It was the first week of the fall semester at Tatsunoko International University, a prestigious campus nestled between the green hills of Japan's Kansai region. It was known for its elite sports science program, diverse cultural exchange students, and, most famously, its world-class martial arts department— a department that had somehow attracted fighters who seemed almost too strong for the real world.
Students buzzed across the quad, balancing textbooks and bento boxes, swapping gossip about new professors and rumored transfers.
Somewhere between the steady chatter and the hum of cicadas, the air felt… different this semester. Heavier. Like something extraordinary was about to unfold.
The door slid open to Applied Kinesiology 101, and the room went quiet.
In stepped a young man with reddish-brown hair and a calm, confident aura— Baki Hanma.
He wasn't flashy, didn't need to be. His posture alone spoke louder than words. Some of the students whispered, "He's the martial arts prodigy, right?", while others just felt an inexplicable pressure from his presence.
He took a seat in the middle row, eyes sharp but relaxed. He wasn't here to prove anything. At least, not yet.
A few moments later, the door slid open again— this time with a burst of cheerful energy.
"Sorry! I'm late, I got caught helping someone find the gym!"
A girl stumbled in, short brown hair, handbag swinging, wearing her uniform slightly loose and a white headband that refused to stay still.
Sakura Kasugano, age 19 and full of life, full of dreams, and currently very full of embarrassment.
Her eyes scanned the room for an open seat- and of course, the only one left was next to him.
"Mind if I—?" she asked, still catching her breath.
"Go ahead," Baki said, smiling softly.
She sat down, fidgeting. He looks familiar… that stance, that calm energy.
Her curiosity burned through the lecture, and by the time class ended, she couldn't resist.
"So uh.. what kind of training do you do?"
Baki raised an eyebrow, amused. "You can tell I train?"
Sakura grinned. "Please. You've got that 'I could break concrete but don't want to scare anyone' pose."
Baki laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "You're pretty sharp. I'm guessing you fight too?"
"Yeah! A little. Self-taught, though. I kinda… follow this one guy's style."
"Let me guess," Baki said. "You don't just fight for fun. You fight to understand yourself."
That caught her off guard.
"…Yeah," she said quietly. "Exactly that."
The bell rang, but neither moved.
For the first time that day, Sakura felt like she wasn't just meeting another student— she was meeting someone who spoke her language without words.
The air in Psychology of Violence was… uncomfortable.
Not because of the topic— but because two people sat near each other who looked like they'd walked out of a different kind of world.
At the back of the lecture hall, slouched in his seat like he owned the place, sat Jack Hanma— tall, scarred, and built like a living tank. His massive frame barely fit the desk. He stared at the whiteboard with disinterest, half-distracted, half-brooding.
Two rows in front of him, swinging her leg lazily, a smirk on her lips, was Juri Han. Purple streaks in her hair caught the light every time she tilted her head. Her presence alone made people uneasy— something about the way her eyes lingered on others just a second too long.
When the professor assigned partners for a "psychological case study," Jack didn't even look up until he heard:
"Han Juri, paired with Hanma Jack."
Juri turned in her seat slowly, a grin spreading.
"Well, well. Guess the universe has a sense of humor."
Jack met her gaze— cold, analytical, unflinching. He didn't say anything, just grunted flatly.
For a moment, neither said anything. The air felt charged— not with romance yet, but with a kind of primal recognition. Like two predators realizing they'd just been put in the same cage.
When class ended, she sauntered up to him.
"So, partner… you kill people for fun, or just for therapy?" she teased.
Jack's eyes flicked toward her, his tone dead serious. "Neither. I fight to make sure I still exist."
That made her pause.
Then, to his surprise, she laughed— not mocking, but intrigued.
"Hmm. A man with depth. I'll enjoy breaking you down."
Jack leaned closer, his shadow covering her. "Try it."
For the first time in her life, Juri didn't know if she was aroused, impressed, or genuinely challenged. Maybe all three.
Meanwhile, on the faculty floor, the smell of coffee and chalk dust filled the Teacher's Lounge.
Two new instructors had been hired this semester— both from respected martial arts backgrounds, both legends in their own right.
Retsu Kaioh, the stoic master of Chinese Kenpo, poured tea quietly at the counter. His movements were deliberate, graceful— as if every small act was a kata.
Across the room, Chun-Li, new professor of physical education and criminology, sat grading papers. She wore her signature blue training suit, her hair tied in buns, her focus unwavering— until Retsu approached.
"I believe this is your tea," he said, offering her a cup.
She looked up, surprised. "Oh, thank you, Professor Retsu. You didn't have to."
He smiled faintly. "In martial arts, hospitality is also a form of discipline."
She chuckled softly. "I've never heard it put that way before."
They shared a quiet moment, the buzz of student chatter outside barely audible.
"I heard you were a champion fighter," Retsu said. "And an officer once?"
Chun-Li nodded. "Interpol. But teaching… feels different. More peaceful."
"Peace," Retsu said, sipping his tea, "is just another battle. One few know how to fight."
Chun-Li's eyes softened. "You sound like someone who's seen too many wars."
"Perhaps," he replied, "but maybe I've just been waiting to meet a warrior who understands both strength and grace."
She looked at him, really looked. And for a fleeting second, the air between them wasn't filled with titles or reputation, but recognition.
Two masters, both seeking balance in a world that never stops demanding strength.