"Is this my son?"
Richmond said as he watched his son land a devastating uppercut into the jaw of his trainer.
He stared at the thin man that was beaten black and blue. His fists were bloody and his clothes were caked with sweat. His breathing was ragged with how long they've been fighting. Though his blows lost their strength, his resolve never wavered.
He carried on relentlessly with a wild look in his eyes and a smile that sent shivers down his spine.
It was fine at the beginning. He used a similar, if not rusty, style to what he used before. Fast moves combined with heavy opportunity attacks that punished mistakes.
It was like he returned to the past when Grant still took part in family contests. He remembered when Grant started doing research into different techniques and spells to make it.
He remembered the question he asked Grant one day when he was in the library.
"Son, are you sure about this? These moves are pretty advanced for your age, some of them are even used as trump cards at your level. Shouldn't you focus on strengthening the techniques you do know rather than some flashy finisher?"
A young Grant looks at his father.
"But if I do that, it would take too long. I'll never earn enough free time if I fight my matches like that."
It shouldn't have worked. It was filled with moves that were too flashy, too costly, and too complex. But somehow, it did.
He managed to adjust the techniques and spells into a workable state through sheer trial and error and created a strong fighting style that served him well.
Grant launched a devastating kick to the back of the legs while his opponent was reeling and sent him to the ground.
It was a style meant to finish a fight as fast as possible.
The problem was that it wasn't the style he was using now.
He had slowly fallen into a different style throughout the course of the battle.
It was hard to tell at first, but slowly and surely, it changed.
Where he used to move fast, he now barely moved at all. Where he used to jab until an opening showed, he now used them to make an opening where there was none.
He seemed to know his opponent's moves before he made them. Always positioning himself in just the right area to dodge or attack. He seemed to enjoy seeing his opponent slowly take damage.
He had the same smile as when he was younger but the style gave it a different meaning.
Suddenly Grant dove off the mats. He rolled a couple of times before stopping and crying out.
"I yield!"
The trainer slowly stood up from where his fist would have hit the young man if he hadn't escaped.
He stared for a few seconds with an unreadable gaze before he said.
"You did very well for someone that hasn't trained for a year..."
Grant replied between gasping breaths.
"Just because I lost my foundation doesn't mean that my enemies are gonna leave me alone."
He lied there, sucking in air like a drowning man before continuing a few seconds later.
"I had to do something when they ambushed me."
The trainer stood there for a few seconds before speaking again.
"If I wasn't sure that you didn't use any energy, I'd doubt that you haven't recovered your foundation. Are you trying to be a warrior?"
"No, I don't really want to fight anymore."
Grant sat up, his limbs felt like jelly.
"I'm tired of that."
The trainer gave him a bemused look.
"Really, what happened? You seemed to be enjoying our fight earlier."
"You went easy on me, I went all out."
He frowned.
"So the fight was pointless because you didn't win?"
"The fight was pointless because I enjoyed it."
Grant started putting away all the stuff he had set aside.
...
"Is that why you left?"
"No, but it's why I never came back."
He wrapped the cloak around himself before turning to look at the trainer.
"Did you ever feel something like that? Whenever you left somewhere, I mean."
*sigh
"I wish I went back if that's what you mean."
"Close enough."
Grant stood up shakily. His body nearly refusing to get up at all.
"Need help?"
"No, I'm fine. I'm used to it."
"You need to cut back. That kind of overexertion is bad for your body."
"That's another reason."
Grant slowly walked to the door with wobbling steps.
"Do I still have to show up tomorrow?"
The man finally smiled.
"Ask your father."
Grant gave a sigh and said, "See you tomorrow." before walking out the door.
Along the way, everyone made way for Grant. All the people he passed were staring at him. Either with disgust, awe, hope, or some other emotion, but they stared.
'Deja vu, been a while since they did that. They didn't see the fight, did they? Let's see what I have to work with.'
Grant tiredly examined the hallway for anything to ruin his reputation.
It wasn't easy since everyone got out of his way but he found it.
*squelch
"Ewww"
Grant had just stepped in poo.
"Dang it."
He went ahead and lifted one leg to get a better look. He instantly became unbalanced.
"Wha wha wha wha wha."
Grant started hopping backwards to regain his balance when he crashed into someone behind him.
"Sorry!"
He tried to put his foot down but stepped on the fruit that the person had dropped.
"Ahh!"
He fell backwards onto a cleaning cart that a nearby maid had been pushing. Normally this wouldn't be too much of a problem, except that his legs were in the air. And his foot landed on a nearby mage's face, the same foot with poo.
"Aaahhh! *puh *puh It got in my mouth! Eugh!"
"The, understandably, upset mage then cast a spell that sent the cart careening through the halls with Grant shrieking like a girl.
The cart raced through the halls of the manor, people were still getting out of the way but this time it was so they wouldn't get run over. It was really easy to avoid because of Grant's siren-like screams.
Grant rode that cart until he crashed into the wall on the other side of the manor.
"Ow."
When he did finally get to his room he locked the door and collapsed onto the bed.
'Finally, some sleep.'
Then his cell rang.
'Fudging kidding me'
He tiredly grabbed his phone and answered the call.
"Those who kill should be prepared to be killed. Reporting on project 'off-the-grid' day one.
"Access Grant-ed. Tell me what's happened."