"I clean the building."
"I know."
Arthur returned the bottle to the shelf.
"Then you know I'm not supposed to teach."
Marcus shook his head.
"I'm not asking you to take over a class. I'm asking you to show me something."
Arthur was silent.
Marcus continued.
"You noticed a mistake that I missed. I'd like to understand how you saw it."
Arthur looked toward the training floor.
Through the open doorway, he could hear the faint sound of a heavy bag being struck.
For a moment, his face changed.
The old expression returned.
The one Marcus had seen only briefly.
A mixture of recognition and reluctance.
"Maybe another time," Arthur said.
Marcus nodded.
"All right."
He turned to leave.
"Marcus?"
"Yeah?"
Arthur looked at him.
"Don't teach people to move just to look good."
Marcus smiled.
"I don't."
"Teach them to stay safe."
"I try."
Arthur nodded.
"Then you're doing the right thing."
Marcus left.
He had not received the answer he wanted.
But he had received something else.
A glimpse of the kind of fighter Arthur might once have been.
That afternoon, Apex received an important visitor.
His name was Grant Harrington.
He was Blake's father and one of the academy's largest financial supporters.
Grant was a tall man in his early sixties, with silver hair, expensive suits, and the confidence of someone who had spent decades watching people adjust their behavior when he entered a room.
He had helped finance Apex's second location.
He had also negotiated several sponsorship agreements.
The academy's owner, Victoria Shaw, greeted him near the entrance.
"Grant. Good to see you."
"Victoria."
They shook hands.
"How's everything going?"
"Very well."
"Good. I was hoping to discuss the next expansion."
Victoria smiled.
"Of course."
Grant looked toward the training floor.
"Where's Blake?"
"Training."
"Good. I want to see how he's progressing."
Victoria hesitated.
"He's working hard."
Grant noticed the pause.
"Is there a problem?"
"No major problem."
"Victoria."
She glanced toward the cage.
"He's enthusiastic. But he sometimes struggles with discipline."
Grant's expression hardened.
"He's paying for professional coaching."
"I know."
"Then he should be getting professional coaching."
Victoria kept her voice calm.
"That's what we're providing."
Grant looked at her.
"Then I expect results."
He began walking toward the training floor.
Victoria followed.
Marcus was finishing a session with Owen when Grant approached.
"Marcus."
Marcus turned.
"Mr. Harrington."
Grant nodded toward Blake.
"How's he doing?"
Marcus took a breath.
"He's improving physically."
"That's good."
"But he needs to work on control and fundamentals."
Grant frowned.
"He's been training almost a year."
"Yes."
"How long does it take?"
Marcus kept his expression neutral.
"Depends on the athlete."
Grant looked toward Blake.
The young man was striking a heavy bag.
His punches were loud.
His combinations were fast.
But his feet were moving poorly.
Grant watched for a few seconds.
"Looks fine to me."
Marcus said nothing.
Grant turned toward him.
"I don't want him wasting time on unnecessary details."
"Footwork isn't unnecessary."
"He's here to become a better fighter."
"That's exactly why he needs it."
Grant studied Marcus.
Then he looked toward Victoria.
"Let's talk later."
Victoria nodded.
Grant walked toward the lounge.
Marcus exhaled slowly.
He knew that conversation would return.
At 5:30, the academy was crowded.
The evening classes had begun.
The boxing room was full.
The wrestling mats were occupied.
Several professional fighters were working inside the cage.
Arthur moved between the rooms with his cleaning cart.
He had finished the locker rooms and was collecting abandoned towels.
As he passed the main floor, he heard Blake arguing with Owen.
"You keep backing up," Blake said.
Owen shook his head.
"I'm moving off the line."
"You're running."
"That's the drill."
Blake stepped closer.
"You always have an excuse."
Marcus approached.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing," Owen said.
Blake laughed.
"He's acting like he's too good to spar."
Marcus looked at Owen.
"Did you refuse?"
Owen shook his head.
"No."
Marcus looked at Blake.
"Then what's the issue?"
"I want to work harder."
"Then work harder. But don't turn every drill into a competition."
Blake rolled his eyes.
Marcus pointed toward the cage.
"Get your gloves. We'll do controlled rounds."
Blake smiled.
"Finally."
Owen looked uncertain.
Marcus noticed.
"Light contact," he told them. "Technical work. No ego."
Both men nodded.
Arthur was cleaning the edge of the training floor.
He glanced toward the cage.
Blake entered first.
Owen followed.
The round began.
Blake moved aggressively.
He threw a jab-cross combination.
Owen blocked the jab and stepped away from the cross.
Blake followed.
Owen moved laterally.
Blake cut him off.
The exchange was becoming faster.
Marcus called out.
"Control the pace."
Blake ignored him.
He threw a right hand harder than necessary.
Owen slipped.