“You keep chasing.”
The sentence embarrassed Damon more than the touch.
He rushed forward.
Anger made his movement faster, but it also made his intention obvious. Damon reached for Walter’s shoulder, apparently deciding contact would allow youth and strength to solve what timing had not. Walter let the hand come.
His wrist turned beneath Damon’s grip.
His foot moved inside.
His hips rotated only slightly.
Suddenly Damon’s balance disappeared.
Walter could have sent him hard onto the mat.
Everyone watching understood that afterward.
Instead, he supported Damon’s arm while lowering him, allowing the young black belt to land with nothing worse than a confused thump.
Walter immediately stepped away.
“You all right?”
Damon slapped the mat and stood.
“Don’t ask me that.”
His voice cracked slightly.
Several students exchanged glances.
Damon had spent the morning laughing after other people failed.
Now he could not tolerate being asked whether he was okay.
Master Han walked forward.
“That’s enough.”
Damon shook his head.
“One more.”
Walter looked at him carefully.
“No.”
Damon stared.
“What?”
“You don’t want another round.”
“Yes, I do.”
Walter shook his head.
“You want the feeling you had before we started.”
The gym became completely still.
Damon breathed through his nose.
“You think you’re better than me?”
Walter answered without hesitation. “At being old, definitely.”
A few students laughed nervously.
Then Walter’s face became serious.
“But that isn’t your problem.”
Damon waited.
Walter continued. “You forgot why people come here.”
That sentence reached somewhere the techniques had not.
For a moment, Damon looked younger than twenty-seven. The swagger disappeared, and beneath it Rachel could see somebody embarrassed in front of the people whose approval had become important to him. Then pride rushed back in to cover the wound.
“Fight me for real.”
Master Han’s voice sharpened.
“No.”
Damon barely looked at him.
“I’m asking him.”
“And I’m answering.”
Damon’s chest rose and fell.
Walter picked up his folded work shirt.
The match was already over to him.
That made Damon angrier.
He stepped forward too quickly and grabbed Walter’s arm.
Master Han moved, but Walter was already turning.
One hand settled over Damon’s wrist.
The other controlled his elbow.
Walter stepped behind him and guided his weight downward.
No violent joint lock.
No dramatic throw.
No pain beyond what Damon created by resisting his own imbalance.
He dropped onto one knee.
Walter stopped there.
For the first time, Damon understood something his eyes had not fully accepted.
The janitor had been controlling every exchange.
Holding back.
Protecting him.
Walter leaned slightly closer.
His voice was low enough that only Damon and the nearest students could hear.
“You have real talent.”
Damon stared at the mat.
Walter continued, “If you let your ego use that talent, eventually your skill becomes the thing that traps you.”
Then he released him.
Damon stayed on one knee for several seconds.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody applauded.
The silence felt heavier than either.
Eventually Damon stood.
His expression was pale now rather than angry.
“Who are you?”
Walter put his work shirt back on.