Then he looked at Cole.
"Mercer?"
Cole folded his arms.
"Testing somebody doesn't mean you're right about what you're testing."
That surprised me.
He looked toward me.
"I thought predictable drills might be hiding weaknesses. I was right about that."
He paused.
"I also thought Bennett's speed might disappear when the warning disappeared."
Several people looked at me.
Cole shrugged.
"I was wrong about that."
There were a few laughs.
I smiled.
Reed looked around the group.
"Good. Keep being wrong."
Everyone stared at him.
He continued.
"If training only confirms what you already believe, you're wasting your time."
That stayed with me.
Not the cheers.
Not the video.
Not even the first punch.
That sentence.
Keep being wrong.
Because being wrong in training meant you had discovered something before discovering it somewhere less forgiving.
We were dismissed.
People collected their things.
Diaz came over to me one final time.
"Can I keep the video?"
I looked at Reed.
He was close enough to hear.
"Within the unit," he said. "It stays off public platforms."
Diaz nodded.
I looked at the frozen image on his phone.
Cole's first punch.
My head already moving.
The frame everyone loved.
I realized something.
The picture looked like a moment of victory.
It wasn't.
It was a beginning.
"Keep it," I said.
Diaz grinned.
"But keep the whole thing."
His grin faded slightly.
"What?"
"Not just the dodge."
I pointed at the phone.
"The whole drill."
Cole looked over.
Diaz understood.
He nodded.
"Whole thing."
We walked out.
The hallway outside Training Room Four was cooler.
My shirt clung to my back.
My arms hurt.
Tomorrow I'd probably discover bruises I hadn't noticed yet.
Cole walked beside me.
At the end of the hall, we reached the doors leading outside.
He stopped.
"So."
I looked at him.
"So?"
"Next week."
"What about it?"
"Reaction drills."
I stared at him.
He raised both hands.
"With warning."
"Good."
"Probably."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Cole."
He laughed.
"I'm kidding."
"You better be."
We stepped outside.
The afternoon air hit my face.
For a second, I closed my eyes.
And there it was again.
The memory.
A fist coming toward me.
The world slowing.
My body turning.
Air brushing my cheek.
A room full of people exploding in disbelief.
But the memory didn't frighten me.
It didn't make me feel invincible either.
That was the important part.
Because I knew something now that I hadn't known in that first frozen second.
Speed could save you.
Strength could overwhelm you.
Technique could protect you.
Training could prepare you.
But none of those things mattered if pride took control of the next decision.
The real test had never been whether I could dodge Cole's punch.
I had answered that question in less than a second.
The real test was what I would do after everyone saw me dodge it.
Would I perform?
Would I chase?
Would I need to win?
Would I become reckless because people were cheering my name?
Or could I stand in front of the same threat again, hear the same noise, feel the same pressure—and still choose instead of react?
Three days earlier, Cole had stepped toward me without warning.
His fist had cut through empty air where my face had been.
Everyone remembered that.
But when I remember Training Room Four, that isn't the moment I think about most.
I remember the final exchange.
Cole standing across from me.
Both of us exhausted.
The camera moving closer.
The room waiting.
He stepped forward.
I didn't panic.
I didn't retreat.
I didn't attack because people expected me to.
I watched.
I breathed.
I waited until the choice was mine.
Then I moved.
And this time, when the room erupted behind me, I didn't need to know who had won.
I already knew what I had learned.
The first punch proved I was fast.
Everything that came after taught me when not to be.