Dips frowned. “I got more than enough.”
They stood facing each other. Aaron held a single padded focus mitt.
Dips wound up—a haymaker, all shoulder and ego. The punch was fast, wild. Aaron didn’t block it. He simply moved . His left foot slid six inches. The punch hit air. Dips stumbled forward, off balance, chest exposed.
Dips pushed open the door. The room was a long rectangle, mirrors on one wall, a single tatami mat in the center. No trophies. No banners. Just a man in a grey sweatsuit, sitting cross-legged, eyes closed.