## Chapter 376 — The Second Card Saturday, 11 December began with the small ring case still closed beside Isha's phone. She noticed it when she reached across the bedside cabinet to silence the alarm. The dark-green sapphire and her wedding band were inside, left there the previous night because neither belonged in gloves, clinches or an event changing room. Three months ago she would have noticed only the sapphire's absence. Now the bare finger looked briefly incomplete before the rest of the morning caught up with it. Thomas was awake beside her. The clock showed 06:30 exactly, but his face had the composed quality of someone who had already watched at least one earlier number appear. “How long?” He considered pretending not to understand and abandoned it. “Six minutes.” “You were meant to sleep for those.” “I did beforehand.” Isha rolled onto her side. The winter light beyond the curtains had not properly formed yet, leaving only a grey seam around the fabric. Thomas looked rested despite the early waking, which removed the only useful objection she could have made. She leaned over and kissed him instead. “Good morning.” “Good morning.” The fight did not need discussing before either had brushed their teeth. Breakfast was rice, miso soup and eggs. Thomas had planned nothing special around the event and, for once, had not hidden complexity inside the claim. Isha ate the amount she normally wanted before a long training session, drank tea, and answered the few questions that mattered: she had slept adequately, nothing hurt, no headache had appeared overnight and the previous evening's light training had left no new soreness. Thomas accepted the answers. He did not find a fourth question merely because the first three left space after them. Isha noticed. “You are improving.” “That sounds ominous.” “At stopping.” He looked mildly offended, although not enough to defend himself while holding chopsticks. “I stop many things.” “Yes. Eventually.” The fight bag waited beside the genkan where Isha had left it. She had checked it once on Friday: documents, mouthguard, ordinary toiletries, clothes for afterward and the small event requirements Shibata had listed. Thomas had not opened it. His contribution consisted of knowing where it was and not moving it somewhere safer. At 07:12 Kanno sent a message. **Leaving now. If I arrive before you, I am not volunteering for anything.** Isha showed Thomas across the table. “She remembers the previous event,” he said. “She participated correctly last time.” “She folded the programme through your name.” “That did not alter the result.” Thomas looked as though there were several directions available from there and chose tea. They left flat 202 shortly after half past seven. Cold air found the gap between Isha's scarf and coat collar as soon as the building door opened, and their breath briefly showed in front of them. The street had the washed-out brightness of a December morning before direct sun reached it. No snow lay on the pavement, though dirty remnants survived in shaded places near walls where an earlier light fall had not entirely melted. The ring case remained at home. Isha thought of it once on the train and then not again. --- The amateur card occupied another modest municipal sports hall, similar enough to the venue of Isha's first bout that recognition arrived before novelty. There were folding signs, taped routes for competitors and spectators, the mixed smell of rubber flooring and sports-hall heating, and an elderly vending machine supplying coffee to people who would shortly complain about it. The event had not become more important because it was Isha's second. There were still volunteers checking names against lists, coaches carrying ordinary bags, several families in winter coats and competitors trying to find somewhere unobtrusive to wait. The enclosure took up the central floor under bright hall lighting. Beyond it, folding bleachers held perhaps half the people they could have accommodated. Isha went through the event-day checks with Shibata. Identification and paperwork were confirmed; the medical declaration had not changed; no new injury required discussion. The scale gave a weight close to her ordinary training level. Naruse Kana's reading, taken several minutes earlier, remained close enough that nobody needed to revisit the pairing. The important fact survived the paperwork: both women had arrived healthy, had eaten and drunk normally, had agreed to the final conditions and still wanted the bout. Naruse stood several metres away while her coach returned one document to the organiser. She looked exactly enough like her footage to make the months of abstraction collapse into a person. Around 176 centimetres, compact beside Isha's greater height, shoulders built more by boxing and mixed work than by the long pulling strength that climbing had given Isha. Even while waiting, Naruse's stance tended to settle