Coach lurches to his feet, chair screeching against the floor. “Madness! You have more medals to take, not throw away your—”
I ignore him and look back at the committee. “You want proof of change? Here it is: my career, my reputation, everything on the line for the betterment of the sport. Besides, where else will you find someone as decorated as me who’s willing to work for free?”
The silence weighs more than any medal I’ve ever worn. This time, I don’t flinch.
Em’s palm slams against the table. “Look, I’ll be the first to admit Dante’s an ass—”
“Not now, Em,” I growl through gritted teeth.
“Tiho!” Coach barks at her.
“Let me finish,” Em insists. “Sure, he’s got a big ego, and he’s insufferably pretentious. But he’s also the best damn coach I’ve ever had. The only coach I’ve ever had. He doesn’t just teach moves; he gets it. Gets what it’s like when everyone’s waiting for you to crash and burn. Gets what it means to care for someone.”
She takes a breath, and I see that familiar fire in her eyes. “Five months ago, I was ready to quit. Now I’m winning competitions I couldn’t imagine entering before, and it’s allbecause of this idiot screaming at me over video call, helping me land touches. And it’s not just me—there’s kids at the gym who couldn’t afford private lessons, who’d never held a saber before. Dante works with all of them. Stays late. Comes in early. He cares. Actually cares. Which, trust me, surprised me more than anyone.”
The committee members exchange glances, their faces unreadable. Thompson’s voice cuts through the tension: “We’ll deliberate. Please wait outside.”
We walk out of the conference room, and the door closes behind us. The hallway feels like a cage. Coach stalks back and forth, his boots clicking against the tile. Without warning, he whirls on me, face red with fury.
“Another season? Have you lost your mind?”
“Coach, I can explain—” The words die in my throat as he jabs a finger in my face.
“Explain? EXPLAIN? You throw away everything—your career, your future—like yesterday’s garbage! For what?”
“We’re talking millions in potential deals,” Todd says. “You’ve already turned down the Versace campaign—”
“Because it was contingent on exploiting my relationship with Reese,” I cut him off. “Either they want me for my talent, or they don’t get me at all. I’m done playing that game.”
“Who cares about Versace? Fancy clothes cannot hide empty soul.”
Todd scowls at Coach.
I chime in, “They’ll never extend my suspension. It’s a desperate play, and we all know it.”
“Guys, shut up!” Em hisses, pressing her ear to the door. “I can’t hear anything!”
Coach swoops over, yanking Em away from her eavesdropping. “Emily!” he thunders. “This is not James Bond movie!”
“I was just—”
“Nyet! Sit!” He spins back to me, eyes blazing. “And you—if committee says yes, I will destroy you. Triple—no, quadruple conditioning. No mercy.”
I can’t help but smile. “Here’s hoping I can still afford protein shakes without sponsors.”
The joke falls flat, heavy with truth. We all know what’s at stake.
My phone buzzes—messages from everyone except the one person I want to hear from. Reese. But how would she know I’m here? I open Mom’s text instead.
Mom
Any news?
Dante
Still in limbo.
Mom
