Nia nodded.
"I appreciate that. But I'd prefer to train before discussing my history."
Victor's jaw moved slightly.
"Very well," he said. "Continue with the class."
Derek stepped aside.
But his expression suggested that the matter was not finished.
During the next forty minutes, Nia worked with three different partners.
She also tapped when an inexperienced student applied a technique incorrectly, stopping the movement before it became dangerous.
After one round, she helped a young woman adjust her grip.
"Your elbow is drifting away from your body," Nia explained. "That gives your partner space to isolate the arm."
"Oh," she said. "That makes so much more sense."
Nia smiled.
"Good. Keep practicing it."
From across the room, Derek watched them.
Derek approached Victor.
"Something's off about her."
Victor continued scrolling through his tablet.
"What do you mean?"
"She's not a beginner."
"She said she's trained before."
"No. I'm talking about the way she moves. She knows how to read pressure. She anticipates transitions before they're obvious."
Victor glanced toward Nia, who was packing her bag.
"Then perhaps she's better than she looks."
Derek lowered his voice.
"You really want someone like that training here without knowing who she is?"
Victor frowned.
"She's a paying student, Derek. Not a security threat."
"You didn't see the way she looked at me."
Victor gave a short laugh.
"Maybe she was wondering why you were trying so hard to impress a room full of people."
Derek did not laugh.
Victor's smile faded.
The tournament posters featured Derek's face.
The promotional videos featured Derek's victories.
New students often signed up after watching Derek demonstrate a submission.
If Derek became unhappy, he could take his influence elsewhere.
Victor had spent too long building the academy to ignore that possibility.
Across the room, Nia finished putting on her sneakers.
"Hey."
Nia looked up.
"I'm Melissa."
"Nia."
"I saw you working with Owen. You explained that guard recovery really well."
"He's a quick learner."
Melissa hesitated.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why did you come here?"
Nia considered the question.
"Because I live nearby."
Melissa shook her head.
"No. I mean, you seem like you've trained for a while. Why this place?"
Nia glanced at the championship wall.
"Because I wanted to start over."
Melissa studied her face.
"Well," Melissa said carefully, "if you stay, be prepared. Derek doesn't like feeling challenged."
Nia zipped her bag.
"I'm not here to challenge him."
"I know."
Melissa lowered her voice.
"That might not matter."
Then Melissa returned to the changing room.
Nia remained beside the bench, thinking about the warning.
Nia lifted her bag.
Nia looked at the image for several seconds.
Then she continued toward the exit.
She had come to the academy looking for a place to train.
She was beginning to suspect she had walked into something else.
The first thing Nia noticed when she entered her apartment was the silence.
Instead, she found herself thinking about Derek's expression when she recovered her guard.
Nia walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.
Nia had taken the photograph when she was nineteen.
At the time, her mother had complained that she looked tired.
"You could have told me to stand up straight," her mother had said.
"You were standing straight."
"I was leaning."
"You were laughing."
"That doesn't mean you had to take the picture."
Nia had kept it anyway.
Her mother's name was Evelyn Brooks.
But she had understood something about fighting that Nia would spend the rest of her life learning.
Evelyn had listened without interrupting.
Then she had asked, "What do you want to do about it?"
"Hit him."
"Why?"
"Because he deserves it."
"Maybe he does. But what happens after you hit him?"
Nia had frowned.
"He'll stop."
"Will he?"
"He might."
"And if he doesn't?"
Nia had no answer.
"Listen to me. There will always be someone who wants to make you prove you deserve to be in a room. If you spend your life answering every challenge, you will never have time to build anything of your own."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
Nia had hated that answer.
Evelyn enrolled her in a community judo program the following week.
But the training was serious.
"You are going to get thrown," he told Nia during her first class.
"Okay."
"You are going to get pinned."
"Okay."
"Someone smaller than you will eventually beat you. Someone less athletic will surprise you. Someone you don't like will teach you something important."
Nia had looked unconvinced.
"And one day, if you train long enough, you may become good enough to embarrass yourself in front of an entire room without making excuses."
That was the lesson she remembered most clearly.
Not because it sounded profound.
Because she had spent years discovering how difficult it was.
At sixteen, Nia competed in her first regional judo tournament.
She lost her opening match in less than a minute.
"Did you get hurt?"