Ben looked down at his shoes.
“I'm nervous for you.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“That's kind of you.”
“What if you lose?”
The question was quiet, but it carried the seriousness of someone who had spent too much time believing that a loss could destroy a person's identity.
Marcus did not answer immediately.
He remembered the first time his father had watched him compete. He remembered the disappointment in the man's face after a loss. He remembered promising himself that he would never experience that look again.
For years, that promise had driven him.
It had also made him afraid.
He looked at Ben.
“Then I lose.”
Ben frowned.
“That's it?”
“That's it.”
“But the title—”
“The title matters. It matters a lot. I worked hard for it, and I want to keep it.”
Marcus paused.
“But it doesn't decide whether I'm worth anything.”
Ben watched him carefully.
Marcus continued.
“If I win tonight, I'll be happy. If I lose, I'll be disappointed. I'll probably be angry with myself for a while. I'll review the fight, figure out what I did wrong, and decide what comes next.”
He leaned back.
“But I won't become a different person because a judge reads a different number.”
Ben nodded slowly.
“Do you really believe that?”
Marcus looked at him.
“I didn't six weeks ago.”
“What changed?”
Marcus glanced toward Elena.
Then toward the door.
“A few people made me look at myself.”
Ben smiled.
“Althea?”
“Among others.”
Ben looked at his hands.
“I hope I can think like that when I fight.”
“You can.”
“What if I lose?”
“Then you learn.”
“What if people laugh?”