“That happened while I was doing my job.”
Raymond laughed.
“You haven't changed.”
“Neither have you.”
He gestured toward the event poster.
“Let the young fighters learn where the sport came from.”
Althea looked at the poster.
A photograph of her from years earlier showed a younger woman standing in a ring with one hand raised. Her expression was serious, her hair tied back, her championship belt resting against her waist.
The image seemed to belong to another life.
She remembered the fight.
She remembered the preparation.
She remembered the knee injury that had changed everything.
She also remembered how little she had understood about what would come afterward.
For a long time, she had avoided speaking about her career because she did not want people to remember her only as the fighter who had been forced to retire.
But Raymond was right about one thing.
Young athletes deserved to know the sport's history.
They deserved to understand that skill was built through years of repetition, mistakes, patience, and respect.
And they deserved to see a woman who had been successful in a sport where people had once assumed she did not belong.
Althea finally agreed.
The seminar filled the training room.
Young athletes came from nearby gyms. Some were beginners. Others had already competed in amateur events. A few older fighters attended simply because they wanted to hear Althea speak.
Marcus arrived early.
He carried two boxes of equipment from the storage room.
When he entered the training area, he found Althea arranging cones.
“Need help?”
She looked at him.
“Those go near the far wall.”
He picked them up.
“Yes, coach.”
She smiled.
“Don't get carried away.”
He laughed.
Across the room, Ben was helping younger students wrap their hands.
Elena checked the equipment.
Raymond spoke with a group of former fighters.
The gym was busy, but it was not chaotic.
Everyone seemed to understand their role.
Marcus placed the boxes near the wall.
Then he looked at Althea.
“Anything else?”
She pointed toward a stack of pads.
“Those need to be moved.”
He nodded.
“On it.”
She watched him for a moment.
Then she said, “You know, you don't have to volunteer for every job.”
Marcus glanced over.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He smiled.
“I'm trying to be helpful.”
“Then be helpful without turning it into a performance.”
Marcus laughed.
“Understood.”
He carried the pads to the correct area.
When the seminar began, Althea stood in the center of the mat.
She wore a simple black training shirt and dark trousers. Her hands were wrapped, not because she intended to fight, but because she wanted to demonstrate several movements without irritating her fingers.
The room gradually quieted.
She looked around at the students.
“I want to begin with something simple.”
Everyone listened.
“Fighting is not about proving that you're better than another person.”
She paused.
“It's about learning what you're capable of when things become difficult.”
She demonstrated a basic movement.
A small shift of weight.
A slight turn of the hip.
A change in distance.
Nothing dramatic.
Then she invited the students to try.
Some struggled.
Some moved too quickly.
Some forgot their balance.
Althea corrected them patiently.
“Slow down.”
She moved beside a young man who was throwing his weight forward.
“Your feet are trying to catch up with your hands.”
He frowned.
“Is that bad?”
“It means your hands are making decisions your body can't support.”
She demonstrated again.
“Your stance should give you options. It should not become a prison.”
The young man tried again.
This time, his movement was smaller.
“Better,” Althea said.
Across the mat, Marcus watched.
He recognized the lesson.
A fighter could have strong hands and still be helpless if his feet were poorly positioned.
A person could have authority and still be weak if he had no control over his reactions.
Strength needed structure.
The seminar continued.
Althea showed the students how to move without wasting energy. She explained how distance could protect a smaller fighter from someone stronger. She talked about recognizing an opponent's rhythm rather than blindly attacking.
Then a young girl near the front raised her hand.
She was perhaps thirteen years old.
“What if someone is stronger than you?”
Althea smiled.
“Then you have to become more aware of your choices.”
“What if they're faster?”
“Then you have to learn how to manage distance.”
“What if they scare you?”
Althea paused.
“Then you have to be honest about being scared.”
The girl frowned.
“Doesn't that make you weak?”
“No.”
Althea looked around the room.
“Pretending you aren't afraid can make you careless. Understanding your fear can help you make better decisions.”
The girl considered that.
Althea continued.
“Fear is information. It tells you that something matters. It tells you to pay attention. The problem begins when you let fear make every decision for you.”
The girl nodded.
“What if you lose?”
“Then you learn.”
“What if you lose a lot?”