Caroline finished the locker rooms and pushed her bucket toward the main studio. She only needed to mop the perimeter before heading home with her daughter.
Thirteen-year-old Abigail Reyes was waiting outside, backpack slung over one shoulder, ready to walk with her mom to the bus stop.
Inside, Tom was demonstrating a complex kick. His students—grown men and women, most of them black belts—watched him as if they were attending a ceremony. Trophy cases gleamed under fluorescent lights. On the wall hung framed photos of past champions.
One plaque, half-hidden near the bottom, read: Victor Reyes, 1999.
Caroline tried not to look at it.
She wrung out her mop and began cleaning along the wooden edge of the mat. She moved quietly, eyes down, like a ghost. A cocky student named Brandon stumbled mid-drill. He barely lost balance, but Tom’s sharp eyes caught it instantly.
“What was that, Brandon?” Tom barked. “Forget how to stand? This isn’t dance class. This is combat. It demands perfection.”
Brandon flushed red.
“Sorry, Sensei. I lost my balance.”
“You lost focus,” Tom corrected coldly. “And when you lose focus, you become weak.”
He clapped his hands. “From the top.”
Tension filled the room again.