Kai's heart still hadn't settled. Even after Riku stormed away, leaving the training hall wrapped in silence, his chest felt tight, like iron bands were coiled around his ribs. He had expected arrogance from the school's top fighter. He had expected mockery. What he hadn't expected was the sheer pressure—the suffocating presence—that Riku carried with nothing more than his glare.
It was the kind of gaze that made you doubt yourself before a single punch was thrown.
Kai sat back on the wooden floor, sweat dripping down his neck, dampening his uniform. His fingers trembled as he tried to steady his breathing. Around him, the other students whispered. Some looked impressed, others amused. A few glanced at him with pity, as though they were already predicting his short-lived future at this martial arts school.
He could feel their judgment, but he forced his eyes shut.
Focus. Don't let his shadow consume you.
Still, the encounter with Riku replayed in his mind in fragments—Riku's dismissive words, his sharp tone, and the unspoken promise that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
The bell rang, signaling the end of evening drills. Students began gathering their belongings, the clatter of bags and chatter breaking the suffocating quiet. Kai rose slowly, brushing the dust from his pants, when a hand clapped his shoulder.
"You've got guts."
Kai turned to find Haru—the loud, energetic boy from his class—grinning at him. His grin was wide enough to make it unclear if he was mocking or encouraging.
"Most new kids don't even try to talk back to Riku. Some won't even look him in the eye. But you…" Haru tilted his head, still grinning. "You nearly got your head bitten off. Not bad."
Kai exhaled. "That wasn't courage. I just… couldn't let him walk over me."
"That's courage, dummy." Haru shrugged. "Or stupidity. Depends on who you ask."
They walked out together into the cooling night. The courtyard lamps flickered to life, casting long shadows across the tiled ground. Students milled about, some laughing, some sparring in pairs even after practice, others heading toward the gates in clusters.
Kai tugged at the strap of his bag. "Does everyone here… worship him?"
"Riku?" Haru let out a short laugh. "Not worship. Fear. Respect. Maybe both. He's undefeated in every tournament this school has hosted in the last two years. Rumor has it even some teachers avoid crossing him when he's in a bad mood."
Kai frowned. A student who could cow even teachers… That didn't sound like just skill. It was something else. Presence. Authority. Maybe something darker.
Haru gave him a sidelong glance. "You're planning to stand against him, aren't you?"
Kai hesitated. His instinct told him to deny it, to brush it off as impossible. But the fire burning in his chest refused to let him lie.
"I don't know if I can win," Kai admitted. "But I can't let someone like him trample over everyone else."
Haru's grin widened. "Good. Then you're not just here to survive. You're here to shake things up. I like that."
They parted ways at the school gate. Kai took the fifteen-minute walk back home, the streets quiet under the veil of night. The neon signs of nearby shops glowed faintly, their lights reflected in puddles from the earlier rain. His footsteps echoed in rhythm with his thoughts.
This school was supposed to be convenient—close to home, nothing more. Yet within a single day, it had already become something far more dangerous.
And he couldn't back down now.
The chime above the restaurant door jingled as Kai stepped inside. The savory aroma of stir-fried noodles and broth greeted him, chasing away the night's damp chill. His aunt was behind the counter, tying her apron tighter while directing one of the servers. Even after hours on her feet, her movements carried a certain sharpness—a remnant of the martial grace she once commanded.
She noticed him instantly. "You're late."
"Training ran long," Kai muttered, slipping into one of the corner tables. His bag hit the seat beside him with a heavy thud.
His aunt studied him with a keen eye. Though her hair was tied back and faint wrinkles framed her eyes, there was nothing dull about her gaze. It was the kind that caught every twitch, every hesitation, the kind that saw through the flimsiest excuses.
"You crossed someone today." It wasn't a question.
Kai froze, then forced a laugh. "Is it that obvious?"
"You're walking like your chest carries a boulder. I know that posture." She poured tea into a cup and placed it in front of him. "Drink. Then tell me."
Kai wrapped his hands around the cup, the warmth seeping into his palms. He stared at the rising steam for a long moment before answering. "There's this guy… Riku. He's strong. Too strong. Just standing in front of him felt like being crushed. Everyone fears him, even the teachers, apparently."
His aunt's expression didn't change, but her fingers tapped against the wooden counter in thought. "Strength comes in many forms. Some wield fists, some wield fear. Which one is he?"
"…Both," Kai admitted.
"Then he's human." She turned away, retrieving a plate of dumplings for another customer. "No one is unshakable. Remember that."
Kai wanted to believe her, but Riku's shadow loomed too heavily in his mind. That glare, that effortless command over the room—it was more than just skill. It was dominance carved into every fiber of his being.
He ate quietly, letting the flavors of the meal ground him. By the time he finished, the restaurant was nearly empty. His aunt collected the plates, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek.
"Don't run from it," she said softly. "You're my brother's son. You have iron in your veins. Face him."
Later that night, Kai sat in the garage behind the house. The single bulb overhead flickered, illuminating the scattered tools, bolts, and half-finished contraptions littering the workbench. This was his world—the world of gears and steel, where things made sense. Machines didn't intimidate. They either worked, or they didn't.
But martial arts? That was chaos.
Kai tightened the straps of an old pair of training gloves, their leather cracked from years of use. He had found them in one of his aunt's storage boxes, probably from her tournament days. Slipping them on felt like borrowing courage that wasn't his.
He stood in front of a makeshift dummy he had built—a frame of pipes and springs, padded with layers of cloth. It creaked faintly as he struck it, his punches landing awkwardly at first, then sharper with rhythm.
Each blow echoed his frustration.
Each strike was a question.
How do I fight someone who doesn't just throw punches but crushes with presence?
The springs squealed as he drove a kick into the dummy's side. Sweat dripped from his chin. His arms trembled. Still, he kept moving, refusing to stop.
His mind replayed his aunt's words: No one is unshakable.
By the time his arms gave out, the bulb overhead was buzzing faintly, and his breath came in ragged bursts. He collapsed against the wall, staring at the ceiling. His body ached, but beneath the pain, something steadier took root.
Resolve.
Tomorrow, he would face Riku again—whether with fists or with words. He didn't know when or how, but he refused to crumble under that shadow.