Rain tapped softly against the school windows, painting streaks of gray over the fading afternoon light. Inside classroom 2-B, laughter echoed, conversations clashed, and the energy of youth filled the air.
But near the back, by the window, sat a boy untouched by the noise.
Kael Hiroshi.
His uniform was neat. His posture relaxed but disciplined. While others scrolled through their phones or scribbled last-minute homework, Kael simply stared out the window, eyes following the falling rain. He looked like someone deep in thought or perhaps, someone trying not to think at all.
He barely spoke. Never stood out. Most classmates barely remembered his name. Teachers often skipped over him, assuming he'd never raise his hand anyway.
But that was exactly how Kael liked it.
Because Kael was not normal.
He had memorized the human body's 108 pressure points before he turned thirteen. He could silence a man in three strikes. Disarm a weapon mid-swing. Disappear into blind spots with steps trained through years of shadow sparring.
But no one knew.
He made sure of that.
...
"Oi, Kael."
A voice broke through the noise. It was Rin Ayami, the only person in the class who spoke to him like he mattered. She leaned over her desk with a quick smile, her sharp brown eyes full of curiosity and energy.
"You coming to the martial arts club tryouts this weekend?"
Kael gave her a small smile. "Not really my thing."
Rin rolled her eyes. "You say that, but I swear I've seen you move like some kind of ninja. You dodged that soccer ball yesterday without even looking!"
"Lucky reflex," Kael replied coolly.
She stared at him for a moment longer, her smile softening a little, like she could see past the mask if only for a second. But then the bell rang, cutting the moment short.
Kael exhaled softly. That was close.
...
After school, Kael took the long path home through side streets, narrow alleyways, and quiet parks where the world forgot to look. He walked with practiced ease, posture relaxed, but every step precise. Every sound, every shadow, mapped in his mind.
By the time he reached the old apartment complex where he lived alone, night had fallen.
Inside his room bare, clean, and silent Kael locked the door and removed his uniform. Beneath it was a weighted vest, unseen and unnoticed. He set it down, stepped onto the hardwood floor, and closed his eyes.
He moved.
Like wind through leaves. Like water rippling through stone.
Shadow Fang Style, Form I: Ghost Breath.
Shadow Fang Style, Form III: Broken Moon.
Every movement flowed into the next, fluid and sharp, calm and deadly.
His grandfather's voice echoed faintly in memory.
"You don't fight to win, Kael. You fight so no one has to."
But Kael had stopped believing in that long ago.
He fought only when he had no choice.
...
And far above, across the city, a pair of eyes watched a glowing monitor. Grainy surveillance footage zoomed in on Kael's dodge from the soccer field.
A quiet voice murmured, "Target identified. He's alive."
And the hunt began.