Not world famous.

But real.

Very real.

Cassidy sat alone in locker room.

The woman she had called mop philosopher had once held a belt.

A legitimate professional title from an era before women’s combat sports received much coverage.

Cassidy scrolled.

One article:
Brooks wins title after body attack.

Another:
Champion returns to Columbus youth gym.

Then almost nothing after 2009.

No interviews.
No coaching page.
No active social account.

Gone.

Cassidy heard door.

Dylan entered.

“What are you looking at?”

She locked screen.

“Nothing.”

He grabbed water.

“You find janitor?”

“No.”

She lied.

She did not know why.

If she told everyone, they would look at Lena differently.

Cassidy wasn’t ready.

Tuesday night, Lena entered the empty ring area to mop.

Cassidy waited until nobody was near.

“You’re Lenora Brooks.”

The mop stopped.

Lena did not turn immediately.

Then:

“Who told?”

“Internet.”

“Internet is nosy.”

“You were North American champion.”

Lena looked tired.

Not proud.

“Yes.”

Cassidy stared.

“Why didn’t you say?”

“Why would I?”

“Because I—”

She stopped.

Because I mocked you.

Lena:
“Because you what?”

Cassidy:
“Nothing.”

“No. Say.”

Now roles shifted.

Cassidy:
“You let me talk to you like I knew more.”

Lena:
“You do know more about your career.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

Cassidy:
“You could’ve embarrassed me.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t?”

Lena leaned on mop handle.

“Would it teach?”

Cassidy’s face warmed.

“Maybe.”

“No.”

“Then what teaches?”

“Usually consequence.”

Cassidy:
“That sounds threatening.”

“It isn’t.”

Lena:
“You have a fight. Your consequence will come from habits if you don’t fix.”

Cassidy stared.

“Are you saying I’ll lose?”

“No.”

“You think.”

“I think Mara will pressure your right side, wait for your heel, and step through when you kick.”

Cassidy:
“You watched her.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

Cassidy:
“Then help me.”

Lena’s face changed.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I work here.”

“You know.”

“Doesn’t mean I coach.”

“Gavin knows you.”

“Gavin saw me fight when he was a teenager.”

Cassidy blinked.

“He was?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why.”

“Yes.”

Cassidy:
“Why janitor?”

Lena’s eyes cooled.

There it was.

Wrong question, wrong tone.

Cassidy heard too late.

“I mean why are you working cleaning if you were champion?”

Lena:
“Same question.”

“No, I—”

“Champions can’t clean?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

Cassidy did not have a clean answer.

Lena:
“I needed a job with evenings and benefits.”

Cassidy:
“Why not coach?”

“I didn’t want.”

“Why?”

“Private.”

Cassidy:
“Was it injury?”

“Private.”

“Money?”

Lena:
“Cassidy.”

First time she used her name like a warning.

“I said no.”

Cassidy stepped back.

“Fine.”

Lena resumed mopping.

Cassidy:
“But my heel?”

Lena kept moving.

“Ask Gavin.”

Conversation over.

The next day, Cassidy confronted Gavin.

“You knew she was champion.”