In the Abandoned Factory:
In the cold, deserted factory, moonlight filtered through the broken windows, casting a faint glow on the walls. Inside, Kieran Frost sat calmly, a lollipop in his hand, his eyes fixed on the trembling man before him.
"Sir, that kid... he fights men on the streets at night... alone..." The man's voice shook with anxiety.
Kieran brought the lollipop to his mouth, a sly smile creeping onto his lips. "Hahaha, so a kid is beating grown men, huh? That's amusing." His voice echoed through the shadows of the room, bouncing off the cold, empty walls.
"Yes, sir," the man stammered, unable to hide his fear. "The only thing known about him is his black crown-shaped outfit."
Kieran paused, pondering this new information. "Interesting. Let's go meet this kid," he finally said, standing up. His eyes gleamed with curiosity as he moved toward the exit, disappearing into the darkness like a predator on the hunt.
---
Aren's Home:
Meanwhile, Aren sat by his window, staring at the empty street outside, lost in thought. The rush he felt while fighting, the way it made him feel truly alive, was undeniable. But school was starting in just three days, and that lingering emptiness was creeping back.
As usual, that night he found himself walking the dark streets, seeking out the same thrill. Another fight unfolded, but tonight, Aren wasn't alone. From the shadows, Kieran watched him, silently studying his every move.
As the fight ended, Kieran stepped forward, his movements fluid and deliberate, almost too light for someone his size. Aren froze as the stranger approached, instinctively sensing something different about this man. Kieran's pale pink hair glowed faintly in the moonlight, his grey-blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Walking alone at night is a dangerous habit, especially for kids like you," Kieran said, a teasing smile on his lips.
Aren narrowed his eyes. He didn't know who this man was, but something about him made his pulse quicken. His fists clenched tightly as he took a step forward. "What do you want?" he demanded, his voice low, eyes never leaving Kieran's.
Kieran chuckled softly, pulling the lollipop from his mouth. He glanced around the empty street as if weighing his options, then turned back to Aren with a small, playful laugh. "I want to meet you, kid. I've heard about those 'famous' skills of yours. Let's see if they're real."
Without waiting for more, Aren launched himself at Kieran. His punches were fast, aggressive, but Kieran dodged each one effortlessly. It was as if Aren's attacks were nothing more than slow practice swings.
"You'll have to be quicker than that," Kieran said, ducking under another punch with a light, graceful movement that felt almost like a dance.
Frustration boiled inside Aren. He struck harder, pushing himself to hit faster, but Kieran was always one step ahead, his movements fluid and unforced. With a sudden, smooth motion, Kieran caught Aren's arm, twisted, and sent him tumbling to the ground in a flash of controlled precision.
Aren rolled to his feet, but the ease with which Kieran had disarmed him, the way he barely seemed to be trying, sent a shiver down his spine. Despite the growing frustration, a thrill of excitement sparked deep within him. This was different. This man was different.
"You're strong," Kieran remarked, still wearing that same mocking smile. He released Aren's arm and stepped back, giving him room. "But strength alone isn't enough."
Out of breath and filled with frustration, Aren asked, "Who the hell are you?"
Kieran tilted his head slightly, the lollipop returning to his mouth. "Just someone," he said, offering a small bow before turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.
---
Aren's Home:
When Aren returned home, he closed the door quietly behind him. His mind was racing, and his body felt heavy, drained. He moved toward the window again, staring out at the silent streets. The cool night air filled his room, but the lingering heat of the fight still pulsed through his veins.
It had been another night of fighting, but something was different this time. Kieran. The way he had fought—so calm, so effortless—had shaken Aren. It wasn't just his strength that bothered Aren, but the way Kieran seemed to see through every move before it happened, as though the fight was already scripted in his favor.
He sat on the edge of his bed, replaying the encounter in his mind. No matter how hard he had tried, every punch had been avoided, every attack turned into a counter. It wasn't just skill; it was something else. Experience. A kind of ease that made Aren feel like a beginner all over again.
For the first time in a long time, Aren felt powerless. And he hated it.
---
Three Days of Preparation:
The next morning, Aren woke up with one thought dominating his mind: I have to be better. He couldn't let someone like Kieran walk away from him again, laughing. He needed to be stronger, faster, more skilled.
Day One:
Aren spent hours gathering information about different martial arts. He watched videos about Muay Thai's devastating kicks, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu's powerful ground techniques, and the stealth strategies of Ninjutsu. As he absorbed each style's strengths, he began to understand the versatility and flexibility of each form. But he wasn't just learning about martial arts—he was searching for the perfect way to counter Kieran.
Day Two:
He dove deeper into his research, reading books and articles on fighting styles. His focus wasn't just on the physical techniques, but on the philosophies behind them—how fighters approached their enemies, the mindsets that drove them. He thought about Kieran's calm demeanor and tried to imagine how he could break through that sense of control.
Day Three:
Aren watched hours of footage from professional fights. He wasn't looking for fancy moves but for strategy—how fighters adapted mid-fight, how they found weaknesses in their opponents. He studied every move, every counter, imagining himself in those situations. And every time he closed his eyes, he saw Kieran—dancing through his attacks, mocking him with that irritatingly calm smile.
By the time the first day of school arrived, Aren's mind was sharp. He hadn't just learned a list of new techniques—he had focused on how to fight differently, how to adapt, how to be unpredictable.
But there was one thing he couldn't shake: that lingering question in his mind. Who was Kieran? And why did he want to meet Aren in the first place?