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Chapter 5: The Confrontation

nother parent cautiously approached the edge of the mat. She was a

pediatric nurse and offered quietly to check Noah’s ribs.

Mason sighed loudly, a sound dripping with theatrical exasperation.

"The boy had the wind knocked out of him. Everybody is acting like he was hit

by a truck. This is a combat sport, people!"

Ethan slowly stood up. He turned to face Mason. For the first time since he had

enrolled his son, Ethan allowed Mason to see the quiet, terrifying anger he had kept

locked away—the anger born in places where violence wasn't a sport.

Mason reflexively took half a step backward, though he likely didn't understand

why his body told him to.

Ethan’s voice remained perfectly controlled, devoid of yelling, which made it all

the more penetrating.

"You used full force on a twelve-year-old beginner."

"I demonstrated a technique," Mason shot back defensively.

"You failed to support his fall. You didn't hold the sleeve. You dropped him."

"He needs to learn the hard way."

"You wanted an audience, and you used a child to make yourself feel powerful."

The gym became so quiet that the hum of the struggling air conditioner sounded

like a jet engine. Parents were watching, phones lowered.

Mason puffed out his chest, stepping forward to reclaim his authority.

"Look here, pal. This is my school. My mats. If you don't like my methods,

there's the door."

"Owning this building does not make what you did acceptable," Ethan replied,

his eyes locked on Mason's.

Noah, now standing with the nurse's help, leaned heavily against his father.

Ethan wrapped one protective arm around him.

"We’re leaving."

He turned his back on Mason and began walking Noah toward the cubbies to

get his shoes.

But Mason couldn't let it go. His ego, bruised in front of his paying customers,

demanded the last word. He stalked after them, his voice rising.