with the left foot ahead. Her hands were bare, but the right still returned unconsciously towards the line from which it had travelled in so much of the footage. She looked over. Isha bowed. Naruse returned it. “Vaeloren-san.” “Naruse-san.” There was nothing else they needed from one another yet. Shibata watched Isha study her for another moment before turning towards the changing area. “You have already seen the long footage.” “I know.” “Then look once while she is real and finish.” Isha let her eyes return to Naruse. The other woman was listening to her coach now, not watching back. One hand traced a short straight motion while she spoke, probably describing an entry or a punch. Isha followed Shibata. “Finished.” Arai waited inside with wraps and tape. She had cornered Isha against Morita and had agreed to do the same today, bringing familiarity but no pretence of authority beyond the jobs Shibata gave her. Her own beginner bout had ended in a decision loss years earlier; she had never treated that as qualification to tell Isha how competition was supposed to feel. She began wrapping Isha's left hand. “Nervous?” “Yes.” “Good.” Isha looked down at her. “That is becoming everyone's answer.” “It is efficient.” The wraps tightened the hand into something slightly less familiar than training. Arai checked the pressure across the knuckles, asked once whether it was comfortable and continued when Isha said yes. Around them, another competitor entered the changing room and began talking quietly with her coach. A door farther along opened onto the hall, briefly carrying in applause from the bout already underway. Shibata returned with the final sheet and sat on the edge of a bench. “You know what Naruse does well. Give me one thing.” Isha flexed the wrapped hand before offering the other. “Her boxing is best after her feet settle. Especially the right.” “And something the footage does not tell you.” Isha thought of the clips: Naruse winning a novice decision, losing another, using straight punches cleanly when allowed to set and staying patient when exchanges became untidy. “What she does when I do not let her settle.” Shibata folded the paper once. “Find out.” That was enough coaching before there was a fight to coach. --- Thomas and Kanno found seats four rows above the floor. Kanno had already purchased coffee and discovered the venue's first deception of the day. “This is brown water with a professional grievance,” she said after one sip. Thomas accepted the cup when she held it out for independent review. It was hot, weak and sweet enough to obscure what little coffee remained. “It meets several components.” “I didn't ask whether it could survive litigation.” She took it back anyway. The programme was a single folded sheet, cleaner than the one from Isha's first event. Kanno checked the typography on reflex and appeared almost disappointed that the organiser had standardised the dashes. Thomas read the bout order. Isha and Naruse occupied the middle of a modest card: not an opening novelty, not a main event, simply one of several amateur pairings under the same rules and medical arrangements. Their phones stayed in their bags. The organiser's fixed camera would provide footage under the participant agreement. Neither wanted to watch Isha through a screen while sitting close enough to see her directly. The earlier bout finished by decision. One of the women cried afterward, frustrated enough that her coach simply put a towel around her shoulders and sat beside her while the referee's announcement moved on. A few minutes later both walked out under their own power. Kanno watched until they had gone. “I still dislike this as entertainment.” “It is fortunate Isha isn't doing it for you.” “I know. That does not improve my chair.” Thomas smiled briefly, then stopped when the announcer called Naruse's name. Isha appeared from the competitor entrance shortly afterward. Kanno folded the programme once across her knee. --- Naruse's gloves were already on when the referee called them to the centre. The final instructions were the familiar ones: legal targets, break when ordered, protect themselves, stop immediately when told. He asked if either woman had a question. Neither did. They touched gloves and went back to their marks. The horn sounded. Naruse's jab arrived before Isha had finished finding the rhythm of a real opponent. The first brushed her cheek. The right behind it did not. It reached Isha cleanly enough to turn her face and produce immediate respect for the difference between watching good hands and standing in front of them. Isha moved outside the next jab and answered with a low kick to Naruse's lead thigh. The kick displaced the leg. It did not disturb the structure above it enough. Naruse's hands kept working as her foot returned to the floor, the jab finding Isha's guard and the right following while Isha was still completing the larger motion. Then Naruse was