“Mr. Cole.”

He laughed.

“You really want to keep calling me that?”

“You're my employer's son.”

“And you're his employee.”

“Yes.”

He pointed toward the mat.

“Come on.”

“No.”

His face hardened.

“You embarrassed me yesterday.”

“That wasn't my intention.”

“You made me look weak.”

“I didn't make you do anything.”

That answer made him angrier.

He stepped closer.

“You think because you're older you can lecture me?”

“No.”

“Then prove it.”

I shook my head.

“You don't understand.”

“Understand what?”

“This isn't a game.”

Ethan laughed.

“You're a driver.”

“No.”

“You drive my father's car.”

“Yes.”

“You work for him.”

“Yes.”

“So what are you?”

I looked directly at him.

“A man who doesn't want to fight you.”

He stared at me.

Then he smiled.

“That's because you're afraid.”

I walked past him.

He grabbed my shoulder.

I stopped.

Slowly, I looked down at his hand.

Then I looked at him.

“Take your hand off me.”

He didn't.

That was his mistake.

I turned.

His grip disappeared instantly.

I didn't twist his arm.

I didn't hurt him.

I simply removed his hand.

Ethan stepped backward.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then the gym doors opened.

Richard entered.

“What is going on?”

Ethan immediately pointed at me.

“He won't fight.”

Richard looked at his son.

“Then leave him alone.”

“But Dad—”

“Enough.”

Ethan's expression changed.

“You're taking his side?”

“I'm taking the side of common sense.”

“You don't even know who he is!”

Richard looked at me.

“I know enough.”

Ethan laughed bitterly.

“No, you don't.”

He turned toward me.

“You know what I found out?”

I said nothing.

“You weren't just some soldier.”

Richard's expression sharpened.

Ethan continued.

“I searched your name.”

That got my attention.

He had done what I had hoped nobody would do.

He reached into his gym bag and pulled out his phone.

“I found an old article.”

He held up the screen.

There was a photograph.

A younger version of me.

Short hair.

Combat gear.

Six men standing behind me.

The caption identified me as the leader of a special operations element.

Richard stared at the photograph.

Ethan smiled.

“Interesting, right?”

I remained silent.

Ethan looked at his father.

“Your driver was a team leader.”

Richard turned to me.

“You really led them?”

“Yes.”

“How many deployments?”

“Enough.”

Ethan stepped forward.

“Then fight me.”

I shook my head.

“Still no.”

His smile disappeared.

“Why?”

“Because you don't need a fight.”

He frowned.

“You need experience.”

He laughed.

“You think you can teach me?”

“No.”

I pointed toward the mat.

“I think life will.”

That afternoon, something changed.

Richard asked me to stay after work.

We sat in his office.

The room overlooked the estate.

“You should have told me,” he said.

“You never asked.”

“You know what I mean.”

I nodded.

He leaned back.

“Why become a driver after doing what you did?”

“Because I wanted a quiet life.”

“And did you get one?”

I almost smiled.

“No.”

Richard looked toward the window.

“My son is obsessed with proving himself.”

“I noticed.”

“He thinks strength is something you display.”

“It usually isn't.”

Richard looked at me.

“What happened to you?”

I knew what he meant.

Not the military.

Not the knee.

Something deeper.

“Someone died under my command.”

Richard didn't speak.

“He was twenty-four.”

Ethan's age.

“I made a decision,” I continued. “It was the correct decision based on what we knew. But he died anyway.”

Richard lowered his eyes.

“I carried that with me.”

“That's why you refuse to fight?”

“No.”

I looked at him.

“I refuse because I've already seen what fighting costs.”

Richard nodded slowly.

Before I left, he said something unexpected.

“My son needs to hear that.”

“I doubt he'll listen.”

Richard smiled sadly.

“You'd be surprised.”

But neither of us knew how far Ethan would go to prove himself.

That evening, Ethan challenged me again.

This time, he didn't do it privately.

He did it in front of his friends.

And this time, I accepted.

Not because I wanted to hurt him.

Because I realized that refusing him was no longer protecting him.

It was allowing his arrogance to grow.

So I looked at him and said:

“Tomorrow morning.”

His eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Six o'clock.”

He smiled.

“Don't be late.”

I looked at him.

“I won't.”

Then I walked away.

Behind me, Ethan was already imagining victory.

He didn't understand one thing.

I wasn't going to teach him how to lose.

I was going to teach him why winning mattered.

Six Minutes