The next morning they woke with heavy bodies, the memory of last night's training making the whole world ache. At school they moved like ghosts—each step a reminder that the path ahead felt impossible.
When the final bell rang they went straight to Sam's training hall, determination welded to their faces. The door stood open and the smell hit them first—metal and blood.
Inside, Master Iyer lay on the mat, beaten beyond recognition. His uniform was torn, limbs twisted; one arm hung at an unnatural angle, and blood soaked the floor. The master's breath came ragged and shallow. Sam's face went stone-cold.
"Call an ambulance!" Sam shouted. Ayaan grabbed his phone and called, his hands trembling. Vasco and Anshuman pressed cloth to Master Iyer's wounds while they waited. The siren came minutes later; medics rushed in and lifted the master carefully onto a stretcher. They loaded him into the ambulance and it drove away with lights flashing.
Left in the empty hall, the four stared at the stains on the mat. Anger and cold fear crawled up their spines.
"He said whoever beat him—he broke Master Iyer's right arm, but not fully," Anshuman said, voice tight. "A clean break, but not snap—something brutal and precise."
Ayaan's eyes narrowed. "Someone strong enough to crush him… and careful enough to leave one arm damaged."
They stepped out into the street, still reeling, and nearly collided with Waguri and James walking toward the station. Time slowed. James's right hand was wrapped in a thick white bandage. Waguri kept her head down, expression flat. James walked with the slow calm of a man who knew he could do what he liked.
Vasco's fists clenched. "Look at him."
"We don't have proof," Sam said, voice low. "Not yet."
They moved quickly to the nearest security monitor kiosk and found the building's CCTV feeds. The timestamp flicked as they scrolled back. There—on the grainy footage—James's silhouette moved up the steps of Sam's building, the bandage already on his hand. He entered the side door and the camera cut.
Ayaan's jaw tightened until it ached. The four stared at the screen, heat of anger rising hot in their chests. No words were needed. Their eyes locked, a silent pact forming: they would find out what happened, and whoever had done this to Master Iyer would pay.
They all went to school the next day, faces hard with anger and fear. They paced the courtyard, each of them thinking the same thing—they were not strong enough to beat James.
Vasco shoved his hands in his pockets. "In my team there's a mastermind. Should I call him?"
Ayaan glanced up. "Do it."
A boy in a dark hoodie appeared a moment later—sharp eyes, nervous smile. "Joy," Vasco said. "This is the guy."
Joy nodded once and didn't waste time. "You want James?" he asked. The four answered with a hard, quiet "Yes."
Joy sat on the low wall and spoke quickly. "James isn't just muscle. He's a businessman—dirty money, clean suits. He runs four corporations that funnel cash for smuggling. They're spread around the region so he looks untouchable: one in the North, one in the South, one in the East, and one in the West. Each 'company' fights the others in public, but in secret they coordinate shipments, launder money, and hire men like the ones who attacked Master Iyer."
Anshuman leant in. "So he's protected by money, not just fighters."
Joy smiled thinly. "Exactly. Hit his fighters and he still has contracts, lawyers, and men who will replace them. You want to bring James down, you need proof—documents, transaction trails, someone who can trace the money. Otherwise he eats the attackers and sleeps like a king."
Sam's voice was low. "Where do we start?"
Joy tapped his chin. "Find the weakest link. One of those corporations in the East handles logistics—warehouses, shipping manifests. It's the easiest to infiltrate, the least guarded. Get proof from a ledger or a computer, then leak it to the right people. Expose the money trail and the fighters become expendable."
Vasco ground his teeth. "And if they try to stop us?"
Joy's eyes were flat. "Then you train harder. Then you don't fight alone. You gather allies—quiet ones. You move like ghosts."
Ayaan stood, jaw set. "We'll do it. We train, we get proof, we end James."
Anshuman shook his head with a grim grin. "It's huge. But we're not backing down."
Sam folded his arms. "I'll set up recon in Sam's building. I can access feeds, fingerprints, logs—anything. But we need time and cover."
Joy nodded. "I'll get you safe routes and a contact who can crack a ledger. But don't expect mercy. James will come at you from every angle."
They agreed to meet that evening at Sam's hall. As the bell rang and students poured around them, the four walked away with a plan taking shape—dangerous, messy, and real. They had an enemy who owned law and money, but they had something James didn't: each other and the choice to fight.
