The creaking of the door was soft enough not to seem like a triumphant entrance, but not so quiet as to go unnoticed. Marshall Law leaned out as if the atmosphere itself might hit him with a score to settle.

He was wearing his cleanest jacket—though it was still torn at the elbow—and a forced smile that didn't reach his eyes. He smoothed his hair with a sweaty hand and took a deep breath, as if that would restore the dignity he'd left in the parking lot.

"Hey! Old friend! Just look at the tournament mogul... the myth, the wallet with legs..."

He laughed nervously, taking slow but determined steps, like someone marching into the ring... only this time his opponent was humiliation.

“I know we said the last one was the last time… and believe me, I meant it this time. But you see… there was a small incident with the dojo, a client, a karate kangaroo, and well… long story short: the roof is no longer where it should be.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with an expression of childish guilt and a touch of ill-disguised desperation.

“You could… you know… lend me the usual. With a little more. But this time is different. This time is definitely the last. I swear on my nunchuck collection… well, the ones that didn't sell.”

And then he blurted it all out, quickly, as if it would hurt less if it was said all at once:

“I'll pay you back. Everything. With interest. With honor. With… maybe a free lesson for your cousins. Two lessons!”

He stood there with the tightest smile in the hemisphere, his hands clasped together as if praying to a nonexistent money god, while the weight of swallowed pride continued to press against his throat.