"There's something else I wanted to discuss."
Nia waited.
"We found some old records of your competitive history."
"Where?"
"Online. You competed in regional and national-level events. You trained under Thomas Reed."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"Because I didn't think it was relevant to a trial class."
Victor nodded slowly.
"Fair enough."
He hesitated.
"We also found references to a dispute involving a program called Ironbridge Performance Group."
Nia's fingers tightened around her notebook.
For the first time during the meeting, she looked genuinely uncomfortable.
"Why were you looking into that?"
"After the video appeared, people began asking questions. Derek searched your name, and I followed up on what he found."
Nia stared at him.
"Did you find anything useful?"
"Only fragments. Articles, archived records, an old photograph of your mother."
She looked away.
Victor realized he had crossed into territory he did not understand.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have asked before bringing it up."
Nia remained silent.
Then she closed her notebook and placed it inside her bag.
"My mother was involved in a dispute with Ironbridge. It happened years ago."
"What was the dispute about?"
"An athlete's welfare. A competition. A decision that some people thought was bad for the program's reputation."
Victor waited.
"That's all I'm comfortable discussing right now."
He nodded.
"I understand."
But Nia could see that he wanted to know more.
Yet she had no desire to relive it in an office because a video had become popular.
"Victor," she said, "I want to make something clear."
He looked at her.
"I'm not interested in replacing Derek as the academy's favorite athlete. I'm not interested in becoming a spokesperson. And I'm not interested in using what happened on Saturday to build a reputation."
"What are you interested in?"
"Training."
She said the word without hesitation.
Victor nodded.
"I think that's reasonable."
"It should be ordinary."
Then he stood.
"I'll have the policy review underway by the end of the week."
"Thank you."
Nia picked up her bag.
"One more thing."
Victor turned.
"If you discover that someone has been mistreating students, don't make the investigation about whether that person is talented."
"Understood."
"Good."
She left the office.
Victor watched her walk across the training room.
Several students had arrived early for the afternoon session. Melissa waved to Nia, who returned the greeting.
Then Nia continued toward the exit.
Victor remained standing.
He had been planning to ask Nia to protect the academy from the consequences of what had happened.
What if Derek's behavior had not been an exception?
Victor returned to his desk and opened a new document.
Melissa Grant had learned to recognize the sound of a bad training round.
Sometimes it was the silence after a partner tapped.
Sometimes it was the sound of someone saying, "I'm fine," before they had even checked whether they were hurt.
Melissa had been hearing those sounds at Whitmore Academy for almost two years.
If a position became unsafe, they tapped.
They reset.
They tried again.
Melissa liked that simplicity.
The first time she completed a successful sweep against someone more experienced, she called her sister.
Derek had been there that evening.
"Good work," he had said. "Now the real training begins."
At the time, Melissa had taken the comment as encouragement.
Later, she would realize that Derek's praise often came with an invisible condition.
The first time he made her uncomfortable, he called it a lesson.
She tapped.
Derek, who had been observing, shook his head.
"You gave up too early."
"My wrist hurt."
"That's why you need to learn to fight through discomfort."
The next week, when she returned wearing a wrist brace, Derek joked that she had become fragile.
Melissa laughed too.
By the time Nia arrived, Melissa had become one of the academy's most consistent students.
She helped beginners.
But she had stopped asking herself whether she enjoyed training as much as she once had.
On Monday evening, she arrived early and found Nia sitting on a bench near the changing rooms.
"Hey," Melissa said.
Nia looked up.
"Hi."
"Are you training tonight?"
"That's the plan."
Melissa sat beside her.
Instead, she asked, "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
Melissa stared at her hands.
"I think I owe you an apology."
Nia looked surprised.
"For what?"
"For laughing when Derek made those comments about you."
Melissa swallowed.
"I didn't think they were serious. Or maybe I did, and I didn't want to be the person who made everything awkward."
Nia listened without interrupting.
"I've been here two years," Melissa continued. "I know how things work. I knew he was being disrespectful, but I still laughed because everyone else did."
She shook her head.
"Then you walked in and refused to play along. And suddenly I could see how ridiculous it was."
Nia considered her words.
"Thank you for telling me."
"You're not angry?"
"I'm disappointed that people felt they had to laugh. But I'm not interested in punishing you for admitting it."