Maya was near the back of the room, quietly emptying the trash bins. She couldn't hear the harsh words, but the body language was loud and clear. She saw Leo's shoulders slump, the defeat in his posture. She saw Marcus puffing out his chest, feeding off the boy's humiliation.

As Maya moved to collect a discarded water bottle near the edge of the mat, a rogue sweeping kick from another sparring pair sent a student crashing toward her. The student collided with Maya's mop bucket, sending dirty, soapy water spilling across the pristine edge of the tatami mat.

The dojo fell dead silent.

Marcus slowly turned his head, his eyes locking onto the widening puddle of gray water, and then slowly dragging up to Maya, who was already scrambling to grab a towel.

"What," Marcus hissed, his voice dangerously low, "is this?"

He marched over to her, his face inches from hers. Maya stood up, clutching the towel, keeping her eyes fixed on his mouth to read his words.

"You clumsy, stupid girl," Marcus spat, exaggerating his lip movements mockingly. "Can't you even do the one simple, menial task you're hired for? You contaminate my dojo!"

Maya signed quickly, I am sorry. It was an accident. I will clean it immediately.

Marcus scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Stop waving your hands at me like a dying bird! I don't speak whatever that is. You're a distraction. You're pathetic."

He turned to his class, deciding to make a spectacle of her to reassert his dominance. "Look at this! This is what happens when you have no discipline! You end up scrubbing floors for people who actually make something of themselves."

He turned back to Maya, pointing a finger at her chest. "You are nothing in this room. You are less than the dirt you clean. Get this cleaned up, and get out of my sight before I fire you."

Maya stood perfectly still. The damp towel in her hands felt heavy. She looked at the faces of the students—some looked pitying, others amused, but none stepped forward. She looked back at Marcus, whose face was twisted in an ugly sneer.

A cold, quiet fire ignited in her chest. She didn't sign. she didn't speak. She simply dropped the towel.

The soft thump of the towel hitting the floor seemed louder than a shout.

Marcus stopped his pacing and stared at the towel, then up at Maya. "What do you think you're doing? Pick that up."

Maya ignored him. She reached down and began to unlace her heavy, rubber-soled work boots. She kicked them off, placing them neatly beside the bucket. Next, she peeled off the thick gray socks, her bare feet pressing against the cool hardwood bordering the mat.