April spent the rest of the day searching.
She didn't tell Jax or the others—this was her test.
By evening, she finally tracked down an old dojo at the edge of the city.
It was small, barely noticeable, but the moment she stepped inside, she felt the intensity in the air.
At the center of the room stood a middle-aged man, arms crossed, his gaze sharp as steel.
He wasn't imposing by sheer size—he was lean, with a body honed from decades of relentless training—but the aura he exuded demanded attention. His hair was streaked with silver at the temples, tied back loosely, and his face bore the lines of experience: a life hardened by battle, yet softened by wisdom. The sharpness in his eyes hinted at countless fights, each one a lesson etched into muscle and mind.
He had a very long silver beard running down his mouth. A traditional gi hung loosely on his frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms marked with faint scars and the subtle callouses of a fighter who had never shied from pain.
This was Ryouto—but not the name he was born with. It's his alias in the underground circuits, he was a legend, a ghost feared by fighters who had come seeking fame or fortune.
He had grown up fighting for survival, entering brutal, no-holds-barred matches where defeat could mean death. Every match won earned him money, respect, and a reputation as someone untouchable.
He had fought tirelessly through countless arenas, his mastery of Kyokushin Karate growing with each opponent.
Fighters who thought themselves invincible fell before him, their attacks anticipated and countered with surgical precision. Over time, he amassed wealth far beyond what most could dream of, and soon, no one dared challenge him.
Yet it wasn't his skill alone that defined him—it was his discipline, his unwavering resolve, and his capacity to read not just movements, but intentions.
Then came a woman. The one who changed everything. She saw not a brutal underground warrior, but a man capable of something more. For the first time, Ryu fought not for money or reputation, but to protect what he cared for.
He walked away from the blood-soaked rings, leaving behind the world of death matches that had forged him.
Yet even in leaving, he remained unparalleled, a fighter whose legacy would follow him wherever he went.
Years passed, and Ryouto transformed from a relentless fighter into a patient teacher. He opened his dojo, not for everyone, but for those rare individuals who held the spark of greatness.
He trained them in fundamentals, tested their resolve, and honed their instincts—but only a handful ever touched the core of Kyokushin as he understood it.
True mastery, he believed, was reserved for the diamond in the rough. Those who couldn't match his intensity were left behind, not out of cruelty, but out of necessity.
And now, here he was, sitting before April. His gaze pierced through her, assessing, weighing, and silently challenging her worth.
"You're not a student here."
April looked at his direction. "Not yet."
The master studied her for a moment. "You want to learn Kyokushin?"
"Yes."
He scoffed. "Do you even know what it is?"
April smirked. "A full-contact style. No holding back. No retreating. Just power."
The master raised an eyebrow. "Then you know we don't just accept students."
April shrugged. "Didn't expect you to. Master Ryu."
One of master Ryu's eyebrows rose in slight surprise, due to April knowing his underground alias. But the next second he smirked slightly.
"Good. Because before I consider training you… you'll have to pass a trial."
April crossed her arms. "Name it."
The master gestured toward the back of the dojo, where several students were practicing.
"You will fight."
April's smirk widened. "Perfect."
The master's expression darkened. "You will fight all of them."
April's smirk vanished.
"…Excuse me?" she asked.
"You will take on every student in this dojo—one after another. No breaks, no resting. If you can last until the end, you might be worth my training."
April looked at him for a moment—then a grin slowly formed on her lips. She had caught the hidden meaning behind his words.
What Master Ryu truly meant was that the martial art he was teaching them wasn't his real art.
And that made perfect sense. After all, everyone here besides the Master—and herself—were just ordinary civilians.
"Fine. Bring it."
This was going to be fun.
April rolled her shoulders, standing in the center of the dojo as the Kyokushin students gathered around.
There were at least ten of them—each one disciplined, trained, and ready to break her apart.
The master stepped forward. "You will fight in succession. No stopping. If you fall, you fail."
April smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get on with it."
The first opponent stepped in.
A tall, broad-shouldered student with sharp eyes. His stance was solid, his movements disciplined. A straightforward Kyokushin fighter.
"So, do I need to fight using a specific martial art?" April asked.
Master Ryouto simply stared at her, letting out a small scoff. "If you're here to learn the martial art of Kyoshin Karate, then that means you have no prior martial arts training. How could I expect someone with no experience to stand against someone who does know martial arts? This spar isn't about style—it's to see if you're worthy of being trained. Use whichever style you prefer."
April nodded in acknowledgment, accepting his words.
'Let's see what this style is really about.'
The first strike came fast.
A straight punch—sharp, powerful aimed for her face. April dodged to the left, shifting just out of reach.
But before she could counter, a second punch followed. Then a third.
Kyokushin wasn't just about power—it was about relentlessness.
April smirked, dodging another strike before launching a counter.
Her fist slammed into his ribs.
He didn't even flinch.
Instead, he drove a kick straight at her stomach.
April blocked, but the force behind it sent her skidding backward.
"Damn… these guys are built different," she whispered to herself.
She reseted her stance.
Fine. If power was the game—
She'd play it.
April dashed in, slipping past his defenses, and slammed her elbow into his jaw.
He staggered.
She followed up with a roundhouse kick, striking his ribs with enough force to send him sprawling across the mat.
First one down.
The second opponent stepped in immediately.
April exhaled.
"Alright. Let's go."
Opponent after opponent came at her.
Each fighter had their own strengths—some were more aggressive, others more defensive.
Some tried to wear her down, while others went for direct knockouts.
But April adapted.
She flowed through the fights, dodging, countering, and striking with precision.
Her instincts sharpened.
Her movements became smoother.
She felt herself syncing with the combat style.
Each fight pushed her limits. Each opponent forced her to evolve.
And then—
The final opponent stepped forward.
April's breathing was heavy, sweat dripping from her brow. Her muscles burned.
But she grinned.
"Still got one more?" she taunted.
The final student was different. A female.
She was calm and focused.
The same girl April had seen at school.
Her stance was perfect. Her eyes were cold.
"Let's see if you're really worth it," the girl said.
April cracked her knuckles.
Oh, she was ready.