gone. Not far. Only beyond the distance Isha needed for the answer she had begun. That was the first real problem. Morita had taken ground and made Isha carry her against the wall. Naruse was willing to leave. She used the centre, entered behind straight punches and withdrew before Isha's strength could become useful simply because Isha had reached her. Isha circled, offering less direct ground. Naruse reset rather than chase, left foot forward again, shoulders loose. The jab returned. Sometimes once, sometimes twice. When Isha moved outside, the right shortened or became a hook. Once Naruse added a low kick of her own and stepped away before Isha could answer it. The difference in their histories became physical rather than theoretical. Isha knew how to hurt a person in more ways than Naruse did. Naruse knew this particular beginning better. Isha feinted low and stepped through the expected retreat. Her left hand found Naruse's upper arm and the right reached for the body. For an instant the distance became hers. Naruse framed across the collarbone and turned before Isha's hands joined. The movement was compact, practised and sufficient. Her right hand struck on the way out. Isha tasted blood from a small cut inside her mouth. Naruse had already reset. The pattern continued long enough to become irritating. Isha landed another low kick, then a straight punch that moved Naruse's head and made the crowd react. She followed it into the clinch and this time joined her hands around Naruse's body before the frame could split them. The world simplified. Isha was stronger. Naruse immediately made strength less useful. An overhook trapped one side. Her feet widened. When Isha stepped across for an outside trip, Naruse removed the leg and turned her hips far enough that the attempt no longer travelled through a clean line. They reached the fence together with Isha's shoulder pressing into Naruse's chest. For the first time Naruse had nowhere to leave simply by stepping away. Isha tried to use that fact too completely. She changed levels for a takedown while her head was poorly placed. Naruse pulled one leg back and forced the angle farther outside. Isha recognised the bad position before committing to it and came back up. A short glove struck her ribs from inside the clinch. Naruse fought for space. Isha tried to turn her again. Naruse stayed upright, recovered an inside arm and slipped out along the fence. The jab met Isha as soon as they separated. Isha stopped following. Too late to alter what had already happened, but soon enough to see the next exchange more clearly. Naruse's feet settled. Jab. Right. Leave. The hands were not mysterious. The timing was simply ahead of Isha's answer. She began making the entries cost more: another low kick, a punch to the body, an attempt to cut across the centre rather than run behind Naruse's shoulders. The improvement narrowed the space between them. It did not erase the cleaner work Naruse had already done. Near the horn Isha finally stepped inside a jab and reached Naruse's waist again. Her hands were beginning to close when the round ended. The referee separated them. Naruse's breathing had deepened. Isha's cheek and lip were already beginning to feel the punches that had landed. They looked at one another while walking back to their corners. Isha knew the round was Naruse's. She did not need the judges yet. --- Thomas's right heel had been moving for several minutes. Kanno noticed before he did. “You are doing better than last time.” He looked at her. “You are still seated.” Thomas looked down at his foot and stopped bouncing it. “That is a low standard.” “It is measurable.” Below them, Arai removed Isha's mouthguard while Shibata leaned in. Kanno could see a little blood at one corner of Isha's mouth but no sign of confusion or instability. Thomas saw the same thing and had nothing useful to do with the information. The minute belonged to the corner. He kept his hands around his knees and let it. --- Arai wiped Isha's lip and checked inside her mouth. “Small cut.” “Yes.” “I am still looking.” Isha let her. Shibata waited until she had drunk before speaking. “You are solving the exchange after she has scored it. When you reach her, you're trying to finish three things before she finishes one.” Isha looked across at Naruse's corner. “She leaves before I finish.” “Then finish less. Move her feet first. If she exits, make the exit expensive or make her reset again. Stop following the head once she's already gone.” Arai touched two fingers against Isha's forearm. “Watch the hips earlier. You know where the hands end. See where the exit starts.” The irritation Isha felt was useful because neither instruction was complicated. Naruse expected pursuit now. Isha could give her something else. The official called ten seconds. Arai replaced the mouthguard. Isha stood. Across the enclosure, Naruse rose at almost the same moment. --- Naruse's