I follow the red-haired guy through the front door, feeling out of place in this upscale environment. The slums are a world away from this house clean, well-lit, and meticulously kept. I can't help but take in every detail as he leads me deeper into the house, through a hallway lined with polished floors and expensive-looking furniture.
We stop at a room near the back, a space that feels more like a makeshift office than anything else. Papers scattered across a desk, a few chairs, and a window overlooking the spacious backyard. It's an odd contrast to the surroundings, but the whole place exudes an air of control.
"You can sit here," the red-haired guy says, motioning to one of the chairs near the desk. His voice is calm, but there's something sharp in his tone, like he's already sizing me up.
I take a seat, trying to ignore the unease crawling up my spine. My mind is still racing. I've been tangled up in this whole mess, trying to find my sister, but now it feels like I'm in way over my head.
"So, you're asking about Keagan?" he says, finally breaking the silence. His gaze fixes on me, waiting for an answer.
"Yeah," I reply, sitting up straighter. "I've been hearing his name around. People are scared of him, but no one really talks about who he is."
The red-haired guy stares at me for a moment, then nods slowly. "Keagan is the mafia leader, yeah. But he's more than that. He's dangerous. And not just because he's in charge. He's one of us one of the manifesters."
I nod, remembering what I witnessed in the alleyway between the hammer guy and the ribbon guy. I saw their powers firsthand the way the ribbon absorbed the sword's energy, the way the hammer guy used his earth-shattering hits. I'm not clueless about this world, but hearing it from him makes it all feel more real.
"I've seen manifesters before," I say, trying to stay calm. "I know what they can do."
The red-haired guy raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Oh? Who?"
"The hammer guy and the ribbon guy," I respond, remembering the fight that's still fresh in my mind. "They fought each other. The ribbon guy was using his ribbon to absorb power, and the hammer guy… he was using the earth, I think."
"Ah," he says, nodding like he expected me to know. Still, if you're going to take on Keagan, you'll have to deal with people like them."
I stare at him, trying to process everything. "So, you're saying Keagan is more than just some mafia leader. He's got powers, like them?"
The red-haired guy meets my gaze, his expression serious. "Keagan didn't just kill the old boss to take control. He used his powers to do it. Essentia, the energy that flows through everything, is what gives manifesters like us our abilities. He's been honing his power for years, and now that he's in charge, he's becoming a real problem."
I think back to the fight I witnessed between the hammer guy and the ribbon guy. The power they wielded was beyond anything I could imagine. And now, I'm being told that Keagan's even stronger.
"What do you want me to do about it?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intended. The weight of the situation is hitting me all at once.
The red-haired guy leans against the desk, crossing his arms. "I don't want you to do anything about it yet. But if you're serious about this, if you really want to take down Keagan and find your sister, you'll need to learn how to fight back. And that's where I come in."
I feel a mix of confusion and frustration. "What are you talking about? I'm not some weakling. I've been fighting on the streets. I've handled myself before."
He looks at me like he's heard this all before. "Fighting isn't enough. You can't just throw punches and expect to win. That's not how the world works anymore. If you want to survive in this city, you need to learn how to use what you have. And you need to understand the power of manifesting."
I shake my head. "I can't manifest. I don't have powers like you."
The red-haired guy smiles, a small smirk that almost feels like a challenge. "That's fine. Not everyone can use Essentia. But there are other ways to get stronger."
He walks toward the window, glancing out over the backyard. "You've got potential. And we don't need manifesting to make that useful. I'll teach you how to fight smart. How to use your body, your environment, your mind to turn the odds in your favor."
I'm silent for a moment, processing everything he's said. I don't know if I trust him, but I do know one thing I don't have a choice. I've been surviving by the skin of my teeth up until now, but to go after someone like Keagan? I need more than what I've got.
"What's the catch?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
The red-haired guy turns back to me, his eyes hard but calculating. "There is none. But it's going to take time. And you'll have to be patient. If you want to go after Keagan, you need to learn how to fight, how to move, how to survive. And you need to be ready when the time comes. Because you're going to be up against people who can do things you can't even imagine."
I stand up, a surge of determination rising in my chest. I don't care about the details right now. I don't care about powers or who can do what. I just want to find my sister and take down Keagan.
"Alright," I say, my voice steady now. "Teach me. I'm ready."
The red-haired guy studies me for a moment, then nods.
Trevon steps back, giving me a moment to recover. His gaze stays on me, like he's sizing me up in ways I can't even begin to understand. I'm still aching, but there's something about his calm demeanor that keeps me on edge. He tilts his head slightly.
"Name's Trevon," he says, his voice casual but with an edge to it.
I blink, confused for a second. "It's Jay," I answer
Trevon smiles slightly, as though reading my thoughts. "I already knew who you were. You're the one who's been causing a bit of a stir at school, right? The one they talk about in the halls… the guy who can take on three people at once."
I freeze for a moment, his words hitting harder than I expect. The fight. The one I'd nearly forgotten about. The one where I got jumped at school by those older guys three of them, thinking they could beat me just because I was alone.
I had no choice but to fight back, and somehow, I ended up winning. I still remember the way I took the first guy down with a quick jab to the ribs, and how the others hesitated when they realized I wasn't just some easy target. But it was reckless. I could've gotten hurt badly if they'd been smarter, if they'd been better. But I was lucky.
I snap back to the present, realizing Trevon's still waiting for my reaction. His gaze hasn't changed; it's almost like he's expecting me to piece it all together.
"Yeah," I mutter, "That was me."
Trevon shrugs, his expression unreadable. "Word travels fast. You've got a reputation as a delinquent, Jay."
I raise an eyebrow, confused. "A reputation? What.
