Tyler pulled off his gloves.
"Enjoy your little moment," he said. "You got lucky."
Martin paused beside the equipment rack.
"Perhaps."
Tyler stared after him.
What unsettled him was the feeling that Martin had understood the punch before it had been thrown.
And when Tyler had missed, Martin had looked neither surprised nor relieved.
Tyler glanced at Raymond.
"Who is he?"
Raymond frowned.
"You've worked here with him for months."
"Don't play games with me. I mean before this place."
"I don't know."
Tyler looked toward the hallway.
Martin's footsteps had already faded.
It showed Tyler smiling confidently, stepping forward, and throwing a right hand. Then Martin moved his head slightly, the punch missed, and the old man calmly said something the camera microphone barely captured.
Tyler discovered the post while sitting in his car outside a restaurant.
On the third viewing, he paused the video just before his punch reached Martin's face.
The image was grainy, but the timing was unmistakable. Martin's head remained centered until Tyler's shoulder began to rotate. Then, with almost absurd precision, the older man shifted out of the line of attack.
Tyler zoomed in.
Another had asked whether Tyler's next opponent should be replaced by Martin.
Tyler threw his phone onto the passenger seat.
"Idiots."
At the gym the next morning, conversations stopped when he entered. Nobody openly laughed, but several fighters exchanged glances. Daniel, who had filmed the encounter, immediately put his phone away.
Tyler approached him.
"Did you post that?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me."
"I didn't post it. Someone in the group chat must have sent it to somebody else."
Tyler stared at him.
"You think this is funny?"
Daniel hesitated.
"No."
"Then stop acting like it is."
"I haven't said anything."
"Your face says enough."
Daniel looked down at his shoes.
Tyler walked away before the younger fighter could answer.
Coach Raymond was waiting beside the ring.
"You're late."
"I had things to do."
"You had a training session scheduled for seven."
"It's seven fifteen."
"Exactly."
Tyler threw his bag onto a bench.
"Are we going to train, or are you going to lecture me all morning?"
"We'll train when you're ready to listen."
"I'm ready."
Raymond crossed his arms.
"Then explain what happened yesterday."
Tyler scoffed.
"I missed one punch. It happens."
"That isn't what bothered you."
"What bothered me was everyone turning it into a circus."
"Because you turned it into a circus first."
Tyler looked away.
Raymond lowered his voice.
"You made an elderly employee the target of a public joke. You invited people to record it. You promised an apology if he avoided your punch. He avoided it, and you refused to honor the agreement."
"I didn't refuse anything."
"You called it luck."
"Because it was."
"Then you shouldn't have a problem apologizing."
Tyler laughed bitterly.
"You're seriously asking me to apologize to the janitor?"
"I'm asking you to honor your word."
Tyler grabbed his hand wraps.
"Forget it."
Raymond watched him for a moment, then turned toward the training floor.
"You're not sparring today."
Tyler stopped.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"You can't bench me because some old man moved his head."
"I'm benching you because you can't control yourself."
Tyler stepped toward the coach.
"Do you know how much money I bring into this gym?"
Raymond's expression hardened.
"More than most fighters. That doesn't make you the owner."
For several seconds, Tyler seemed ready to argue further.
Then he noticed Martin entering through the rear door.
He imagined every punch landing on Martin's face.
Tyler followed it and threw another right hand, but the punch landed awkwardly. Pain shot through his wrist.
Across the room, Martin had stopped cleaning.
He looked at Tyler's hand.
"Don't keep hitting it like that."
Tyler glared at him.
"I didn't ask for advice."
"No. But you're favoring your wrist."
"I'm fine."
Martin nodded toward the bag.
"Your right hand is landing at an angle. You're putting too much strain on the joint."
Tyler stared.
Martin had noticed a technical flaw from across the room. He had identified it after only a few strikes.
"Hey," Tyler called.
Martin continued wiping the equipment.
"Where did you learn that?"
"Learn what?"
"About my wrist."
Martin wrung out the cloth.
"Observation."
Tyler almost laughed.
"That's it?"
"Usually, paying attention is enough to notice when someone is hurting himself."
Tyler watched him go.
The video had made Martin a mystery to the outside world. Inside the gym, he was becoming something worse for Tyler.
That afternoon, Tyler contacted his manager and demanded that they release a statement calling the video misleading.
His manager asked what was misleading about it.
Tyler ended the call.
The reporter asked whether Tyler had apologized as promised.
Tyler read the sentence repeatedly.
Then he opened his browser and searched Martin Irving's name.
Nothing about fighting.
Nothing that explained the movement Tyler had witnessed.
And Tyler had just forced the old man to reveal that he was anything but.