The punch came.
Fast.
Straight.
Controlled.
This time, I didn't slide sideways.
I stepped inside.
My left forearm redirected his arm.
My right foot planted.
I turned my body.
For half a second, Cole's momentum carried him past my centerline.
An opening appeared.
Huge.
Obvious.
Three days ago, I would have taken it immediately.
Instead, I waited one fraction longer.
Cole recovered faster than he had the first day.
His guard came back.
The opening vanished.
Good.
I moved away.
The room stayed quiet.
Cole nodded.
Then attacked again.
Two strikes.
I blocked the first.
Slipped the second.
Countered.
He turned.
My hand stopped against his padded shoulder.
Point.
The room began to react.
Reed raised one hand.
Silence returned.
Cole stepped back.
No frustration.
No chasing.
We reset.
Then I attacked.
Cole blocked.
I changed angle.
He followed.
I tried to draw him forward.
He didn't take the bait.
I smiled.
"Learned something?"
"Maybe."
"Slow learner."
"Keep talking."
He attacked.
I barely moved in time.
His hand brushed my guard.
"Point," he said.
"Nobody likes you."
"Focus."
He was right.
I hated that.
I reset.
We continued.
Minutes blurred.
He scored.
I scored.
He forced me backward.
I turned him.
He caught one of my feints.
I recognized one of his.
The room reacted occasionally, but the sound no longer controlled us.
That was the difference.
Noise existed.
We didn't belong to it.
At one point, Cole landed a clean controlled touch against my shoulder.
The crowd shouted.
He didn't press.
At another, I redirected him and landed against his vest.
The crowd erupted.
I didn't chase.
Reed saw both.
I could tell.
His expression didn't change, but he saw.
We were finally doing what he'd wanted.
Not ignoring pressure.
Functioning inside it.
My lungs began to burn.
Cole's movements became slightly slower.
So did mine.
Fatigue was entering the fight.
That made everything more dangerous.
Tired people become honest.
Technique erodes.
Bad habits return.
Cole's right shoulder started lifting before he attacked.
My feet began narrowing when I retreated.
We both noticed the other's weakness.
We both tried to exploit it.
He pressured.
I moved.
My heel nearly crossed behind my other foot.
I corrected.
Too late.
Cole saw it.
He advanced.
The wall was coming closer.
The exact situation from our first long exchange.
I heard Diaz whisper, "Here we go."
Cole cut off my left.
I looked right.
He shifted.
He remembered.
So did I.
Three days earlier, I'd escaped by stepping toward him.
He knew that now.
Which meant repeating it blindly would be just another predictable pattern.
I stayed.
For half a second, Cole looked surprised.
Then he attacked.
I blocked.
Impact rattled through my arm.
Another strike.
Blocked.
I shifted my feet.
Not enough.
The wall remained behind me.
Cole controlled the space.
I felt panic trying to arrive.
There you are.
Finally.
Fear.
Real fear.
Not terror.
Pressure.
The knowledge that my options were shrinking.