Morning came like nothing had changed.

The sun peeked through the blinds, the same city sounds echoed outside — cars, chatter, the faint call of vendors. The normalcy almost felt cruel.

Ryan went through his routine quietly. Shower. Breakfast. Backpack. School.

In the hallways, everything looked the same. Maya waved at him from across the hall, her ponytail swaying as she smiled. Arthur walked past without a word but gave a faint nod of acknowledgment. Leon called out "Yo, Captain!" with a grin that made half the hallway look over.

Ryan rolled his eyes but smiled faintly.

If only they knew what he was about to do tonight.

By the time the sun dipped again, painting the sky in amber and purple, Ryan stood in front of his mirror.

He wore his black hoodie, sleeves pulled tight over his hands. His black mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes visible.

His reflection didn't look scared. Just focused.

He whispered softly, "Let's do this."

The alley behind the school was quiet — too quiet.

The wind carried the faint scent of rain and metal. Streetlights flickered, their orange glow painting the cracked pavement in uneven streaks.

Ryan walked with steady steps, hands in his pockets.

[Objective: Destroy Hideout #1 — Damaged building next to West High.]

The System's text floated faintly in his vision as he moved through the back alleys.

The "damaged building" wasn't hard to find. It was a run-down old structure covered in graffiti — messages in red and black, gang symbols, half-faded warnings. One wall was cracked, another was half-collapsed. Broken glass glinted faintly under the light.

To anyone else, it looked abandoned.

But Ryan heard the muffled noise from inside. Laughter. The clink of bottles. The dull bass of a speaker playing somewhere in the background.

He crouched near a broken window and peeked inside.

Under the dim light of a flickering bulb, six or seven guys sat around a cracked pool table. Some laughed uncontrollably, some smoked, some snorted lines of powder from the table's edge.

Ryan's jaw tightened beneath his mask.

"They're all high," he muttered. "Out of their minds."

He stepped through the doorway quietly, his boots crunching faintly on debris.

That tiny sound was enough.

One of the men looked up from his seat, eyes half-closed, unfocused. "Oi… who the hell's that?"

Ryan didn't answer.

The man frowned, standing up, wobbling slightly. "You lost, or you trying to get killed?"

Before Ryan could speak, another voice from the back shouted, "Get him!"

And suddenly the room came alive.

Six men surged forward — clumsy but aggressive. Half of them grabbed whatever they could — pipes, bottles, sticks.

Ryan's heart started pounding, but his body didn't hesitate.

The first swing came fast. Ryan ducked under a metal pipe, stepped in, and drove his fist into the man's ribs. The impact thudded deep. The guy folded instantly, choking on his breath.

Another came at him from the left — Ryan pivoted, countering with a jab straight to the jaw. The man's head snapped back, and he crumpled.

The third swung wildly with a stick. Ryan caught his wrist, twisted, and kicked his knee out. The crack echoed through the room. The guy screamed.

He could hear Arthur's voice echoing in his memory — Keep your hands up. Breathe between punches. Don't waste motion.

Ryan blocked, dodged, countered — one move after another. The training Arthur had drilled into him wasn't fancy, but it worked.

Still, it wasn't easy.

A pipe caught his shoulder. A fist grazed his cheek. His ribs burned. But he didn't stop.

His punches came sharper now — focused, brutal. One. Two. A hook. A cross. Elbow.

By the time the fight ended, six men lay sprawled on the ground — unconscious or groaning weakly.

Ryan stood in the middle of the chaos, chest heaving, his hoodie torn at the sleeve. His knuckles were red and trembling, his breath coming out in rough bursts.

The smell of smoke and sweat filled the air. The bulb above flickered, buzzing faintly.

He looked around at the mess, breathing heavily. "Didn't want to do this," he muttered, wiping his face with his sleeve. "But it's either hit or get hit."

He took a slow step toward the exit — and froze.

A voice came from behind. Calm. Cold. Confident.

"Oh? A guest decided to visit us tonight?"

Ryan turned fast, fists up again.

Footsteps echoed slowly from the back of the room.

A tall figure emerged from the shadows, his face half-lit by the dying bulb. He wore a black leather jacket, his hands wrapped in tight white bandages. His eyes gleamed sharp — focused and predatory. A faint smirk curved his lips as he tilted his head slightly.

"Didn't expect company," the man said, voice smooth but dangerous. "You must be the one who's been messing with our spots."

Ryan didn't reply. His chest tightened. The man's presence alone made the air heavier.

[System Alert: Unknown enemy detected. Estimated Rank — B.]

Ryan's eyes widened. B-rank?

The man stepped closer, boots echoing softly against the cracked tiles. His steps were steady. Controlled. A fighter's walk.

"Not bad work you did here," the man said, glancing lazily at the bodies. "But these guys were trash anyway. You want a real fight?"

Ryan's jaw tightened. "If I say no, you'll let me go?"

The man chuckled — a low, dark laugh. "Not a chance."

He rolled his shoulders, leather creaking faintly. "You've got guts. But guts won't save you from getting broken."

Ryan steadied his breath, shifting into his stance. "Guess we'll find out."

The man smiled wider. "We will."

He moved first — and fast.

Ryan barely had time to react. The man's fist came in like a blur. Ryan brought his arms up to block, but the impact slammed into him like a hammer. The shock ran through his bones, knocking him back a step.

The air felt heavier now.

The man's eyes glinted, sharp and excited. "Good reflexes."

Ryan inhaled, forcing his body to steady. His heart was pounding, adrenaline burning through his veins.

The man shifted into a stance Ryan recognized instantly — Kyokushin Karate. Low guard. Tight core. Power balanced perfectly.

Ryan muttered under his breath, "Perfect… a professional fighter."

The man smirked faintly. "Show me what you've got, kid."

Ryan didn't answer.

The flickering bulb cast brief flashes of light across the cracked walls. Dust floated in the air. The sound of the man's breath filled the silence.

Ryan's fingers tightened into fists. His pulse slowed. His stance lowered.

And just like that —

The real fight began.

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