"And you want control."
"I want success."
"Those are not the same thing."
Sloane turned toward Marcus.
"Perhaps you can help your instructor understand. Imagine competing in front of thousands of people instead of thirty students. Imagine having the resources to train full-time, to travel, to work with the best coaches."
Marcus's expression revealed how deeply the offer affected him.
He had grown up in a working-class family, and his father had spent years telling him that athletic careers were temporary distractions. Marcus had fought his way into regional competitions through sheer persistence, but he had never reached the national stage.
Sloane was offering him the possibility of becoming someone people recognized.
"What would I have to do?" Marcus asked.
Ward looked at him.
"Marcus."
The fighter ignored the warning.
Sloane smiled.
"Nothing unreasonable. We begin with a showcase event. Your team participates in a series of controlled exhibition matches. The footage is used to promote the organization and its athletes."
"And the contract?" Julian asked.
"Signed after the event."
"Without seeing the final terms?"
"You'll receive a draft."
"That wasn't my question."
Sloane regarded Julian with faint irritation.
"You're a thoughtful young man. That's admirable. But there comes a point when excessive caution becomes an excuse for mediocrity."
Julian smiled without warmth.
"And there comes a point when a sales pitch becomes an insult."
Derek coughed to hide a laugh.
Marcus shot him a warning glance.
Sloane turned back toward Lena.
"I have another proposal. A special exhibition featuring you and Ironclad's three leading fighters."
The room became silent.
Master Ward immediately refused.
"No."
Sloane raised a hand.
"I haven't explained the format."
"You don't need to."
Lena looked at Sloane.
"Why me?"
"Because people are curious about an experienced female fighter returning after years away. Because you appear to have history with the competitive world. And because your arrival has already generated interest among our contacts."
"How convenient."
"Public attention is a valuable resource."
"For whom?"
"For everyone involved, if the event is handled properly."
Lena placed her notebook on the desk.
"And if someone gets hurt?"
Sloane shrugged.
"All combat sports carry risks."
"That's true. But not every risk is necessary."
For the first time, Sloane seemed genuinely interested in her answer.
"You speak like someone who has seen the consequences firsthand."
"I have."
He studied her face, searching for something.
Then he nodded.
"Perhaps we understand each other better than you think."
"No," Lena said. "I don't think we do."
Master Ward ordered the meeting to end.
Sloane collected his briefcase, leaving a contract folder on the reception desk.
"Read it carefully," he told Marcus. "Opportunity doesn't wait forever."
After he left, Marcus picked up the folder.
Ward watched him.
"Don't sign anything."
"I'm allowed to make my own decisions."
"Yes. But you should make them with your eyes open."
Marcus flipped through the pages.
"You don't want us to succeed."
"That's absurd."
"You've spent years keeping this place small. Now someone offers to help us grow, and you refuse because you don't trust him."
"I refuse because I've seen what happens when athletes surrender their independence to people who view them as investments."
Marcus laughed bitterly.
"Maybe that's why Catherine left."
The words struck Ward like a physical blow.
Everyone went still.
Marcus realized too late that he had crossed a line.
Ward's face became unreadable.
"Leave my office area."
"Master Ward—"
"Now."
Marcus dropped the folder onto the desk and walked away.
Derek followed him after a moment. Julian remained behind, looking uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Ward nodded.
"Thank you."
Lena watched the instructor gather the scattered papers.
"Who was Catherine competing against when she left?"
Ward paused.
"Someone who believed winning justified everything."
"Was Sloane involved?"
Ward did not answer immediately.
Then he opened a drawer and removed an old photograph.
Catherine stood on a podium, holding a medal. Beside her was a young male fighter whose face had been partly scratched from the photograph.
The silver emblem was visible on his jacket.
Lena felt the air leave her lungs.
She knew that face.
Not from the tournament.
From the hospital corridor afterward, when the fighter had looked at her and said something she had never forgotten.
You should have let me win.
Lena stared at the photograph.
"Who is he?"
Ward placed it on the desk.
"His name was Adrian Cross."
Lena's eyes moved toward the training hall.
Julian Cross stood near the doorway.
He had been listening.
And suddenly, the connection between the past and the present became impossible to ignore.
Julian did not move when Lena turned toward him.
For a moment, the academy seemed to hold its breath. Even the students practicing near the far wall had stopped to watch.
"Adrian Cross was your father?" Lena asked.
Julian's expression hardened.
"Yes."
"Did you know he competed under Sloane's organization?"