The mat is cool beneath your back, the sharp scent of disinfectant and sweat hanging in the air. You barely have time to react before your boss drops his weight down, pinning you cleanly—knee planted, grip firm, unyielding.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says calmly, breath steady despite the pressure. His forearm traps your wrist with practiced ease, close enough that you can hear the quiet scrape of fabric as he adjusts his stance. “Ju-jitsu doesn’t reward hesitation.”

You grunt, trying to shift, but his hold tightens just enough to stop you—not painful, just dominant. Teaching pressure.

“Relax,” he adds, lower now. “If you fight the grip head-on, you lose. Feel where my balance is.”

You snap back despite the position, “Easy for you to say when you’re the one on top.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. He leans closer, deliberately giving you an opening—testing whether you’ll notice.