"Then we can begin with ten minutes after the morning session. No cameras. No audience. No promises."
Tyler's face brightened.
"Really?"
"Ten minutes."
"Thank you."
Martin lifted his bucket.
"Don't thank me yet. You may discover that I am a very unpleasant teacher."
"I've met worse."
Martin gave him a look.
"That remains to be seen."
Raymond had overheard the exchange from the ring. He approached Martin as Tyler joined the other fighters.
"Are you sure about this?"
"No."
Raymond smiled.
"That makes two of us."
Martin watched Tyler practice his footwork.
Later that afternoon, Tyler stayed behind for their first ten-minute session.
Martin placed two pieces of tape on the floor, creating a narrow line.
"Stand here," he instructed.
Tyler stepped into position.
"What are we doing?"
"Walking."
Tyler blinked.
"Walking?"
"Yes."
"I thought we were going to work on defensive movement."
"We are."
Martin demonstrated how to move forward and backward without crossing his feet or allowing his weight to drift too far in either direction.
Tyler copied him.
"Again," Martin said.
Tyler repeated the movement.
"Again."
By the sixth attempt, Tyler was visibly frustrated.
"This is ridiculous. I can move faster than this."
"Then move faster without losing your balance."
Tyler tried.
Martin shook his head.
"Again."
Then Tyler looked down at his feet.
"Again," he said.
Martin nodded.
When the ten minutes were over, Tyler's legs ached, and he had learned almost nothing that looked impressive from the outside.
As he packed his bag, Martin called after him.
"Tyler."
"Tomorrow, we'll do the same thing."
Tyler smiled.
"Good."
Martin raised an eyebrow.
"You don't even know what the exercise is."
"I know."
"And you're still agreeing?"
Tyler glanced at the strip of tape on the floor.
"For once, I think that's the point."
Martin said nothing.
But after Tyler left, the old man stood alone beside the ring for several seconds.
He had not planned to teach another fighter.
For the first time in decades, Martin Irving found himself looking toward the ring without feeling only grief.
Chapter 11: The Hardest Training of His Life
Tyler arrived at Champions Den at 5:45 the following morning.
He had spent years training with professional coaches, studying opponents, and developing combinations that could end a fight in seconds. Yet Martin had reduced his first lesson to something so basic that Tyler could hardly believe it was necessary.
Not punching. Not sparring. Not practicing spectacular defensive maneuvers.
Martin was already in the gym, wiping down the mirrors.
"You're early," the older man observed.
"I wanted to get started."
"Good. Put your bag away."
Tyler did as instructed.
Martin pointed toward the strip of tape on the floor.
"Stand there."
Tyler stepped into position.
"Now walk forward."
Tyler moved three steps.
"Stop."
"Walk backward."
Tyler took two steps and shifted his weight too far onto his heels.
Martin shook his head.
"Again."
Tyler repeated the movement.
"Again."
By the tenth attempt, Tyler's patience was already wearing thin.
"Martin, I understand the idea. I just need to practice it."
"Then practice it."
"I mean, can we move on to something more advanced?"
Martin looked at him calmly.
"Are you asking because you've mastered this, or because you're tired of being bad at it?"
Tyler opened his mouth.
Martin nodded toward the tape.
"Again."
Tyler returned to his starting position.
Martin taught him to stop wasting movement before it began.
"Your body should never be surprised by your feet," the older man explained. "If your weight is already committed in the wrong direction, your speed won't save you."
Tyler completed another repetition.
"Better," Martin said.
The single word felt more satisfying than Tyler expected.
Martin made him move forward, backward, sideways, and diagonally. Whenever Tyler crossed his feet or allowed his shoulders to drift out of alignment, they started again.
At one point, Tyler stumbled slightly and caught himself against the ropes.
"This is ridiculous."
Martin folded his arms.
"Then stop doing it."
Tyler stared at him.
"What?"
"If it's ridiculous, stop."
Martin turned toward his cleaning cart.
Tyler immediately stepped away from the ropes.
"No. I'm not stopping."
"Then continue."
Tyler returned to the tape.
When Raymond arrived at seven, he found Tyler repeating the same movement while Martin watched from a nearby bench.
"How long has he been doing that?"
"Forty minutes," Martin replied.
Raymond looked at Tyler.
"Is he injured?"
"Not yet."
Tyler heard them and turned around.
"Very funny."
"Keep moving," Martin instructed.
Tyler returned to the exercise.
Raymond approached the old man.
"You're going to make him hate you."
"He already did."
"Fair point."
Raymond watched Tyler complete several more repetitions.
"He's never trained like this."
"That is why we're doing it."
"Do you think he can change?"
Martin considered the question.
"He's already changing."
"After three sessions?"
"Change doesn't begin when someone becomes a different person. It begins when they stop defending the things that need to change."
Raymond glanced toward Tyler.
"You're giving him a chance," Raymond said.
"No," Martin replied. "I'm giving him work. What he makes of it is his decision."