Dick had lived long enough to know that labels weren't always accurate. In this new colony, those who climbed the ranks weren't always the most experienced—they were the most capable. Mikey's inner circle, like Poure and Harry, didn't care about someone's starting position. They cared about what you could prove. Those who demonstrated power were respected, and those who failed to impress were discarded. Harry had once promised to follow him, but now there was a coolness to his attitude, a distance that left Dick wondering where the loyalty really lay. How quickly had Harry forgotten his promises? How easily could the others turn on him? The realization hit hard—this wasn't just a school of learning; it was a jungle where only the strongest survived.
Dick's thoughts remained dark as he trailed behind the others, each step heavy with the weight of his uncertainty. The haunting memory of his humiliation at the restaurant still clung to him, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. But here, in the field Mikey had carefully set up, there was a glimmer of something else: a chance to change his fate. This wasn't about fighting to prove his worth; it was about fighting to reclaim control. The opportunity was right there, staring him in the face.
As Mikey and the rest of the boys arrived at the field, Dick couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The field, lined with stakes, hurdles, and scattered weapons, looked like a battleground, not a training ground. The presence of bows, arrows, and long sticks made his blood run cold. He knew this place well, but it didn't feel like a place for learning. No, this was a place for proving yourself, for survival.
The other boys, far more experienced in the ways of combat than Dick, quickly gathered into groups, each excited to begin. Their skimpy uniforms left little to the imagination, and the air buzzed with the promise of action. Dick, feeling like an outsider, grabbed a bow and a long stick, but no one came to him. Harry moved among the group, carefully avoiding Dick's space, his cold demeanor telling Dick all he needed to know. In this world, there was no room for weakness, and Dick was seen as just that—weak, a newcomer who hadn't yet earned his place.
Undeterred, Dick focused on his own practice. He ran through movements slowly, deliberately, paying close attention to the techniques that Mikey had demonstrated. He may have been a beginner, but he wasn't blind to the ways of combat. His instincts guided him, and he felt himself becoming more attuned to the movements, more aware of his body's potential. It was then that Mikey appeared from behind the trees, his gaze sharp and calculating. Mikey watched Dick from a distance, his eyes narrowing as he saw the newcomer practicing. It was clear Mikey hadn't expected Dick to be so composed, so focused.
Without warning, Mikey moved with foot shot out, aimed for Dick's lower back. It was an attack with no hesitation, a move designed to catch Dick off guard. But Dick, lost in his practice, had no time to react before Harry rushed forward, a shout in his voice as he blocked Mikey's path. This sudden movement caught everyone's attention, shifting the focus to the them. Harry didn't know the plan of Mikey so he rushed forward to his front. In that moment, Dick felt the danger. His reflexes kicked in, and with a small shift of his body, he avoided Mikey's foot, the kick brushing past him and skimming the ground. Mikey stumbled, caught off balance.
Dick went forward to help Mikey to his feet because he didn't know his movement was intentional. But Poure intervened. With a forceful push, he sent Dick back.
"We don't help anyone here. No respect on battle field. Rule number one," Poure said, his voice cold and commanding.
The unspoken rule was clear: no one was allowed to show weakness, not even in the face of injury. It was a harsh world, where respect was earned through power and survival. There would be no apologies, no gestures of goodwill. To offer help would be a sign of disrespect and weakness to martial artist. And that, Dick realized could cost one something dearly.
Mikey, however, wasn't done. He was enraged, his pride wounded. Without a word, he grabbed a long stick, his grip tight as he prepared to strike. The swing came fast, the stick cutting through the air with a menacing crack. Dick, caught off guard by the speed of Mikey's attack, blocked it with the bow, the two weapons colliding with a loud clash. But Mikey wasn't finished. He pulled back, only to strike again, his moves swift and calculated. The force of his attacks left Dick barely keeping up, but Dick's instincts—sharpened by experience—kept him moving.
The fight was a whirlwind. Mikey's attacks came faster, harder, while Dick responded with a calmness that seemed at odds with the chaos around him. He stepped backward, bending slightly to avoid a strike, the motion fluid and almost effortless. The other boys watched, their murmurs of surprise growing louder with each move Dick made. How was this newcomer able to hold his ground against Mikey, who was known for his skills?
Harry, standing off to the side, frowned. Something was off. He had expected Dick to break under the pressure, to crumble in the face of Mikey's attack. But now, Harry was starting to wonder if Dick was more than he appeared. The way Dick moved—it wasn't just luck. Dick was trained, that much was clear. But where had he learned? Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Mikey's voice, harsh and accusing.
"You said you wanted to learn?" Mikey spat, his voice laced with suspicion.
"Yes, that's why I'm here," Dick answered, his tone steady despite the tension thick in the air.
Mikey circled him, his eyes never leaving Dick. "You can't deceive me, Dick. Your movements show you've been through this before."
A silence fell over the group as Mikey walked toward the far end of the field, his footsteps heavy. He opened a box, pulling out two swords—one for himself, one for Dick. The shift in the air was palpable. This was no longer just a training session. It was a test.
Harry moved closer to Poure, his expression tense. He could feel it too. Something was about to go down, and it wouldn't end quietly.
Mikey tossed one of the swords at Dick. It landed with a dull thud in the dirt, but Dick didn't hesitate. He rushed to pick it up, but in his haste, he tripped, his foot catching on the ground. Mikey's patience was wearing thin, his frustration building. He was no longer interested in teaching Dick. He wanted to break him.
Dick gripped the sword awkwardly, the weapon unfamiliar in his hands. Mikey was already closing in, his eyes burning with determination. "We need to do this once and for all," Mikey growled.
"Are we fighting now?" Dick asked, his voice betraying a hint of confusion. "You're my master, I'm here to learn."
Mikey wasn't interested in words. He charged forward, his sword raised, his fury unmistakable. Dick ran, his heart racing, trying to put distance between himself and Mikey's relentless pursuit. They sprinted across the field, the sound of their feet pounding against the earth the only noise in the tense silence. Dick's mind raced as he neared the anthill, the place where he had once faced Harry in a previous battle.
It was then that the plan clicked into place. Dick adjusted his position, luring Mikey toward the entrance of the anthill. Mikey, blinded by his anger, charged forward, his focus entirely on Dick. In the split second that followed, Mikey stumbled, his foot slipping, and he fell straight into the anthill.
The ants, a furious swarm, descended on him without hesitation, their stings sharp and unrelenting. Mikey's screams echoed through the field, but no one moved to help. He struggled, tearing off his armor in desperation, but it was no use. The ants overwhelmed him, their bites merciless.
Dick stood at the edge, watching as Mikey fought for his life. This wasn't a victory—it was survival. Mikey had chosen to escalate the fight, and now he had to pay the price.
Mikey finally crawled out of the hole, covered in bites and blood, but it was clear that the fight was over. He stumbled away, ripping off whatever was left and fleeing from the field in disgrace.
For a moment, there was silence. The boys watched in stunned disbelief, unsure of what they had just witnessed. Mikey, the leader, the one they all feared, had been bested—not by force, but by circumstance. By Dick's cunning.
****
Dr. Bin sat in his underground laboratory, the faint hum of machines and the flicker of dim fluorescent lights casting an eerie glow over his workspace. He had been waiting for this moment. On his desk, under a bright microscope, lay a small, curious specimen—a sample of sand taken from Dick when he had intruded on his privacy. This sand, seemingly innocuous, held within it a world of potential, and Dr. Bin was determined to unlock its secrets. He had already ensured that the door to his lab was locked. His fingers brushed over the key in his pocket, a small reassurance.