The morning sun barely lit the skyscrapers of Manhattan, but Empire Heights Academy was already buzzing. Diego Vargas walked through the gates, hands in pockets, calm as ever. His blazer was crisp, hair windswept, and eyes scanning every movement.
Whispers followed him. Students still talked about last night's rooftop clash. Some feared him. Some wanted to challenge him. Few knew the half of it.
Lysandra Cross leaned against the marble hallway wall, arms crossed. Her eyes glittered with curiosity and something sharper—interest.
"You survived," she said, smirking. "Barely."
Diego's lips twitched. "Barely? I'd say I dominated."
She chuckled. "We'll see about that."
The day blurred into classes. Diego kept his focus tight. Strategy. Observation. Control. Every glance, every word, every movement mattered.
By lunch, he noticed it—subtle shifts in alliances. Cliques whispered, students glanced, and someone new moved like a shadow across the cafeteria.
He followed. Quiet, unnoticed.
The shadow led him to the gym—a place known for "practice duels." Only, these weren't casual sparring sessions. These were tests. High-stakes battles for reputation and influence.
"You're late," a voice said from the shadows.
Ryu Tanaka stepped forward, black hair tied back, stance loose but deadly. "You've got talent, Diego. But talent alone won't protect you here."
Diego's brow arched. "And what's your advice, then?"
"Learn the rules they don't teach in class," Ryu said, smirking. "The underground tournaments. The real power plays."
Before Diego could respond, the gym doors slammed. Jaxon Wolfe entered, flanked by two new allies. His gaze locked on Diego.
"You think last night gave you respect?" Jaxon's voice was low, dangerous. "You're just a distraction."
Diego stepped forward, fists flexing subtly. "Distraction? Maybe. But I can be a problem if you insist."
The gym became a battlefield. Chairs flew, punches collided, and acrobatics blurred across polished floors. Diego moved like wind—precise, lethal, unstoppable.
A sudden crash of a metal beam startled everyone. The gym's lights flickered. Diego spun, catching Lysandra just as she ducked a falling fixture.
"Careful," he muttered. "They're escalating."
A hush fell. From the balcony above, masked spectators whispered and watched. Not students. Not teachers. Something else. Someone else. Powerful. Dangerous.
Diego's instincts screamed. Whoever these spectators were, they weren't here to watch—they were judging. Evaluating. Testing.
He squared off with Jaxon again. Fists, kicks, blocks—each move a calculated strike. Diego's mind raced faster than his body. Every angle, every opening, every potential threat mapped and countered.
But the real shock came from the corner of his eye: one of the masked figures was moving. Down from the balcony. Silent, deliberate.
Diego's heart tightened. This wasn't just a fight anymore. The tournament, the school, the cliques—it was a setup. And he was in the center.
A shadow dropped behind Jaxon, cloaked in black. Faster than human. A single strike, and Jaxon froze mid-punch.
Diego blinked.
The figure lifted its hood. The face remained hidden, but the aura screamed one thing: not a student. Not a friend. Danger.
The gym exploded into chaos. Students scattered, some screaming, some frozen in shock. Diego tightened his fists, feeling the adrenaline surge.
The masked figure advanced. Every step deliberate, every movement precise. Diego met it head-on.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The figure tilted its head. No answer. Just a low, menacing chuckle.
And then—everything went dark.
Diego now faces a mysterious, elite threat in the gym. This isn't just a school fight anymore; it's a glimpse into a world of power and secrets far beyond Empire Heights.