"Why?"
Cole glanced toward Reed.
Reed was talking to two soldiers near the mat.
Then Cole looked back at me.
"Because drills lie."
I waited.
He continued.
"When you know a strike is coming, you're not reacting to the strike. You're reacting to the countdown."
"So you decided to remove the countdown."
"Yes."
"You could've warned Reed."
"I did."
That surprised me.
I looked toward Reed.
He met my eyes from across the room.
And nodded once.
So that was it.
Not an accident.
Not Cole improvising because he wanted to show off.
A test.
I should have been relieved.
Instead, I was angry.
Not furious.
But enough that my voice became quieter.
"You could've told me."
Cole shook his head.
"Then it wouldn't have worked."
I stared at him.
He didn't look away.
That was the problem.
He was right.
And I still didn't like it.
"There's a difference between realism and recklessness," I said.
"I know."
"Do you?"
His expression hardened slightly.
"That's why I pulled the punch."
"You came within inches of my face."
"Because you moved."
"And if I hadn't?"
"I would've stopped."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
There was no hesitation.
I believed that he believed it.
That wasn't the same as agreeing.
Before I could answer, Reed approached us.
"Bennett."
"Staff Sergeant."
"Mercer."
"Staff Sergeant."
Reed looked from one of us to the other.
"You both controlled your strikes after the opening."
Neither of us spoke.
"That's good," Reed continued. "You also both let the room get into your heads."
I frowned.
Cole did too.
Reed noticed.
"You think because you didn't look at them, you weren't listening?"
He pointed toward the soldiers around Diaz.
"Every cheer changed the tempo. Mercer pressed harder after Bennett scored. Bennett took more risks after the room started backing her."
My instinct was to deny it.
Then I remembered stepping toward Cole after the crowd erupted.
Reed was right.
I hated when instructors were right.
"Training isn't theater," he said. "If you're performing for witnesses, you've already surrendered part of your judgment."
The room had grown quieter.
People were listening.
Reed turned toward everyone.
"Come here."
They gathered.
Diaz reluctantly lowered his phone.
Reed pointed at me.
"What did Bennett do right?"
Hands went up jokingly.
Reed ignored them.
"Movement," someone said.
"Distance," another answered.
"Didn't freeze."
"Read the strike."
Reed nodded.
"What did she do wrong?"
Silence.
I knew immediately.
"Got trapped against the wall," I said.
Reed looked at me.
"Yes."
Another voice said, "She started chasing after she scored."
Reed nodded again.
I glanced toward the speaker.
Private Harris.
He was right too.
I had chased.
Not far.
Enough.
Then Reed pointed toward Cole.
"What did Mercer do right?"
"Pressure."
"Controlled distance."
"Adjusted when she started reading him."
Reed nodded.
"What did he do wrong?"
I answered before anyone else.
"He assumed I'd retreat."
Cole looked at me.
Reed smiled slightly.
"Exactly."
A few soldiers laughed.
Cole shook his head.
"Fair."
Reed stepped between us.
"The point isn't who won."
That disappointed several people immediately.
I could see it.
They wanted a winner.
People always want a winner.
It makes a complicated event easier to understand.
One person succeeds.
One person fails.
Story over.
But Reed wasn't giving them that.
"Mercer had reach and pressure. Bennett had movement and adaptation. Both landed. Both got caught. Both adjusted."
He paused.
"The useful question isn't who looked better on Diaz's phone."
Diaz quietly lowered the phone another inch.
"The useful question is what happens when the thing you planned for stops happening."
Nobody spoke.
Reed pointed toward the center of the mat.
"That's why we train."
The crowd began breaking apart.
The moment was apparently over.