My body wanted to explode sideways.
I didn't.
Cole feinted.
I waited.
Another.
Wait.
Then I saw it.
Not an opening.
A choice.
His weight shifted forward.
I stepped toward him.
He expected it this time.
His arm moved to stop me.
So I didn't continue.
I pivoted halfway, changed direction, and slipped past the opposite side.
Cole turned.
Too late.
The room erupted.
I didn't attack.
That surprised everyone.
Including Cole.
I had an opening.
A good one.
But my balance wasn't perfect.
Taking it would have meant reaching.
Chasing.
Forcing.
So I reset.
Cole looked at me.
Then he smiled.
Not mockingly.
Approval.
I understood.
That was the point.
The dodge everyone remembered from the first day had been impressive because it was fast.
This one was better because I knew why I'd done it.
Cole came forward.
We exchanged again.
His forearm caught mine.
I turned.
He pressed.
I redirected.
He stepped away.
My chest heaved.
His did too.
Then something strange happened.
The room went silent on its own.
Nobody had ordered it.
Nobody needed to.
Cole and I stood several feet apart.
Exactly like the end of that first exchange.
Breathing heavily.
Eyes locked.
Waiting.
The camera moved closer.
I saw Diaz at the edge of my vision.
I heard the soft movement of his boots.
Cole lowered his chin.
I raised my hands.
For an instant, the last few days collapsed into one moment.
The first punch.
The dodge.
The cheering.
My counter.
His pressure.
The wall.
The replay.
His fist slowing in the video.
Reed telling us that ego reacted too.
The empty room.
The openings we had chosen not to take.
Everything was there.
Cole stepped forward.
Fast.
My body prepared to move.
But he stopped.
Just outside range.
A feint.
Three days ago, I would have reacted.
I didn't.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he smiled.
I stepped forward.
He didn't react either.
We stood there.
Two people refusing to give the other an easy answer.
Then I attacked.
Not wildly.
Not because the crowd wanted it.
Because the opening was real.
My lead hand drew his guard.
He shifted.
I changed angle.
Cole recovered.
I expected it.
My second movement wasn't aimed at where he had been.
It was aimed at where his recovery would put him.
His eyes widened.
My controlled strike stopped against the center of his padded vest.
At the exact same moment, his hand stopped against my shoulder.
Neither of us moved.
The room held its breath.
I looked down.
His hand was touching my shoulder.
He looked down.
Mine was against his vest.
Simultaneous.
Diaz whispered, "No way."
Cole looked at me.
I looked at him.
Then we both started laughing.
Not polite laughter.
Not relief.
The exhausted, ridiculous laughter of two people who had spent days trying to solve each other only to arrive at the same answer at the same time.
The room erupted.
This time I let myself hear it.
Reed walked onto the mat.
"Stop."
We stepped apart.
Someone immediately shouted, "Who got the point?"
Reed turned toward the voice.
Nobody admitted who'd asked.
He looked at Cole.
Then me.
"Does it matter?"
Three days earlier, I would have thought yes.
Now I knew better.
"No, Staff Sergeant," I said.
Cole shook his head.
"No."