Chapter 9 - THE AFTERMATH ON THE MAT
Inside the gym, the silence persisted for nearly two full minutes after the heavy glass front door clicked shut.
Nobody moved to resume sparring. Nobody went to the heavy bags. The music that usually pumped through the overhead speakers remained paused.
Derek slowly walked over to his gym bag near the bench, dropping his red-and-black belt onto the vinyl floor. He sat down heavily on the wooden bench, resting his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The absolute humiliation of what had just happened was severe, but deeper than the embarrassment was the sudden, terrifying realization of how close he had come to real danger.
He looked up toward the back wall, where the Older Veteran was quietly packing his gear into a black canvas duffel bag.
"Hey," Derek called out, his voice raspy and devoid of its usual booming volume. "Hey, Art."
The Veteran stopped zipping his bag, looking over at Derek with a cold, unyielding stare.
"Who was that?" Derek asked, his voice trembling slightly. "What kind of black belt was that?"
The Veteran slung his heavy bag over his shoulder, walking slowly toward the front exit. He paused beside Derek’s bench, looking down at the heavy black gi lying on the floor.
"He wasn't a black belt, Derek," the Veteran said quietly, his voice filled with an absolute, chilling certainty. "Black belts play a sport with rules, points, and referees. That man belongs to a world where there are no points, no referees, and no second chances."
The Veteran looked toward the empty space at the center of the mat where Derek had been pinned just minutes earlier.
May you like
"You're lucky he came here for his sister," the Veteran added coldly. "If he had come here for you, you wouldn't be sitting on that bench right now."
Without another word, the Veteran walked out the front door, leaving Derek and the rest of the class standing in the quiet, dim light of the blue mats.