coach had reached a related conclusion from the other direction. The first round had gone where they wanted it, but the last minute had required more work than the first. Isha had begun closing distance without simply running after the punches. The body lock at the horn had arrived more quickly than the earlier attempts. “Keep making her cross empty space,” Naruse's coach told her. “Do not prove you can stay in her strength. If she gets the clinch, keep an inside route and leave.” Naruse nodded. She had felt Isha's strength at the fence. Accepting it to demonstrate toughness would be stupidity dressed as courage. The horn sounded. Naruse went back to work. --- Her first jab met a different answer. Isha stepped right instead of giving ground, struck the lead thigh and stayed close enough that the right hand no longer had the distance Naruse preferred. Naruse shortened the punch. Isha was already under it. Their shoulders met. Isha's left arm found an underhook. She did not wait to join both hands. She used the one good line she had, turned Naruse and made the fence arrive behind her. Naruse's back touched padding. She tried to change levels before Isha could settle the body lock. Isha followed the movement, turned the corner and took her down. They reached the mat near the fence with Naruse on one hip and Isha above her. Naruse recovered half guard immediately. That stopped the position becoming simple. Her legs trapped one of Isha's. A forearm framed against Isha's shoulder. Isha worked for head position and began freeing the knee while Naruse denied each easy line in sequence. The crowd became background noise. Isha felt the difference through pressure. Naruse was less comfortable here than on her feet, but she was not lost. She knew where she wanted frames, what she had to protect and how quickly a bad position could become worse if she accepted it. Isha shifted higher. Instead of forcing her trapped leg free, she gave Naruse space to turn. Naruse took it. Her back appeared. Isha followed. One hook went in, then the other. Her chest settled against Naruse's back and an arm circled the torso while Naruse immediately found the wrist that would eventually matter more. For a moment the position resembled Morita's ending closely enough for memory to offer a solution. Isha ignored it. Naruse was already solving a different problem. She tucked her chin, fought the upper hand and worked her shoulders towards the fence. Isha changed grips, searching for a clean route to the neck. Naruse caught the glove before the choking arm could settle. Isha could have forced harder. The position through glove, wrist and jaw was poor. She changed instead. That pause was all Naruse needed. Her shoulders reached the padding. She trapped Isha's lower leg, slid her hips and began turning into the hold. One hook came free. Isha adjusted, trying to keep the back while Naruse continued moving. The second hook disappeared. They ended side by side. Naruse built to one knee. Isha caught the waist. Naruse stood. The hall reacted audibly to the return to their feet. They stayed against the fence for several seconds, both working for inside position. Naruse's forehead pressed into Isha's upper chest, making the familiar old problem of height briefly useful to the shorter woman. Isha turned her, landed two short punches to the body and felt Naruse answer with one of her own before fighting back towards an underhook. Isha tried the outside trip again. Naruse recognised it and stepped over. They almost fell together before separating. Naruse's right hand came immediately. Isha moved most of herself away from it. The glove still grazed her cheek. Naruse left. This time Isha let her. She stayed nearer the centre. Naruse stopped several paces away. For the first time in the fight, the space between them did not obviously belong to either woman. Naruse jabbed. Isha kicked low and moved across the centre before Naruse's right could turn the exchange back into the first round. The fight became untidier. Naruse continued landing the sharper straight punches when her feet settled. Isha found the body and leg more often and began reaching the clinch without needing to chase through several failed answers first. Once Naruse escaped before contact. Once she framed and broke immediately. A third entry gave Isha the waist again near the fence. Arai called the remaining time. Naruse's coach answered from the opposite side. Isha turned the corner on another takedown. Naruse reached the mat closer to the fence this time and recovered guard before Isha could settle across her. A shin came between them. Isha tried one side, then the other. Naruse followed and placed a foot against the padding to begin building upward. Thirty seconds. Naruse reached one knee. Isha stayed behind the hips rather than flattening her. Naruse stood with Isha still around the waist. Ten seconds. Naruse worked at the hands. Isha changed grip. Naruse