Ethan Park slouched in the back of the crowded Rosewood High school bus, the hum of the engine drowning out the snickers of his classmates. He stared out the window, barely noticing the blurred scenery as it passed by. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the same daydreams that always filled the empty spaces of his life.
He wasn't popular. He wasn't athletic. And he certainly wasn't a standout student. Ethan had long since learned to avoid the spotlight, especially with the way his peers seemed to find endless amusement in his awkwardness. His hands, which clutched his backpack straps tightly, were sweaty from the mild anxiety that never seemed to leave him.
The bus rumbled to a stop, and Ethan reluctantly stood to make his way off. He could already hear the whispers, the taunts.
"Look at Park. He looks like a walking disaster," one voice sneered, barely concealed behind a burst of laughter.
"Bet he's going to trip over his own feet any second now," another said.
Ethan stiffened, wishing he could disappear into the ground. But he didn't let it show. He knew the drill. Keep your head down, walk fast, and pretend it doesn't hurt.
His shoes squeaked as he stepped off the bus and made his way toward the school gates. Another day, another round of torment. But today, something felt different—he couldn't put his finger on it, but a strange restlessness gnawed at him.
It was in the small things that day. The way the air felt heavier, like something was coming. Or the way the old man at the bus stop had looked at him earlier, his piercing gaze boring into Ethan's soul for a split second longer than was comfortable.
The strange feeling persisted as Ethan entered the school, passing by the usual group of jocks who were now picking on some freshman. He kept his eyes forward, trying to block out the familiar sting of being invisible. His locker was just ahead. He'd be safe there, at least for a few minutes, before class started.
As he opened the door to his locker, a small piece of paper fell out from between the shelves. Ethan bent down to pick it up, only to freeze when he saw what was written on it.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message was clear:
"The pendant is calling. Seek your destiny."
Ethan frowned, scanning the halls quickly to make sure no one had seen him find it. He was sure the note had been tucked there by some random prankster, but the words felt… wrong. Unsettling.
Shaking his head, he shoved the paper into his pocket, closed his locker, and hurried to class. He didn't have time for this.
That evening, after the usual grind of homework and dinner with his single mom, Ethan sat in his room, staring at the jade pendant his late grandfather had left him. It had always been just another relic in a box of old family heirlooms—a symbol of a heritage that meant nothing to him. But tonight, something about it felt different. The pendant seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of his room.
Ethan reached for it, his fingers brushing the cool stone. The moment his skin made contact, a jolt of energy shot up his arm, and his heart raced. The pendant pulsed in his hand, and before he could process what was happening, his vision blurred, and everything around him seemed to distort.
Suddenly, the room was no longer his—he was standing in a vast, open space. The air was thick, like the weight of history hung in the atmosphere. Before him stood a tall man dressed in tattered robes, his long, gray beard cascading over his chest. The man's eyes were a piercing shade of blue, intense and knowing.
Ethan took an instinctive step back. "Who are you?"
The man smiled, and his voice was like a soft wind through the trees. "I am one of the Twelve. And you, Ethan Park, are the chosen one."
"Chosen for what? "Ethan stammered, his mouth dry. "What's going on? Where am I?"
The man stepped forward, and Ethan's heart skipped a beat. The world around him trembled as the ground beneath him rumbled like an earthquake. "You are the heir to the legacy of the Twelve Shadows. The masters who fought for peace, for justice, and for the preservation of martial arts. Now, it is your turn to continue the fight."
Ethan swallowed hard, his thoughts racing. This had to be some sort of hallucination. He was just a kid—what did he know about martial arts?
The man's expression softened, and with a wave of his hand, the space around them shifted. The air seemed to hum with the faintest trace of power.
"You have inherited the wisdom, strength, and spirit of twelve legendary kung fu masters. Their knowledge flows through you now, Ethan. You need only accept it."
Ethan's mind was reeling. Kung fu? Legends? What was this guy talking about? He tried to back away, but his body felt heavy, as though invisible chains held him in place.
"You have two paths before you," the man continued. "One is to walk away, to live your life as it is. The other is to accept your destiny, to become the guardian of the martial arts legacy and protect the world from the forces that seek to control it."
"Why me? "Ethan asked, his voice barely a whisper.
The man smiled again, though this time it wasn't a comforting gesture. "Because your bloodline is the key. Your grandfather knew of this legacy, and he prepared you for this moment. The Black Lotus rises again. They seek to resurrect the forbidden arts, to bring chaos to the world."
"The Black Lotus? "Ethan's confusion deepened. He couldn't keep up.
"They are the shadow that haunts the modern world. A secret society bent on reviving ancient techniques—deadly and destructive. But they will not succeed if you take your place among us." The man's eyes narrowed. "The spirits of the Twelve will guide you, but only if you are willing to embrace them. Are you?"
Ethan's heart pounded in his chest. This was too much. But deep down, a part of him something buried for so long knew this was the answer to his endless longing for something more.
"I'm scared," Ethan admitted, his voice shaky. "I'm not strong. I'm not… like you."
The man's gaze softened. "Strength is not a matter of body alone, Ethan. It is the heart that carries the greatest weight."
The world around Ethan seemed to shimmer and dissolve. He gasped, stumbling back to his room. His knees buckled, and he hit the floor hard, but his hand still gripped the jade pendant.
The vision had felt so real. He could still hear the man's words in his head. And then, as if to prove that the encounter hadn't been a dream, he felt a warm, tingling sensation spread through his body.
Suddenly, the door to his room burst open, and his mom peeked inside.
"Ethan? You okay in here? You look pale."
Ethan nodded, his voice shaking. "Yeah. I'm fine."
But he wasn't fine. He could feel something stirring inside him a power he didn't understand, but one he knew he couldn't ignore.
"From zero to hero," he whispered to himself, recalling the words from the note earlier. Maybe, just maybe, he was about to find out what that really meant.