MAYA: Love you. Don't forget breakfast.
Althea slipped the phone into her pocket.
"Not a chance," she whispered.
She walked out through the staff entrance.
The night air was cool, and the parking lot was almost empty.
She stood beside her old silver sedan for a moment, looking back at the warehouse.
Inside, the lights in the training room were still on.
Marcus's championship belt was probably still sitting on the chair.
Althea shook her head.
Then she got into her car and drove home.
She had learned long ago that some people needed to lose an audience before they could hear themselves think.
Marcus Vale was not ready to hear himself.
But he would be.
And when that moment came, it would have very little to do with the mop.
THE CHAMPION WHO NEEDED AN AUDIENCE
Marcus Vale was still angry when he stepped out of the locker room.
He had showered, changed into a black T-shirt and track pants, and packed his training gloves into a leather duffel bag.
The promotional shoot had ended.
The cameras were gone.
The sponsor representative had left.
Ben Keller had disappeared twenty minutes earlier.
But the conversation with Althea Brooks remained in his head.
Not the part about the floor.
Not the disinfectant.
Not even the refusal to give him ten more minutes.
It was the sentence about the championship belt.
That a championship belt doesn't make you the most important person in every room.
Marcus hated that sentence because it sounded like something Elena would say.
He hated it more because he knew it was true.
He walked through the training room and found Elena stacking focus mitts near the ring.
"You're still here?"
"So are you."
Marcus dropped his duffel beside the wall.
"That woman has a problem."
Elena did not look up.
"Which woman?"
"Don't do that."
"Althea?"
"Yes, Althea."
Elena set the mitts down.
"What about her?"
"She thinks she can talk to people however she wants."
"She told you not to walk across a wet floor."
"She was disrespectful."
"She was direct."
"Same thing, apparently."
Elena picked up another pair of mitts.
"No. It isn't."
Marcus leaned against the ropes.
"You're acting like I committed some kind of crime."
"Nobody said that."
"Then why did you jump in?"
"Because I watched you deliberately step on a floor someone had just cleaned."
"It was water."
"It was disinfectant."
"Same thing."
"No, Marcus. It isn't."
He stared at her.
Elena continued stacking equipment.
"She had a job to finish. We were keeping her here after closing. You made it harder for her, then acted like she was the problem."
Marcus scoffed.
"You're really going to lecture me about mopping?"
"I'm going to talk to you about respect."
He shook his head.
"You know what? Forget it."
"That's usually what you do when somebody tells you something you don't like."
Marcus looked at her.
Elena finally met his eyes.
She was forty-two, compact and athletic, with dark hair usually tied into a ponytail and a small scar near her left eyebrow. She had coached professional fighters for almost twenty years. She had trained champions, amateurs, police officers, college athletes, and people who had never stepped into a ring before.
She had also spent enough time around successful fighters to know how quickly confidence could become arrogance.
"You're a good fighter," she said.
Marcus gave a short laugh.
"I know."
"That's not the same as being a good man."
His expression tightened.
"Here we go."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. I'm tired of people acting like I owe everybody something."
"Nobody asked you to owe everybody anything."
"Then why do I have to apologize every time someone doesn't like my tone?"
"Because sometimes your tone is the problem."
He pushed away from the ropes.
"You've changed."
Elena looked at him.
"Have I?"
"You used to believe in me."
"I still believe in you."
"Doesn't sound like it."
"I believe you can become better than you are right now."
He stared at her.
Then he picked up his duffel.
"Good night, Coach."
"Marcus."
He stopped.
"Don't make this worse."
He looked over his shoulder.
"How could I possibly make it worse?"
Elena did not answer.
He left.
The following morning, Marcus woke to twenty-three notifications.
Five were messages from sponsors.
Three were from his manager.
One was from a local sports reporter asking whether he would be available for an interview.
The rest were comments on the short video Neil had posted from the promotional shoot.
Marcus opened the clip.
It showed him performing a spinning kick beneath the bright training lights. The camera followed his leg in slow motion, capturing the impact against a heavy bag.
The clip looked good.
His form was clean.
His balance was excellent.
The caption read:
CHAMPION MODE. NO DAYS OFF.
The comments were mostly positive.
That kick is disgusting.
Marcus is ready for another defense.
Best striker in the division.