"When I first started competing, I thought winning meant I was improving and losing meant I wasn't. It took me a long time to understand that those aren't the same thing."
"That sounds like something adults say when they don't want to admit you're bad."
"Fair enough."
"Let me ask you something. In your last match, what happened when your opponent changed direction?"
"I followed him."
"And what happened?"
"I lost my balance."
"What will you do differently next time?"
"Keep my feet under me?"
"Exactly."
"So I still lost."
"Yes."
"You can lose a match and still discover something that makes you better. The question is whether you use what you learned."
"Does Arthur ever lose?"
"Of course."
"I've never seen it."
"Because he doesn't compete anymore."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because he loses arguments with me all the time."
The sound was small, but the tension in his shoulders eased.
"Come on. Let's work on your footwork."
For the first time, the three of them were not simply training beside one another.
And that understanding would matter more than any single technique when the tournament finally arrived.
Three days before the tournament, Marcus received a message from an unfamiliar number.
I heard you're competing at the National Invitational. Good luck. From Adrian Cole
He had expected Adrian to remain distant. The reigning champion had never publicly insulted him, but neither had he shown any particular interest in Marcus.
Would Adrian interpret the message as an attempt to gain an advantage? Would he think Marcus was being sarcastic?
Marcus decided he could not control how the message would be received.
Arthur, who had been reviewing the tournament schedule, glanced at him.
"Who was that?"
"Adrian."
"What did he want?"
"He wished me luck."
"Interesting."
"I told him I hope his shoulder gets better."
"Good."
"You're not going to tell me that I shouldn't be talking to my opponent?"
"Why would I?"
"I don't know. Isn't there some rule about keeping your focus?"
"Your focus is your responsibility. A polite message won't destroy it."
He had spent so much time imagining Adrian as an obstacle that he had forgotten the man was also an athlete dealing with his own difficulties.
He checked his gloves, uniform, belt, mouthguard, training shoes, and identification. He packed an extra set of clothes and a small first-aid kit. He charged his phone and placed the tournament documents inside a folder.
"You're checking that bag for the third time."
"Fourth."
"That doesn't make it better."
"What if I forget something?"
"If you've checked it four times, you'll probably remember."
"Are you nervous?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Good?"
"It means this matters to you."
"What if I get there and freeze?"
"Then you'll breathe and do the next thing you know how to do."
"What if the next thing doesn't work?"
"Then you'll learn what to do after that."
"You make it sound simple."
"No. I make it sound manageable."
"You don't need to solve the entire tournament before it begins. You only need to show up prepared enough to face the first moment."
Rain clouds hung low over the highway. The landscape moved past the windows in long gray stretches, and the quiet between them was comfortable.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You've been doing that a lot lately."
"Did you ever regret quitting competition?"
"Sometimes."
"Really?"
"I regret some of the reasons I stopped. I regret letting grief make every decision for me. I regret the years I spent convincing myself that staying away from people was the same as protecting them."
"What about the competition itself?"
"I don't regret stepping away when I needed to. I regret believing that stepping away meant I had nothing left to offer."
"Do you think you'll ever compete again?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because that isn't what I want now."
"I used to believe that if I wasn't competing, I wasn't doing anything meaningful. Daniel helped me understand that a person can change direction without abandoning everything they've learned."
He had always imagined his future in terms of achievements: tournaments, titles, rankings, recognition.
He had rarely considered what kind of person he wanted to become after reaching those goals.
"What do you want now?" Marcus asked.
"I want to stop wasting the time I have left."
But he was beginning to see that the tournament was only one part of a much larger journey.
Marcus laid out his uniform, set his alarm, and reviewed the schedule one final time.
"Lights out in fifteen minutes."
"You're not my father."