Warm afternoon light spilled through the halls of Yokosaki High, softening the concrete and steel into something almost peaceful.
Akira leaned against a vending machine near the lockers, screwdriver in hand, brow furrowed as he worked the jammed slot. The machine clicked, resisted, then finally surrendered with a metallic clunk. A can dropped.
Kenji whistled. "You really can't stop fixing things, huh?"
Akira caught the can before it hit the floor. "Better than standing around whining."
Nikki smirked. "He's right, Kenji."
Kenji scoffed. "He's always right. That's the problem."
Vincent watched quietly from a few steps back, arms folded, eyes scanning the hallway out of habit more than concern. The four of them laughed—soft, unguarded. A rare moment where Yokosaki felt… normal.
Then a crash echoed from the courtyard.
Metal scraping against stone. Voices raised. Chairs shifting.
Akira straightened immediately.
By the time they reached the courtyard, a small crowd had already formed.
At the center of it stood Miylen.
She balanced effortlessly on top of a lunch table, one leg bent, the other grounded, her bo staff resting across her shoulders. Below her, a first-year boy froze mid-step, clutching a notebook like it might save him.
"Didn't your mama teach you," Miylen said casually, "not to touch what's not yours?"
The boy swallowed. "I was just jokin'. Chill."
Miylen hopped down in one smooth motion, twirled the staff once, and plucked the notebook from his hands before tapping him lightly on the forehead with it.
"Joke's over."
She handed the notebook back to its owner, who stared at her like she'd just stepped out of a legend.
From the edge of the crowd, Kenji crossed his arms. "She's kinda scary."
Vincent shook his head. "Nah. She's real."
Nikki glanced sideways at Akira. "Reminds me of someone else I know."
Akira didn't answer. He just smirked.
That evening, the Genesis dojo breathed quietly.
Wooden floors whispered under Onori's feet as she practiced alone, her movements clean and deliberate. The Empty Arc flowed from her body—strike without force, motion without waste—but something was off. A hesitation. A pause too long.
Her father entered without a sound.
"Your form is perfect," he said gently. "But your heart's distracted."
Onori exhaled. "The new school's loud. Everyone feels like they're chasing something."
He nodded. "Then don't chase. Anchor."
The words settled into her bones.
Later, as she finished training, voices drifted past the open doors. Kenji and Nikki—arguing about music, as usual.
They stopped when they noticed her.
"You're really good," Kenji said. "That some dojo student stuff?"
Onori bowed politely. "Family dojo. You're… from Akira's group, right?"
Nikki smiled. "So you have heard of us."
Onori's lips curved. "Hard not to. The whole school talks about you."
They stayed longer than expected—Kenji showing off sloppy boxing stances, Nikki mocking him relentlessly, Onori laughing softly in a way that surprised even herself.
For the first time that day, the noise didn't feel overwhelming.
That night, Akira's garage glowed warmly against the dark street.
He was bent over a motorcycle, sleeves rolled up, music humming low. The familiar comfort of tools and grease grounded him—until a voice cut through the quiet.
"So this is yours?"
Akira looked up. Miylen leaned against the doorframe, curious, unguarded.
"Yeah," he said. "You new here?"
"Started today," she replied. "Not bad. For a city."
"You from the country?"
She shrugged. "Forest. No teachers. Just trees and cold nights."
"Sounds peaceful."
"And lonely."
She stepped closer, watching him adjust the carburetor.
"You fix things for people?"
"Yeah."
She grinned. "Cool. I break things. Guess that makes us a team."
Akira laughed—quiet, genuine.
The next day, sunlight poured into the Genesis dojo.
Nikki, Kenji, and Vincent stretched awkwardly in borrowed uniforms while Akira watched from the side, unimpressed.
"These pants are way too tight," Kenji complained.
"They're traditional," Onori said calmly. "Movement starts with humility."
Vincent smirked. "Translation: stop whining."
The dojo doors slid open.
Miylen stepped inside, bo staff slung over her shoulder.
"Heard this is where strong people hang out."
Akira met her gaze. "Guess you heard right."
Wild met calm. Mountain met still water.
Onori bowed slightly. "Welcome."
Miylen smiled. "Try not to go easy on me."
Around them, the air shifted—not with tension, but with possibility.
The winds didn't clash.
They found rhythm.
And something new began to take shape.