Now he wondered whether keeping them hidden had merely allowed the past to grow stronger.
Marcus's next training session began badly.
His coach, Adrian Shaw, noticed it within ten minutes.
Marcus was usually aggressive during sparring, but his aggression had a purpose. He pressured opponents, controlled the center of the mat, and forced them to react before they could establish their own rhythm.
Today, he kept stopping.
He watched his sparring partners' feet. He adjusted his stance unnecessarily. He tried to absorb light body shots using the technique he had seen Samuel demonstrate, but his movements became stiff and predictable.
After the fourth interruption, Adrian called time.
“What are you doing?”
Marcus pulled off his gloves.
“Working on defense.”
“No. You're thinking about defense.”
“What's the difference?”
“The difference is that one helps you fight, and the other makes you forget how.”
Adrian was a former national-level wrestler who had coached Marcus since the beginning of his professional career. He understood the fighter's strengths and weaknesses better than anyone except Victor.
He also knew that Marcus had developed an unhealthy fascination with the farmer.
“Tell me what's going on,” Adrian said.
Marcus explained the encounter, the video, and the conversation with Raymond Cole.
Adrian listened without laughing.
When Marcus finished, the coach walked to the edge of the mat.
“You want to learn this technique because you're afraid you don't understand something important.”
Marcus bristled.
“I'm not afraid.”
“Then what are you?”
Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it.
Adrian nodded.
“Exactly.”
He motioned for Marcus to put his gloves back on.
“Forget the farmer for ten minutes. We're going to work on your actual fight.”
They began with light sparring.
Marcus moved aggressively, but Daniel Cross's style was not easy to imitate. Daniel was a patient counterstriker with excellent footwork. He rarely committed to a combination until he had identified an opening, and he punished opponents who became frustrated.
Adrian played Daniel's role.
Every time Marcus lunged, the coach stepped away and touched him with a controlled counter.
After several exchanges, Marcus became irritated.
“Stop moving backward.”
“Make me stop.”
Marcus rushed forward.
Adrian pivoted and tapped him on the ribs.
“Point.”
Marcus stepped back, breathing harder than he should have been.
“Again.”
They repeated the exchange.
Again, Marcus overcommitted.
Again, Adrian redirected him.
Finally, the coach lowered his hands.
“You're trying to force the fight to become something you understand. Daniel won't let you. If you become impatient, he'll use your impatience against you.”
Marcus looked toward the mirror.
For years, he had believed that confidence meant imposing his will on every situation. When opponents resisted, he increased the pressure until they broke.
Samuel's calmness had exposed the weakness in that approach.
The old farmer had not resisted Marcus's punches in the conventional sense. He had not challenged their power or attempted to overpower him. He had simply refused to let the punches dictate his balance.
It was a distinction Marcus had never properly considered.
Adrian handed him a towel.
“You don't need to become the farmer,” he said. “You need to understand what you saw.”
Marcus wiped his face.
“And if what I saw means I'm not as good as I think I am?”
Adrian gave him a tired smile.
“Then you've finally learned something useful.”
After training, Marcus drove to a quiet restaurant and ate alone.
He watched a recording of Daniel Cross's last fight, studying the timing of each counterattack. For the first time, he focused less on how to hit Daniel and more on how to avoid giving Daniel the openings he wanted.
The difference was subtle.
But it changed the way Marcus watched the footage.
He began noticing the moments when Daniel waited rather than attacked, when he surrendered a little ground to preserve a better position, and when he refused to chase an opponent who wanted him to become reckless.
Marcus recognized the same principle in Samuel.
Restraint was not weakness.
Patience was not fear.
And the ability to avoid a mistake could be more valuable than the ability to punish one.
He called Samuel that night.
The phone rang six times.
Then the old farmer answered.
“Yes?”
Marcus swallowed.
“I'd like to come back tomorrow.”
“For what purpose?”
“To learn.”
Samuel was quiet.
“Come at seven in the morning,” he said. “Wear work boots.”
The call ended.
Marcus stared at the phone.
For the first time in months, he felt nervous about a training session.
He was beginning to suspect that the hardest lesson Samuel could teach him would have nothing to do with fighting.
Marcus arrived at the farm at 6:55 the next morning.
He had expected Samuel to meet him beside the barn, perhaps with a list of exercises or a demonstration of the defensive technique. Instead, the old farmer handed him a pair of work gloves and pointed toward a damaged fence on the eastern boundary.
“Three posts need replacing,” Samuel said. “The wire has come loose, and the gate won't close.”
Marcus looked at the fence.
“Is this part of the lesson?”