Jake's expression tightened.
“This is demonstration contact only.”
“No head strikes.”
“No joint attacks.”
“No uncontrolled takedowns.”
“If I say stop, you stop.”
Jake rolled his eyes.
“I know the rules.”
Daniel leaned closer.
“No, Jake.”
His voice dropped.
“You know competition rules.”
“This is different.”
Jake looked toward me.
I was loosening my shoulders.
Daniel stepped between us.
“Bow.”
Jake gave me a sloppy bow.
I returned one.
Daniel moved aside.
“Begin.”
Jake circled.
I did not.
His friends shouted encouragement.
“Get him, Jake!”
“Easy money!”
Jake bounced lightly.
“You ready, Grandpa?”
I raised my hands.
“You talk this much when you fight?”
The crowd laughed.
Jake's jaw tightened.
Then he came forward.
Fast.
Front kick toward my stomach.
Technically good.
Too much confidence.
I shifted maybe four inches.
His foot passed my shirt.
Jake landed.
I touched two fingers against the side of his ribs.
Lightly.
Then stepped away.
He stared.
The crowd made a small noise.
Jake looked at Daniel.
“What?”
Daniel said nothing.
Jake faced me again.
He came harder.
Jab.
Reverse punch.
Low kick.
I parried the jab.
Let the reverse punch slide past my shoulder.
Raised my shin just enough to check the kick.
Then placed my open palm against Jake's chest.
Not hard.
Just enough to stop him.
He stumbled one step.
The crowd got quieter.
Jake smiled nervously.
“Okay.”
I waited.
He attacked again.
This time he tried a fast roundhouse.
I moved inside the arc.
His knee passed my hip.
My forearm touched his chest.
My foot stepped behind his supporting leg.
For a moment, Jake's entire balance belonged to me.
I could have dropped him.
Instead I released.
He staggered sideways.
The laughter disappeared.
One of his friends whispered:
“What the hell?”
Jake heard.
His face reddened.
He came forward again.
Daniel called:
“Jake, control.”
Jake ignored him.
His right hand came toward my face.
Harder than demonstration speed.
I moved outside.
Caught the wrist.
My other hand touched behind his elbow.
Turned.
Jake spun past me.
No strength.
Angle.
He stumbled three steps.
When he turned back, I was standing exactly where I had started.
My hip hurt like hell.
I hoped nobody noticed.
Jake did.
He smiled.
“Your leg's bad.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then why don't you quit?”
“Because you're still holding my afternoon hostage.”
A few people laughed.
That made him angry.
He rushed.
Not technically.
Emotionally.
That is where young fighters usually become old lessons.
I shifted my weight.
Jake threw a right.
I caught his arm.
Stepped underneath.
Turned my hips.
And guided him toward the mat.
Not a violent throw.
Not the kind that makes highlight reels.
He simply discovered that his feet were no longer underneath him.
Jake hit the mat on his side.
Before he could scramble up, I placed one knee near his shoulder without dropping weight.
His wrist was controlled.
My open hand stopped two inches above his throat.