He grins slightly, his eyes twinkling with something like amusement. "You don't know? People talk. At least the ones who can actually pay attention. You're not exactly sloppy when you throw punches you look experienced."
Trevon's gaze sharpens, and I realize that despite the light conversation, he's still reading me, analyzing me.
"Well," he says, breaking the silence. "Now that we're properly introduced, let's see if you can back up that reputation. You wanted a fight, right? I'll give you one. But no holding back."
Trevon turns, heading for the back door. "Come on," he says, "Let's head outside. There's more room for you to learn your lesson."
I follow him, my mind racing.
"Okay now that we are both out here I want you to come at me with all your strength" I look at him bewildered. Is he trying to die?
"Are you sure I don't want to hurt you" he smirks
"As if you could now come at me so I can beat you up slum boy." after these words leave his mouth I dash at him with all my speed
Trevon stands across from me, his stance still casual, his eyes locked on me with that infuriating, confident smirk. "Okay, now that we're both out here, I want you to come at me with all your strength."
I stare at him, narrowing my eyes. "What? Are you trying to die?"
He smirks even wider, his eyes glinting. "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."
"As if you could," I sneer, my fists already tightening. "Now come at me so I can beat you up, slum boy."
With those words, I rush forward without hesitation, channeling all my speed into the attack. My legs drive me forward, my heart pounding in my chest. Every muscle is honed to strike with precision. I throw the first punch, a straight right jab aimed at his face. I put everything into it.
But Trevon doesn't move. He doesn't even flinch. Instead, he steps to the side with a quick, almost effortless motion, letting my punch fly by, a mere breeze. Before I can even adjust, I feel a sudden pain across my ribs—his knee slamming into my side with brutal force. I stagger, breath knocked out of me, but I quickly recover, pushing through the pain.
"Nice try," Trevon says coolly. "But you're not fast enough."
I grit my teeth and wipe the blood from my lip, but my eyes never leave him. I charge again, faster this time. I throw a series of quick jabs, aiming for his head, his torso, anywhere I can land a blow. But each time, Trevon sidesteps or parries with smooth, fluid movements, as if he's been doing this his whole life. Each punch I throw misses, and with every miss, I feel my frustration grow.
I try again, launching a roundhouse kick this time, but Trevon catches it with one hand, twisting my leg mid-air and using my own momentum to throw me off balance. My back slams into the dirt, and for a split second, I can't breathe. He's too fast. Too good.
"You're too reckless," Trevon's voice is calm, controlled. "You're fast, but you're not thinking."
I push myself back to my feet, wiping the dirt from my clothes, eyes burning with determination. "Shut up," I mutter. "I can do this."
I charge again, but this time, I can feel his movements in the air his foot shifting before he makes them. My instincts kick in. I anticipate his sidestep and feint, throwing my right punch to the left side of his head, then quickly spinning to throw an uppercut. Trevon's eyes narrow, and for the first time, I see him actually move to block, raising his arm to deflect the punch.
It's a small victory, but I take it. I'm starting to catch on. With every miss, I learn. With every strike, I adjust, my movements becoming more fluid mimicking his style
I throw a quick jab to his face, but this time, I know he'll dodge. I twist my body to the side and aim for his ribs instead, the punch landing solidly against his side. Trevon grunts, his expression flickering for a second. I follow up with another series of punches, each one calculated, each one more precise than the last.
For a moment, I see Trevon start to shift his stance, his smirk fading as he begins to take me more seriously. He starts blocking with more effort, no longer dodging lazily, but actually responding to my strikes. The more I land, the more he fights back.
He strikes with a quick jab of his own, catching me off guard. I dodge, but his foot slams into my thigh, and I stumble back. The blow was enough to knock the air out of me, but I don't stop. The pain just fuels me. I'm getting better.
Trevon steps back, a slight hint of a frown on his face now. "I'll give you credit," he says, breathing a little heavier now. "You're learning fast."
I grin, wiping blood from my lip. "You should be worried."
He lunges at me this time, faster than before, his movements sharper. I barely manage to duck under his fist as it swings for my head. But my body is learning the rhythm of this fight. Every time I dodge or parry, I'm getting closer to him. I predict his next move he's going for my right, a classic feint. I shift, anticipating the attack before it even comes.
This time, I'm ready. I throw a counter punch, connecting with his ribs, then I twist my body and follow up with a knee to his stomach. He staggers back, his expression hardening. For the first time, I see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
"Impressive," he says, but his voice has changed. It's not just calm anymore. There's a bit of respect there, a recognition that I'm not just some slum kid. "But it's not enough."
With that, Trevon moves like lightning. I barely have time to react as he steps in, grabbing my wrist and twisting it behind me. His other hand presses against my chest, and before I can even think, I'm thrown to the ground with bone-crushing force. I gasped for air, the impact rattling me. My body aches, every muscle sore from the fight.
Trevon steps back, breathing a little heavier now. He's not sweating, but I can tell he's giving me more than he expected. "You're stronger than I thought, but you still have a lot to learn."
I grit my teeth, trying to push myself up, but it's hard to move. My arms are heavy, my body battered. "I'm not done yet," I growl, dragging myself up to my feet.
Trevon smiles, clearly impressed. "That's the spirit."
I can feel it now. The difference in our fighting styles. He's not just stronger, he's more refined. But I'm learning, adapting. And next time, I'll be better.
"You've got potential," Trevon says, his eyes meeting mine with a new respect. "But you need to think. Speed and strength alone won't win you fights."
I nod, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. "I'll get better. Next time, I'll beat you."
Trevon chuckles and gestures toward the house. "We'll see about that, slum boy. But for now, you need rest."
I don't argue. As much as it stings to admit, I need time to recover. His hits really did hurt.