"I'd like to request a sparring match," he said, "before the national tournament. Formal, refereed, in front of the dojo." He kept his voice level. He was not performing anything.
Nia looked up at him. She studied his face for a moment. Not suspiciously, just carefully, the way she studied everything. She stood up.
"I accept," she said, and she bowed. Ethan bowed back. It was slightly stiff, the bow of someone who was doing the right thing and was still somewhat adjusting to how right it felt, but it was genuine. He walked back toward the main hall.
Harris was at the far end of the corridor when it happened. He had not been close enough to hear the words, but he had seen the bow, and the bow told him everything. He waited until Ethan had gone and then walked over to Nia. "What did he say?" he asked.
"He wants a formal sparring match," she said, "before the tournament." Harris absorbed this. "How are you feeling about it?" "Fine," she said.
"Be honest," he said. She looked at him. "I'm not worried about losing," she said, "I'm worried about winning in the wrong way." Harris frowned slightly.
"What's the wrong way?" "If I beat him and he learns nothing," she said, "or if I beat him and it just makes things worse. I don't want to win and have him feel the same way he made me feel on the first day." She paused.
"That's not what my grandfather would want. That's not what any of this is for." Harris was quiet for a long moment. "Then you already know what to do," he said.
"You already know how to fight that match." She looked at him. "You don't fight Ethan Cole," Harris said, "you fight the mat, same as always, and you let him see the difference." She thought about this.
"He might understand," she said, "or he might not." "That's true," Harris said, "but you can't control what he understands. You can only control how you fight." She nodded.