turned. They separated with only a few seconds left. The jab came. Isha slipped outside it. Naruse's right followed. The punch landed cleanly on Isha's cheek at almost the same moment as the horn. Her head turned. Then there was no next exchange. Both women lowered their hands. The referee stepped between them and sent them to their corners. Naruse rested one glove briefly against her ribs where Isha's body shots had accumulated. Isha's cheek hurt more distinctly now, her cut lip beginning to swell. Her right thigh had recorded several low kicks. None of those sensations told her how the judges had read the second round. She knew only that it had been closer. For the first time that day, she had to wait for someone else's answer. --- Kanno flattened the programme against her knee. “Who won?” Thomas did not answer immediately. He had been trying to calculate the same thing and finding that recognising positions was not the same as scoring them. “Naruse clearly had the first. The second was closer.” “That means you don't know.” “Yes.” Kanno looked back at the floor. “Good.” Thomas glanced at her. “I would dislike you being confident and wrong.” The judges' sheets reached the announcer. Below them, Isha and Naruse stood on either side of the referee. Neither looked as though she knew the result. The announcement came. Naruse Kana, by decision. The referee lifted her hand. The applause filled the hall at the same modest scale as everything else. Thomas exhaled. Kanno stopped folding the programme. --- The result landed in Isha more cleanly than she had expected. Naruse's hand went up. Isha's did not. She wanted it to have been the other way around. The wanting remained after the announcement and did not need to become anything more sophisticated while both women were still standing under the lights. Naruse turned towards her when the referee released them. “You nearly had my back.” “I thought I did.” “So did I.” Isha's mouthguard made speech clumsy, but she managed, “Your right hand was irritating.” Naruse laughed, still breathing hard. “Good.” The officials directed them towards their corners before they could make the conversation longer. Arai removed Isha's gloves while Shibata called over the event doctor for the routine check. The doctor examined her pupils, mouth and cheek, asked about dizziness, headache and nausea, and pressed carefully around the ribs where several short punches had landed. Isha reported the things that actually hurt: cheek, lip, right thigh and some rib soreness. Nothing felt unstable, sharp or neurologically wrong. The doctor gave the same sort of instructions she remembered from the first bout: watch for symptoms that changed after the adrenaline fell, seek reassessment if anything concerning developed and do not use feeling functional as proof that the next several hours no longer mattered. Across the partition Naruse received her own check. When the doctor moved away, Shibata did not begin reviewing the decision. “The footage will come. The score information will come. You are not explaining the whole fight from adrenaline and memory.” “I wasn't.” “You were about to.” Isha considered lying and found no value in it. “Possibly.” Arai handed her water. Isha drank, then looked at Shibata. “Did I win the second?” He took a moment before answering. “I thought it was close.” That was not what she had asked, and she knew why he had answered it. Arai sat on the chair beside her and began removing tape from one wrist. “You made more of the second round look like what you wanted. That isn't the same as a judge giving it to you.” Isha nodded. The distinction could wait until she had video in front of her. “Tuesday training?” Shibata looked at her cheek and then at her. “Ask me after review.” Isha accepted that she had lost another small decision. --- Thomas and Kanno were allowed into the competitor corridor only after Isha had changed, returned the event equipment and completed the observation period. Thomas's attention went first to the bruise forming along her cheek. He disliked that his eyes did this before anything else. Then Isha smiled at him. The order corrected itself. She wore loose trousers, a dark sweater and her coat open over them, her pale hair still tied back from the bout. Thomas came close, stopped and left the final distance to her. Isha stepped into him. He put both arms around her, careful of the ribs without arranging the hug into something clinical. Her forehead rested against his shoulder. The hall behind them continued to empty and refill around other people's bouts. After several seconds Thomas said, quietly, “You lost.” “Yes.” Isha laughed against his coat. He drew back enough to look at her. “I had several more supportive sentences available.” “That one was fine.” “Good. I was concerned.” Kanno had waited a little farther along the wall, giving them the few seconds without making a performance of it. When Isha turned