“And what does ‘right’ look like?” he asks.
I feel the corner of my mouth lift just slightly.
“It looks like pride,” I say.
He doesn’t react.
Not outwardly.
Good.
“Walk me through it,” he says.
So I do.
“You don’t go at him as his son,” I say, pacing slowly now, mapping it out as I speak. “You go at him as a rival. As someone who’s been tested and came back stronger.”
“I just lost to him.”
“In private,” I repeat. “That doesn’t count.”
His jaw tightens.
“You’re asking me to gamble everything on perception.”
“I’m telling you that’s what he built this on,” I reply. “You think he rules because he’s the strongest? No. He rules because everyone thinks he is.”
“And if they’re right?”
“Then you die,” I say plainly.
The words hang there.
Heavy.
Real.
He doesn’t flinch.
Good.
“But if they’re wrong,” I continue, stepping closer again, lowering my voice, “then you don’t just beat him. You replace him.”
That lands.
Different.
Deeper.
“And you think I can do that,” he says.
I hold his gaze.
“I think you’re the only one who can,” I reply.
A long pause stretches between us, not empty, but full of shifting pieces, calculations clicking into place one by one.
“You’re asking me to provoke him,” he says.