They reached the north side as the sun dipped low, the city skyline turning cold and silver.
"MOF — Man On Fashion," Joy said, pointing at the glass tower. "Big name, bigger pockets. Look innocent, but the docks and warehouses below are where they hide the dirt."
Ayaan squinted up. "That place looks impossible to enter. Security everywhere."
Sam tapped his tablet, eyes scanning live feeds he'd pulled. "They've got guards at every entrance, biometric locks on staff doors, and private patrols for the loading bay. Cameras cover the perimeter with overlapping angles."
Vasco cracked his knuckles and smiled thinly. "So we go in like tourists?"
Anshuman shook his head. "No. We don't rush. We observe. Learn their pattern."
They split up to watch: Joy slipped into the alleys and checked the delivery schedules, Sam took a seat at a nearby café and slid into the building's weak wireless, Vasco blended into a gym crowd to watch shifts change, Anshuman trailed the employees who left for cigarettes, and Ayaan kept the center, watching people flow in and out.
After an hour, they regrouped behind a closed restaurant.
"What do we have?" Ayaan asked.
Joy handed a small sheet of paper to Sam. "Shipping comes in twice a week at night — midnight and three in the morning. The west loading dock has the heaviest traffic, but it's the most watched."
Sam pointed. "There's a blind spot in camera coverage near the old service ladder, between two concrete pillars. It's only blind for nine seconds when the patrol van passes. Nine seconds is enough if someone's quick."
Vasco grinned. "Nine seconds and we'll break a safe."
Anshuman frowned. "And if the van is late? Or there's a second patrol?"
Joy shrugged. "There's always risk. But the east side staff exit uses a separate biometric scanner — the cards are sometimes left on the hook by careless workers. That's a weak link."
Ayaan closed his hand into a fist. "So we wait for the night schedule. Get in through the blind spot, find the ledger or manifest in the logistics office, and get out. Silent and fast."
Sam nodded. "I'll set up a feed to loop one camera for thirty seconds when we need it. Vasco, you'll handle brute entry. Anshuman, you cover movement and traps. Joy, give real-time timing. I'll bypass the locks. Ayaan, you take the manifest and get us out."
Vasco slapped his palm against Ayaan's shoulder. "Perfect. Then we train nine-second entries for fun."
They all laughed once—short, sharp. The plan was dangerous, precise, and needed every one of them to be perfect.
Night fell. They melted into shadows and waited, each heartbeat loud in the quiet as MOF's lights blinked and the loading schedules crept toward midnight.
They moved through the building like shadows, faces calm but hearts pounding. The showroom was bright and inviting—mannequins posed in glossy outfits, sales staff friendly and distracted—but the real work was below, where crates, manifests, and cold ledgers lived.
Ayaan kept close to the wall, eyes scanning exits. Sam slipped a slim device from his pocket and crouched near a maintenance panel under a stairwell. His fingers danced; a soft blue light pulsed as feeds began to loop. "Thirty seconds on loop," he whispered into Joy's ear-piece. "Now."
Joy, leaned against a pillar in civilian clothes, watched the staff flow and the timing of the patrol van from the loading bay. He breathed quietly, counting heartbeats. "Van at twenty," he mouthed. "Blind spot nine seconds. Vasco, go."
Vasco melted into the crowd of late-night loaders with the casual posture of a man who belonged. When the patrol van rumbled past the two concrete pillars, Sam flicked the loop and a camera showed empty concrete for nine perfect seconds. Vasco didn't hesitate—he pushed through a staff-only door, shoulders flexing, and eased open a service ladder to the basement.
Anshuman slipped behind him like a cat. He was light-footed, breathing controlled. His job: clear the route, disable motion triggers, and leave no trace. He moved down the stairwell, checking for sensors with a small mirror and a gloved fingertip—no alarm yet.
Ayaan followed last, a small rucksack at his back. Sam's voice was a calm wire in his ear. "Left, three meters. Logistics office is behind the stacked pallets. Quiet."
Below, the warehouse smelled of oil and fabric. Crates stamped 'MOF — EXPORT' lined the walls. Ayaan felt the pressure in his chest, then forced it into focus. He crept to the nearest office door and eased it open. Inside, under a single desk lamp, lay a terminal, a ledger book, and a battered hard drive labeled with shipping codes.