towards her, Kanno's expression was severe enough that the folded programme looked almost like evidence. “I have no useful technical opinion,” she said. “Good.” “I disliked the first round considerably.” “So did I.” “The second was less unpleasant.” Isha considered that review. “Reasonable.” Kanno looked carefully at the bruise, then at Isha's eyes. “You're actually all right?” “Yes. They checked me. Mouth cut, bruises. No headache, dizziness or vision problem.” Kanno nodded once. Then she hugged her. The movement became awkward halfway through when Kanno remembered the sore ribs and redirected her arms in a way that made Isha laugh again. When she stepped back she said, “I am not repeating that more competently.” “I wasn't going to request a second attempt.” “Good.” Arai came through the changing-room door with Isha's now mostly empty equipment bag. She handed it over and told Isha to eat. Thomas said, “I can manage that.” Arai looked at him for a second. “I was talking to her.” “I can still manage food.” Isha took the bag from Arai. “He becomes territorial around kitchens.” “I do not.” Arai's expression suggested she had neither time nor reason to adjudicate the marriage. “Good luck.” She left for the gym's remaining responsibilities. Thomas watched her go. “I like her.” “So do I,” Isha said. Kanno looked between them and wisely declined to improve the conversation. They had almost reached the public corridor when Naruse emerged from the other changing area with damp hair at her temples and a red mark beneath one eye. Her coach carried their equipment. Both women stopped. No referee asked them to. Naruse touched the side of her ribs lightly. “These are going to be unpleasant tomorrow.” Isha looked at the mark under Naruse's eye. “That too.” “Probably.” A small pause opened. The result had already been announced; neither woman needed to make more of it. Isha bowed. “Thank you.” Naruse returned it. “You too.” “Your first round was very good.” Naruse's expression changed, pleased despite the fatigue. “Your second was difficult.” That was sufficient. Naruse left with her coach. Kanno watched her disappear towards the exit. “Television has misled me about the amount of feud required.” “You wanted one?” Isha asked. “No. I expected worse manners after sanctioned violence.” Thomas adjusted his coat. “You continue choosing fiction as procedural guidance.” “I continue regretting it.” They went to find food. --- The udon restaurant near the station had enough empty tables between lunch and evening to take them without caring where they had spent the morning. Shibata and Arai joined only long enough to make sure Isha ate something substantial before returning to the gym. Neither turned the meal into a review. Shibata reminded her once that he would contact her when the organiser footage arrived; Arai told her that bruises were more honest the next morning. Then they left. Kanno stayed. Isha ordered a larger bowl of hot udon with chicken and vegetables and added rice. Thomas chose nearly the same meal. The cut inside Isha's lip objected to the first mouthful until she let the broth cool for another minute. Kanno watched this. “You were punched in the mouth and are still hungry.” “Yes.” “I don't know why those facts seem incompatible to me.” “They aren't.” The second mouthful worked better. Thomas watched for several bites before becoming aware of himself doing it. Isha looked up. “My mouth still functions.” “I can see.” “You were checking.” “I was noticing.” Kanno lowered her eyes towards her own bowl. “Do not involve me in the terminology dispute.” They let the fight go for a while. Kanno had received a client file on Friday afternoon in which a caption had been moved three millimetres and the image beside it had then been declared misaligned. Thomas initially sided with the complaint on the principle that three millimetres could matter if the relationship between image and caption had been designed carefully. “You haven't seen the page,” Kanno said. “That does not make the concern invalid.” “It makes your confidence irritating.” “My confidence is conditional.” “It arrived before the conditions.” Isha listened while eating rice. The disagreement was easier to follow than a judges' decision and considerably less important. Halfway through the meal, Kanno glanced at the colour forming on Isha's cheek again. “Will that get darker?” “Yes.” “Good.” Isha stopped with chopsticks halfway to the bowl. Kanno grimaced. “Predictable. I meant predictable.” “Better.” “I dislike injuries that continue editing themselves.” Thomas nodded. “The revision process lacks version control.” Kanno pointed her chopsticks at him. “That is exactly the sort of sentence I did not need.” The conversation moved on. By the time the bowls were empty, the bout had receded enough for Isha to remember details without immediately arranging them into conclusions. Naruse's right hand. The moment at the fence when the