Cooper used the moment to roll on top, sitting on the man’s stomach. Too high up. The flexible, short-legged bastard swung his hips up, locking his calves around Cooper’s neck, and on the downswing yanked him down, flat on his back, the man practically straddling his head.

Familiar eyes stared down at him from above the facemask.

“Neil?” Cooper wheezed out.

The eyes widened right before the man was seemingly plucked from the air, his weight disappearing from Cooper’s chest and crashing somewhere across the room. In his place stood Park, looking down at Cooper and offering him a hand up.

“Can we please just go with my plan next time?” he said mildly, not even winded.

“What are you talking about?” Cooper let Park help him to his feet and then batted his hands away when they started searching anxiously for injuries. “My plan worked perfectly.”

“Oh? How do you figure that?”

“‘Cause I was too distracted to notice the stronger player come up behind me. Ace in the hole,” the visitor said, picking himself up from where Park had tossed him against the wall.

Park stiffened, preparing for retaliation, but Cooper put a reassuring hand on his arm. The man pulled his balaclava off, mussing his hair, and made a huge show of rubbing at his own clavicle, wincing. What a faker. Cooper couldn’t help but notice how his feet were already back in fighting stance.

“They say the day your student bests you with your own moves you’ll burst with pride, but I got to tell you, the only thing bursting is my shoulder right out of its socket.”

Cooper attempted a smile, but it felt weak and wrong on his face. Blood was rushing in his ears, adrenaline raging, and he thought it was only partially due to the fight. “You’ve gotten slow. What happened to always assume everything’s a trap?”

“What happened to I’m never going to trust anyone enough to be their bait?” the man shot back. His eyes flicked over Park with that same calculating stare Cooper remembered so well. Like he was determining what part of you to eat now and what to save for tomorrow.

“Never always comes sooner than you think,” Cooper said with a casual shrug, and Park shifted meaningfully beside him. “This is Oliver Park, my partner. Oliver, this is...what are you going by these days?”

“Still going by Brat yourself, are you?” the man said, without sparing Cooper a glance. He crossed the room to shake Park’s hand. “You can call me Neil, for now. Neil Gerhart. Sorry about before. I hope I didn’t scare you too badly.” His voice was friendly and sounded genuine if you didn’t know him well enough to hear him testing Park’s pride, or to catch the flex in his arm as he squeezed his hand. “But you don’t strike me as the skittish type.”