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“Well, well,” the man says, stepping out of his office. He looks younger than you expected and– oh, shit! Coach Holden was one of the Olympians you saw on the posters outside in the hallway.

“You’re the one cursed onto our team?” he says, cracking a smile. “The last substitutes ran off.” He jabs a thumb toward Grace, who doesn’t acknowledge either of you. “She scared them off.”

“They’re pussies,” Grace spits, continuing her wall squats. Coach Holden crosses his arms and looks you up and down. “I’m guessing on a scale of 1-10, you’re at a negative zero for fencing.”

You hesitate, but… yeah, you nod. You don’t know shit about fencing. Holden takes a deep breath and sighs, then looks at Grace and Jacob. “Who wants to do the quick explanation?”

Of course, it’s Jacob. He smiles and volunteers. “Score points by landing hits to your opponent's upper body.” He shuffles his feet. “But it's sort of like a mental chess match, but on your feet.”

He continues, pointing at himself and then Grace. “We compete in team events. Three fencers per side take turns, round-robin style.” He looks for approval from Coach Holden, who nods.