That Morning...
The sky above Dermaga 2 High School turned blue once more, as if the dark night had never happened.
But everyone knew—scars don't always show on the surface.
Jora arrived earlier than usual. His steps were steady and quiet, passing through the school hallway that looked normal... but didn't feel normal anymore.
The atmosphere was silent. But behind that silence lay something unspoken.
The eyes of students who used to ignore him now watched from a distance—not with scorn, but with a strange mix of fear, curiosity… and respect.
Jora didn't look back.
But he knew.
Everything had changed.
And it would never go back to how it was.
Meeting on the Rooftop
When the lunch bell rang, Jora didn't head to the cafeteria.
Instead, he climbed the stairs to the school rooftop—a quiet place he often visited when he needed to think.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
Noah was already there.
He sat at the edge of the railing, reading a worn-out notebook.
The wind played with his messy hair, but his calm smile remained unchanged.
"Morning, Jora," said Noah without looking up.
Jora didn't reply, just stood a few meters away.
"Have you been watching me all this time?" Jora asked flatly.
Noah slowly closed his notebook.
"Not watching. Studying."
"Why?"
A strange feeling stirred in Jora's chest.
"Studying… me?" he murmured.
Noah stood.
His gaze carried no threat.
But there was something behind it—sharp, like a knife wrapped in gift paper.
"Because you're not ordinary, Jora. And I'm interested in you."
Jora frowned.
"So, are you here to challenge me too?"
The wind picked up. The air grew heavier.
Noah looked him in the eye.
"I'm not here to challenge you. I need your help."
Jora looked confused.
"You need my help? Why?"
"This world is unfair. You know it. I know it. But some people… aren't born to follow it. They're born to shake it."
He stepped closer.
"Join me, Jora. Not as a pawn… but as a partner. We'll build something that can't be broken—by school rules, teachers, or this rotten system."
Jora stared at him for a long moment.
The wind rustled the leaves in the distance.
"I came here… not to return to that kind of world,"
"I just want to study in peace,"
he said at last.
"But people keep pushing me toward it."
Noah smiled faintly.
"Then stop letting them push you.
Start pushing back."
They locked eyes.
Then Jora turned around.
"I don't need an alliance. But I'm not running away."
"Good," Noah replied calmly.
"I'll wait."
Dimas Makes His Move
Elsewhere—inside an abandoned storage shed near the back volleyball court—Dimas gathered with several members of his gang.
Tension filled the air.
Some sat on the floor. Others leaned against the walls.
In the middle stood a whiteboard with a rough diagram: a circle labeled "JORA," surrounded by arrows and strategic notes.
"Devan failed. He's useless now," said Dimas, staring at the board.
One of the boys, Reno, asked,
"So what now? Who are you sending next?"
Dimas turned his eyes to the corner of the room.
There stood a second-year student—tall, skinny, but with eyes like blades soaked in hate. He was known as Rayka, a former street fighter expelled from two previous schools for extreme violence.
"Rayka," Dimas said.
"You want a job?"
Rayka smirked.
"As long as I get to break that guy, I don't care."
Dimas stepped forward, handing him a torn photo of Jora, ripped from an old yearbook.
"That's your target."
Rayka stared at the photo for a long moment, then nodded.
"Give me one week."
Shadows of the Past
That night at home, Jora stared at his old kickboxing gloves again.
But this time, he held them longer.
Flashes of memory returned—national tournaments, the bright boxing ring, roaring crowds… and his father's voice, firm yet full of hope.
"Never fight out of anger, Jo. Fight because you have something to protect."
That voice… it was faint now.
Because his father had been gone for a long time. Too long.
Jora sighed.
"Turns out… old wounds never really heal, do they?"
He tightened the gloves around his hands—for the first time in years.
Enemy Within
Jora sat in the corner of his room, eyes blank, staring at a wall covered in faded posters and scribbled thoughts. The noise of school life felt far away now. In the silence, memories he'd buried deep began to rise.
"Jo, remember this—if you become a fighter, never let emotion guide your fists.
Emotion will kill you, not your opponent."
Jora nodded to himself, still remembering every word like a mantra repeated throughout his grueling training in a small dojo on the city's edge.
His father, a former fighter with unshakable discipline, had drilled one principle into him:
"A strike without emotion is a strike unmatched."
But that night, at the national kickboxing championship final in Japan—
That principle was shattered.
Under the bright lights of the ring, Jora stood across from Yuiji—his closest friend and longtime rival.
They had trained together since childhood.
They understood each other. Trusted each other.
But that night… something was different.
A tension in the air that no one could see.
Blow after blow, their fight was fierce.
Until Jora threw the final punch—
And something happened that he could never have imagined.
Yuiji fell.
Time seemed to slow.
Jora looked into his friend's face—eyes wide open, filled with unbearable pain.
Yuiji never got back up.
No one ever knew exactly what happened that night.
Was it an accident?
Was Jora's punch too strong?
Or was there something darker hiding behind that tragedy?
All that was certain—was that Jora changed.
The trauma haunted him.
The invisible wound split him from the world he once loved.
Jora closed his eyes, gripping the old kickboxing belt tightly.
"Yuiji… I'm sorry.
I never wanted this to happen."
The pain was still there, gnawing at him, separating him from the dreams and future he once envisioned.
But beneath it all…
A fire still smoldered.
And now, that fire needed to burn again—if he wanted to survive this ruthless world.
Jora opened his eyes.
His gaze—steady. Determined.
"If I have to fight again…
I won't let emotions control me.
I have to be strong.
For me.
For Yuiji."