"Grab the ledger," Sam whispered. "I'll clone the drive. Make it fast."
Ayaan's fingers moved with trained steadiness. He yanked the ledger—heavy, suspiciously neat—and slid it into his bag. He popped the hard drive loose and handed it to Sam, who worked the laptop in the shadows, copying files in blips of green text. "I've got partial manifests and one suspicious invoice line—'East Route: container 33B — special cargo.' That's a lead," Sam hissed. "But I need more time for the full ledger. We don't have it."
Up on the mezzanine, Vasco's silhouette appeared, guarding the stair exit. He flexed, ready to move if a guard came down below. Anshuman brushed past a motion-sensor box and flicked a switch—dead. "Path clear," he breathed.
They had what they came for—evidence enough to nail a direction but not the whole picture. Ayaan felt both relief and itch: incomplete answers are dangerous.
Then the showroom lights stuttered.
A voice cut the air: "Hello, sir. How can I help you?" The tone was casual, but with the approach of heavy steps that didn't belong to the staff. The voice had weight. The team froze.
Above them, through a narrow stairwell window, the floor manager was coming down—the same man from earlier, hands large and movements measured. Jay. The muscle under his shirt moved like iron; his presence felt like a hand closing on a throat. He stopped at the stair landing and looked down, head tilted as if sensing something off. His eyes were sharp as cameras.
Joy's whisper came tight: "Jay's on the wrong schedule. He's coming this way."
Sam's fingers moved faster over the keypad, but the laptop screen blinked—another feed had flipped live. Sam swore softly. "They've got a manual override. Camera back online. Two minutes."
Vasco tightened his jaw. "We get out now," he breathed.
Ayaan hesitated—there was a final drawer at the logistics desk, a folder just peeking under the keyboard labeled 'INTERNAL: EAST LEDGER COPY'. If he grabbed that, they might have the full proof. If he stayed, they risked Jay spotting something off downstairs. He made the choice before his mind finished racing: leave.
"Go!" Ayaan mouthed.
They retreated on practiced feet. Anshuman signaled the stair path; Vasco covered the rear. Sam looped a short visual glitch—enough to buy one more second—but the live feed hiccuped and cleared.
Jay's shadow filled the doorway as they crested the stairs. He paused, smelled the air, and then stepped into the warehouse exactly where they had been. His heavy boot scuffed the stack of pallets; a small tin can rolled and clattered—an ordinary noise, but to Jay it was a question.
Ayaan's lungs hit his back like a hand. He and the others flattened themselves behind a row of crates, breath held so tight it hurt. Jay moved slowly, methodical, like a predator smelling a new scent. His eyes swept the floor, lingered on a scuffed footprint, a dropped glove. He knelt and picked up a scrap of torn paper—their paper—clasped in a cigarette butt.
Outside, the patrol van's engine cough and growl covered the small sounds; Sam's loop flicked faster. Joy's voice was a razor in Ayaan's ear, "Drop down. Three—it's three."
Timing was everything. They moved as one: Anshuman rolled under a pallet, Vasco pressed back into a shadow, Sam slipped up the ladder behind Jay's back, and Ayaan slid through the narrow service door like water.
Jay stood, smelling something wrong, and turned just as Sam climbed clear. For a breath, his eyes locked on a ghost that wasn't there. He pounded the floor with a fist—hard and loud—then cursed. He bent, checked the ladder, and swore again. He had not seen them. Not yet.
They fought the urge to breathe. When Jay finally straightened and stomped back toward the showroom, the team exhaled as if released from a net. They were outside, into the humid night air, hearts racing like drums.
They did not get the East ledger. The full manifest, the smoking gun that would collapse MOF's clean face, remained behind glass and locked servers. But they had the partial manifests, the hard drive clone with suspicious invoice entries, and one scrap of paper Jay had picked up—later, Sam would analyze the print and find it keyed to a shipping code used by the East logistics office.
It was enough to prove a connection, not enough to finish the job. It meant work, risk, and another plan.
They melted into the alleyways and split, breathing heavily but alive. Joy's voice softened into a grin over the earpiece: "We got something real. Not the full kill, but a bite."
Vasco spat into a drain and laughed once, sharp and relieved. "Next time, we bring a crowbar for that internal folder."