first hook came free. The second-round pause near the centre when neither woman had obviously owned the next movement. The footage would either support those memories or replace parts of them. She could wait. At Sendai Station Kanno stopped before their routes separated. “Message me tonight if you develop a headache or anything changes.” “I will.” Kanno adjusted her black bag. “I am not volunteering as medical supervision.” “I know.” Then she looked at Thomas. “And do not supervise badly.” He frowned. “What would count as badly?” Kanno stepped backwards into the flow towards her platform. “That.” She left before he could ask for a definition. Isha caught his sleeve. “Do not follow her.” “I was not going to.” “You were thinking about it.” “That is not actionable.” They went home. --- Flat 202 smelled faintly of the laundry detergent from the load they had left drying before the event. The fight clothes went directly into the washing machine. Isha showered, letting the hot water uncover the day's smaller injuries as the event's heat left her body. The bruise along her cheek had darkened. Her right thigh carried several red-purple patches. The ribs were tender beneath her fingers but comfortable through a full breath. The cut inside her lip had stopped bleeding. Everything behaved like ordinary damage. When she returned to the bedroom in loose clothes, Thomas sat on the edge of the bed with the event aftercare sheet in his hand. Isha stopped in the doorway. “You found paperwork.” “It was in the bag.” “That is how it begins.” Thomas set the paper down. “Any change?” “No.” He accepted that answer and left the sheet on the cabinet. The ring case sat beside it. Isha opened the lid. The sapphire was almost black in the bedroom light. The narrow wedding band beside it looked plain enough that another person might have ignored it first. She put the band on, then the sapphire above it. Thomas watched her settle both into place. “Did you miss them?” Isha looked at her hand. “Not while fighting.” “No.” “Now I wanted them back.” Thomas smiled and stood. They went to the LDK. Neither needed another meal after the udon, so Thomas made tea and cut an apple. Isha ate more of it than he did while the washing machine worked through its first cycle beyond the kitchen wall. The calendar on Thomas's phone still held Wednesday's passage estimate four days away. Nothing about the bout had touched that. No senderless message had arrived during the event, and there was no reason for the System to appear early. Isha put the phone aside after checking the time. She stretched along the sofa with one leg bent carefully away from the sore thigh and placed her feet across Thomas's lap. He rested a hand near her ankle. After a while he asked, “Do you regret going?” Isha did not answer immediately. The result was the obvious part of the question and not the whole of it. “No.” “Do you regret losing?” She looked towards the dark television screen. “I wanted to win.” Thomas's hand stayed where it was. “Yes.” “I am annoyed that I didn't.” He nodded, apparently resisting the temptation to describe that response as healthy or reasonable. Isha noticed and almost smiled. The second round returned to her more readily than the first. Naruse against the fence. The half guard. The back appearing and disappearing. The late takedown. Then the final right hand arriving cleanly just as the horn removed every possible answer. “I liked the second round.” Thomas glanced at her. “Including the end?” “No.” “Good.” She shifted her feet slightly in his lap. “I liked that I could change it. Not enough to change the result, apparently.” “We'll know more when you see the footage.” “Yes.” That was all the future analysis needed tonight. Thomas looked at her again, less cautiously this time. “I liked watching you.” Isha raised an eyebrow. “Lose?” “Fight.” The correction came too quickly to have been prepared. She let him continue. “I disliked watching Naruse hit you. I liked watching you work out what to do with her.” Isha rested her head farther into the sofa cushion. The bruise pulled slightly when she smiled. “That is acceptable.” “Thank you.” “You are welcome.” Thomas's gaze drifted once more to her cheek. Isha saw it. “You may look.” “I know.” “You are trying to look politely.” He stopped pretending and looked properly. There was no assessment in it that she needed to resist. Thomas knew what the doctor had checked and what Isha had told him. The rest was simply his attention on her face, bruise and all. He leaned over and kissed her forehead on the uninjured side. Isha closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them, the apple plate was empty. “I want more apple.” Thomas looked at it. “You ate most of that one.” “You had some.” “Two pieces.” “Then you have direct knowledge of the shortage.” He stood, taking the empty plate with him. There were three apples left in the refrigerator drawer. Thomas cut another.