"No. Your father might let you stay awake."
"Arthur?"
"Thank you for coming."
"Get some sleep."
For the first time, he did not feel that he was entering the tournament alone.
Even before the opening ceremony, the sports complex buzzed with activity. Coaches gathered around tables covered with schedules. Competitors stretched in narrow spaces beside the warm-up areas. Spectators filled the stands, and the announcer's voice echoed through the building.
He had competed in crowded venues before, but this atmosphere felt different. Everyone around him seemed to belong there. Some athletes wore jackets embroidered with championship titles. Others carried themselves with the calm confidence of people who had been competing at the highest level for years.
The fact that he had never stood on a national podium.
He caught himself comparing his appearance to the other competitors and forced his attention back to the schedule.
"Stop looking around like you've wandered into the wrong building."
"I was just observing."
"You were comparing."
"How do you know the difference?"
"Observation helps you understand your surroundings. Comparison makes you forget what you're doing."
"Go check in."
The official behind the desk verified his identification and handed him a badge. He thanked her, clipped the badge to his jacket, and returned to Arthur.
They found the competitors' area and located a quiet corner where Marcus could stretch.
Even from a distance, Adrian was easy to recognize. His movements were economical, his posture straight, and his expression controlled. Several competitors approached him to shake his hand.
"Marcus."
"Adrian."
"Glad you made it."
"Me too."
"You're training with him?"
"I am."
"I've heard about him."
"Only good things, I hope."
"Mostly stories."
"Stories are usually exaggerated."
"I suppose they are."
For a few seconds, neither competitor seemed certain what to say.
"I watched your match against Luis Ortega."
"I thought I had it near the end."
"You nearly did."
"I should have adjusted sooner."
"Most people would say they made a mistake."
"I did make a mistake."
"But you're not embarrassed to admit it?"
"Why would I be? It's on video."
"I suppose that's true."
"Good luck today."
"You too. Take care of that shoulder."
"I will."
"That was strange."
"What was?"
"He was actually nice."
"Perhaps he was always a person. You just spent so much time thinking of him as a champion that you forgot."
Marcus stood with the other athletes while officials introduced the event and explained the rules. The audience applauded as each division was announced.
When Marcus's name was called, the applause was brief but genuine.
For one strange moment, the sound of the crowd seemed to disappear.
He thought of the early mornings at Blackstone, the frustrating repetitions, the matches he had lost, and the conversations that had changed the way he understood defeat.
He thought of Laura standing in the kitchen with the invitation in her hands.
Not to prove that he deserved to exist among the other athletes.
He had come to discover what he could do when he finally faced the challenge he had been preparing for.
Marcus's first opponent was a compact, fast-moving competitor named Nolan Pierce.
Pierce had earned a reputation for explosive openings. He often overwhelmed opponents before they had time to settle into their preferred rhythm.
"Don't mistake speed for control," Arthur had said. "Let him show you what he wants to do before you decide how to respond."
His opening movement was faster than Marcus expected. Marcus moved backward, raised his guard, and narrowly avoided being forced into an awkward position near the boundary.
Marcus felt the familiar surge of adrenaline. His body wanted to respond with speed. He wanted to prove that he could match Pierce's aggression.
The next attack came from a different angle. Marcus defended, turned, and created enough space to reset his position.
He had expected Marcus to retreat until the match became one-sided.
The pace remained intense, but Marcus stopped treating every exchange as a separate emergency. He paid attention to patterns. Pierce favored the same entry when he became impatient. His shoulders tightened before he committed to certain attacks. When Marcus threatened to change the rhythm, Pierce sometimes reacted before the opportunity was real.
"What do you see?" he asked.
"He's fast."
"I noticed."
"He commits hard when he thinks I'm backing away."
"Then don't spend the next round thinking about how fast he is. Think about what makes him commit."
Marcus gave ground briefly, then changed direction before Pierce could fully establish his momentum. The exchange ended with Marcus earning a clear scoring opportunity.