Ayaan touched the ledger in his bag and felt the pulse of it—partial truth, heavy and real. They had come, they had stolen proof, and they had nearly been caught by the man with hands like clubs.
They disappeared into the city, the glass tower of MOF blinking like an eye behind them, knowing they'd return. The game had started; Jay had noticed their scent. The next move would be bloodier, smarter—and closer.
They all stood frozen for a second as Jay's shadow covered the grass. The bright, peaceful garden suddenly felt like a battlefield. Jay's sleeves were rolled, muscles tight like steel cables, and his expression — calm, dangerous, confident.
"Good morning, boys," he said with a smirk. "Now, why don't you give me back my company's little… data problem?"
Sam narrowed his eyes. "We told you, we don't have your data."
Jay chuckled, low and sharp. "Wrong answer."
Before anyone could react, his right fist crashed into Vasco's chest like a hammer. The impact sent him flying backward, smashing through a bench, splinters scattering across the grass.
"VASCO!" Ayaan shouted, running to his side — but Jay stepped forward, blocking him.
"Stay right there," Jay growled. "If you all just hand over what you stole, I might let you crawl away."
Anshuman clenched his fists. "You're bluffing."
Jay smirked and snapped his fingers.
From behind the trees, nearly a dozen men appeared — all in black, sleeves rolled, faces cold. They were clearly trained fighters, not simple guards. Some carried metal rods, some chains, and one even cracked his knuckles like he'd been waiting for this moment.
Sam whispered, "These aren't random workers. They're his private guards."
Jay grinned wider. "Correct. And guess what they do best?"
Before he could finish, Ayaan stepped forward, his eyes dark and determined. "We won't give anything back. And if you want to stop us…"
He cracked his neck. "Then try."
Jay raised his eyebrow, then laughed. "Bold. I like that."
He waved his hand. "Get them."
The group of guards rushed forward — footsteps pounding against the ground — and chaos exploded in the garden.
Anshuman spun, launching a lightning-fast kick into the first guard's chest, flipping him into a bush. Sam caught a rod strike and twisted the attacker's arm before slamming him face-first into the dirt.
Vasco, still dizzy, wiped the blood from his lip and roared, "Let's go!" He grabbed one man by the collar and tossed him over a table like he weighed nothing.
Jay stood back with a calm smile, watching his men fall one by one. "Impressive," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "But let's see how you handle me."
He dashed forward — faster than any of them expected — closing the distance between him and Ayaan in a blink. His kick came high and curved — that same deadly Brazilian kick.
Ayaan blocked with both arms, but the power was insane — the force threw him back several steps.
"That's the same kick…" Ayaan muttered through clenched teeth. "The one from the amusement park."
Jay smirked. "So, you remember."
He rushed again — but this time, Vasco intercepted, using his strength to grab Jay's leg mid-swing. "Not this time!" he yelled — but Jay twisted, spinning his entire body and elbowing Vasco in the jaw, knocking him back.
Anshuman leaped forward, using his taekwondo reflexes to aim at Jay's neck, but Jay ducked, caught his leg midair, and slammed him into the ground.
Sam clenched his fists, his mind racing. "He's too fast. He's mastered that style completely."
Ayaan's anger burned. "No… we've trained for this."
He took his stance — Bajiquan posture, tight, explosive. When Jay came in again, Ayaan struck first — a short, powerful punch from the chest, a baji burst — sending a shock through Jay's ribs and forcing him to take a step back.
Jay blinked in surprise, then grinned. "So you've been training. Finally, something fun."
The battle grew brutal — fists, kicks, and roars echoing across the garden. The workers fell one after another, the grass stained with dust and sweat. Ayaan's team, though hurt, refused to fall.
Finally, Jay stepped back, breathing harder but still smirking. "Not bad… but this is just the beginning. Tell your master—next time, I'm not holding back."
He snapped his fingers again, and his remaining men threw smoke bombs. Within seconds, gray mist covered the whole area.
When it cleared, Jay and his men were gone.
Ayaan, bruised but standing tall, looked around. "We need to train harder. Much harder. He's stronger than we thought."
Vasco spat blood and grinned. "Good. I like a challenge."
Sam clenched the card Jay had dropped during the fight — a new clue with an address written on it. "Looks like he wants us to come."
Ayaan's eyes hardened. "Then we will."
And for the first time, all four of them felt it — this was no longer just about data.
It was war.