Some battles are fought with swords.  

Others, with silverware.

Bailey Dofen realized this the moment Man Olid’s mother, Man Xuewei, smiled at her over brunch.  

It was the kind of smile that had probably ended careers.

“So,” Mrs. Olid said, voice warm but precise, “you’re the athlete my son keeps talking about.”

Bailey smiled politely. “I wasn’t aware he talked about me.”

“He doesn’t stop,” Xuewei said smoothly, eyes flicking to her son. “It’s quite… impressive.”

Man coughed. “Mother, please don’t interrogate her.”

“Interrogate?” Xuewei tilted her head. “I’m just *curious.* You sponsor an athlete, you naturally want to understand her character.”

Bailey reached for her tea, steady. “Understand, or evaluate?”

“Ah,” the older woman said, amused. “Sharp tongue. I like that.”

Man muttered, “Please don’t ‘like’ her like that.”

“Relax,” Xuewei said. “I’m not here to scare her.”

“You’re doing great, though,” Bailey said without missing a beat.

Xuewei’s eyes glimmered—half approval, half mischief. “You’re calm. Most people sweat around me.”

“I play tournaments in front of thousands. A fancy restaurant doesn’t scare me.”

“Well said,” Xuewei replied, taking a sip of champagne. “Confidence looks good on you.”

Man groaned. “Can we all eat like normal humans?”

“Define normal,” Bailey said.

“Not this,” he muttered. “Not emotional fencing with my mother.”

“Then stop bringing swords to brunch,” Bailey replied, making Xuewei laugh—a soft, genuine sound.

As the meal went on, the tension softened, replaced by something stranger: rhythm.  

Bailey and Xuewei spoke like they were testing each other’s armor.  

Man, caught in the middle, looked both horrified and weirdly proud.

“So, Bailey,” Xuewei said, “do you plan to continue competing long-term?”

“Yes,” Bailey said. “Until my body or my heart tells me to stop. Whichever comes first.”

“That’s romantic,” Xuewei said. “Or foolish.”

“Sometimes the same thing,” Bailey replied.

Man almost choked on his drink. “Could we maybe not psychoanalyze over croissants?”

His mother smiled serenely. “She’s refreshing, dear. I understand the appeal.”

“Appeal?” Bailey echoed, feigning innocence. “He has those?”

“He tries,” Xuewei said, lips curved. “With mixed results.”

Bailey laughed. “That sounds accurate.”

“Et tu?” Man said. “You’re both teaming up now?”

“Call it mentorship,” Xuewei said. “She has potential.”

“Potential for what?” Man asked.

“To survive you,” his mother said simply.

Bailey almost spit her tea. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.”

“I mean it,” Xuewei said softly. “He’s… a handful.”

“Mother—”

“But,” she continued, “he has a good heart. He just hides it under sarcasm and expensive suits.”

Bailey’s smile softened. “I noticed.”

That answer—quiet, sincere—made even Xuewei pause.

For the first time, her gaze warmed. “Take care of yourself, Bailey. Sponsorships can be complicated. People can be worse.”

Bailey nodded. “I’m used to complicated.”

“I see that,” Xuewei said. Then she rose gracefully. “Lunch was delightful. Man, pay the bill. I have a meeting.”

“Of course you do,” he said.

She leaned over to Bailey. “Don’t let him talk you into anything foolish.”

“I already do that on my own,” Bailey said.

Xuewei smiled. “Then you’ll get along perfectly.”

When she left, silence hung like perfume.

Bailey leaned back. “Your mother’s terrifying.”

“I know,” Man said. “She terrifies CEOs for fun.”

“And you invited me to meet her?”

“I figured if you survived her, you can survive me.”

“Generous test.”

“Necessary one.”

“She likes you,” he said quietly.

“No, she *respects* me. There’s a difference.”

He smiled. “Still, that’s rare.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m impressed,” he said. “She never laughs at my jokes.”

“Because they’re not funny.”

“They’re selectively appreciated.”

“By you.”

“And you, occasionally.”

She arched a brow. “Delusional again.”

“Persistent,” he corrected.

As they left the restaurant, the sky was pale blue, the kind that made everything look a little too honest.  

Man walked beside her, hands in his pockets.

“She’s right, you know,” he said finally.

“About what?”

“I hide a lot under sarcasm and suits.”

“Maybe stop hiding.”

He smiled sideways. “Maybe you make it hard to.”

“Maybe you like that.”

“Maybe I do.”

They stopped at the curb, the city noise softening around them.  

For a moment, no teasing, no cameras—just quiet.

“Bailey,” he said softly, “I’m not good at this.”

“At brunch?”

“At… people. Feelings. All of it.”

“Good thing I’m terrible too,” she said. “We’ll cancel each other out.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “You make disaster sound romantic.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Then I’m already falling.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m better at catching than running.”

And for once, neither of them tried to ruin the silence.