A sharp thunk… thunk… thunk echoed through the small kitchen as Andrew's mother chopped vegetables with the speed of a trained chef.
"Andrew! Get here now! You're getting late for school!"
No response.
Her eyes narrowed. She inhaled once, then shouted with full force—
"ANDREW!"
The scene cuts.
Andrew was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, eyes glued to the glowing screen. The morning sunlight didn't even reach him; all he saw were the fighters on the broadcast.
"Five minutes, Mom! Just five minutes!" he shouted back.
On the TV, the commentator roared with excitement:
> "Welcome back to the ASFC — Ancient Street Fight Championship!
For thousands of years, warriors have mastered techniques drawn from nature itself.
Today, two fighters representing the 'Mountain Style' and the 'Hawk Form'—"
Click.
The screen went black.
Andrew froze like someone had unplugged his soul.
His mother stood beside the TV, finger on the switch, eyes blazing.
"How many times have I told you," she said slowly, trying not to explode, "DON'T WATCH FIGHTING."
"But Mom—"
"No. Come to the table. Eat your food. Now."
Andrew sighed dramatically and dragged himself to the kitchen table. She placed a plate in front of him—bread, eggs, and a small bowl of fruit. He shoved food into his mouth with the enthusiasm of a zombie.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
Andrew instantly stood up, grabbed his bag, and speed-ran toward the door.
"I'm going! Have a good day, Mom!" he yelled, already halfway to escape.
He yanked open the door—
And nearly bumped into a girl.
Pink hair. Clean uniform. Arms crossed. Expression: unimpressed.
Lia.
His childhood friend.
She tapped her foot. "Why are you always late?"
Andrew scratched his cheek. "Uh… training my reflexes?"
She stared at him.
"…You were watching ASFC again, weren't you?"
Andrew smiled awkwardly.
"Maybe."
She sighed and turned around. "Come on. We'll be late if you keep acting like this."
Andrew slung his bag over his shoulder and followed her out, unaware that this ordinary morning was the beginning of the most dangerous chapter of his life.
Andrew and Lia walked side by side toward the main road, schoolbags bouncing lightly against their backs. Morning traffic hummed around them—cycles, autos, the occasional barking dog—but Lia's scolding cut through everything.
"Andrew," she said, narrowing her eyes, "why are you bothering your mom so much? Stop watching that crap first thing in the morning."
Andrew puffed out his cheeks. "Why? I like it."
"That's not a reason," she snapped. "You know how stressed she gets about fighting."
Andrew kicked a pebble along the sidewalk. "You don't understand. It's not just fighting. It's art."
Lia raised one eyebrow. "Right. People beating each other with 'nature powers' is art?"
He nodded confidently. "Yes. And you know, Lia… there are only a few people left who can use the Forbidden Fighting Styles."
She groaned. "Here we go again…"
"No, seriously!" Andrew insisted, eyes lighting up. "Those ancient techniques—they were passed down for centuries. Fire Form, Mountain Style, Hawk Form—each one came from observing nature itself. But the world banned them. Said they were too dangerous."
"Because they are dangerous," Lia replied, crossing her arms.
"Those fights you watch? They're illegal in half the country."
"That's why they're cool."
Lia stopped walking and glared at him. "Andrew. You're not becoming one of those idiots who try it in real life, right?"
He hesitated… then shrugged. "Maybe someday."
"Andrew!"
He laughed and jogged ahead. "Relax! I'm not that crazy."
But a spark gleamed in his eyes—the spark of a boy who dreamed of something more than school life and bullies.
Lia hurried after him, annoyed but worried. "Just… be careful, okay? Your mom already worries too much."
Andrew glanced at her and grinned. "I'll be fine. Besides, it's not like anything big is gonna happen today."
He said it casually.
But somewhere in the city, far from their school route, a group of boys in black jackets with the Phoenix emblem were preparing for something that would soon drag Andrew into a world he never imagined.
The school walls rose ahead of them—grey, tall, and crowded with students rushing through the morning gate. The chatter, laughter, and chaos of teenagers filled the air.
Andrew slowed his pace.
Lia noticed instantly.
She turned to him. "Andrew…?"
He forced a smile. "Lia, you go inside. I'll come later."
Her expression tightened—sad, frustrated, and helpless.
"Are they still bothering you?" she asked quietly.
Andrew looked away. "Lia… stay out of the matter."
"That's not an answer." Her voice trembled slightly. "You said it was over…"
"It will be," Andrew replied. "But not if you get involved."
Lia bit her lip, staring at him as if trying to memorize his face.
"Please… take care of yourself," she whispered. "I know you say you're fine, but Andrew… I can see it."
He didn't respond. He just adjusted his bag and stepped back.
She hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"…Okay. I'll go. But come to class soon."
Andrew gave her a thumb-up he didn't feel.
Lia turned around and walked through the school gate, glancing back one last time before disappearing into the crowd.
The moment she was gone, Andrew's smile faded.
He took a breath.
Then he turned left—away from the classrooms, away from the teachers, away from the noise—and walked down the narrow hallway behind the science block.
The sound of students faded.
Only silence remained.
Andrew stopped in front of an old metal door with peeling paint.
The store room.
He knew exactly who was waiting inside.
He tightened his fists, swallowed his fear, and pushed the door open.
Inside, shadows moved.
And the voices he dreaded the most echoed from within—
"Well, well… look who finally showed up