"That isn't an answer. What made you think you needed to move quickly?"
Blake considered the question.
"Because Owen stepped toward me."
"Did he attack?"
"No."
"Did he trap you?"
"No."
"Then why did you rush?"
Blake looked at the marker near his foot.
"I reacted before I knew what he was doing."
Arthur nodded.
"Exactly. You saw movement and treated it like danger. But you don't have to answer every movement with panic."
Owen smiled.
"That's what I keep telling him."
Arthur looked at Owen.
"And you should keep telling him."
Owen laughed.
Arthur stepped back.
"Try it again. This time, don't decide what Owen is going to do before he does it."
Blake returned to his stance.
Owen moved forward.
Blake watched him, waited, then shifted to the side.
His movement was not particularly fast.
It was not dramatic.
But he remained balanced.
Arthur nodded.
"Better."
Blake exhaled.
"Again?"
"Again."
They continued.
After several repetitions, Owen lowered his hands.
"You're improving."
Blake wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist.
"So are you."
Owen laughed.
"Don't sound surprised."
"I'm not."
Owen looked toward Arthur.
"Do you remember when Blake said he didn't need footwork?"
Blake lowered his head.
"I remember."
"You said all that mattered was power."
"I remember that too."
Owen tilted his head.
"Pretty ridiculous, wasn't it?"
Blake did not argue.
"Yes."
There was a brief silence.
Then Blake added something Owen had not expected.
"I think I was trying to make myself feel better."
Owen looked at him.
"About what?"
Blake glanced toward Arthur.
"About being corrected."
He took a breath.
"I didn't like being told I was doing something wrong. Especially by someone I had already decided wasn't worth listening to."
Owen's expression changed slightly.
Blake continued.
"I thought if I could convince everyone that the exercise was stupid, I wouldn't have to admit that I was bad at it."
Owen nodded slowly.
"That makes sense."
Blake looked at him.
"Does it?"
"Not in a good way."
Blake laughed.
Owen smiled.
"You're not the only person who's done that."
Blake glanced down at his gloves.
"I know."
He paused.
"But I'm trying not to do it anymore."
Across the room, Arthur heard the last sentence.
He did not interrupt.
He simply watched the two young men return to their positions.
For a moment, he remembered the first time Blake had snapped his fingers at him and demanded that he clean a bench. He remembered the way the young man had looked through him as if Arthur were a piece of equipment rather than a person.
He remembered the careless confidence.
The assumption that money could purchase patience, attention, and obedience.
And he remembered the day Blake had fallen during training, his wrist injured, his pride shaken, and his first instinct still being to blame someone else.
Blake was not a different person because he had become a better fighter.
He was becoming a different person because he was learning to recognize the moments when his pride was preventing him from learning.
Arthur considered that more important.
He returned to the training markers.
The class would begin soon.
There was still work to do.
A Father Returns to the Academy
Grant Harrington returned to Apex in early spring.
He did not call Victoria before arriving.
He did not send an assistant to arrange a meeting.
He did not bring a photographer or a business associate.
He simply walked through the glass doors one morning carrying his coat over one arm.
Victoria was near the reception desk, speaking with a new member.
When she saw him, she paused.
"Grant."
"Victoria."
She looked at him for a moment.
"I wasn't expecting you."
"I know."
He glanced toward the training floor.
"Is Blake here?"
"Yes. He's working with Diego."
Grant nodded.
"Would it be all right if I watched?"
Victoria studied him briefly.
Then she stepped aside.
"Of course."
Grant walked toward the main training area.
He had visited Apex many times during the previous year. Most of those visits had involved conversations about membership, sponsorship, expansion, or his son's progress. He had usually arrived with a specific expectation and left frustrated when the coaches refused to adjust their standards to accommodate it.
He had once believed that his financial support gave him a reasonable amount of influence over the academy.
He had also believed that his son's confidence was evidence of his readiness.
Both assumptions had been challenged.
Now he stood near the edge of the training floor and watched.
Blake was working with Diego.
They were practicing defensive movement under controlled pressure. Diego advanced slowly, maintaining enough distance to make Blake react without forcing him into a dangerous position.
Blake shifted to the side.
Diego changed direction.
Blake adjusted again.