"Knowing how to fight isn't just about knowing flashy moves!"
"They've lied to you if they say Karate is useless in real life!"
"To win, you must be fast! Precise! Fierce! You must strike quickly, and your kicks must hurt like blades."
In the city of New York, at the Martial Arts School
The coach's voice echoed as Jackson sweated heavily and threw a forceful combination of punches forward.
Swish!
The punch was straight, with his elbow slightly bent.
This was the most basic jab, one of the foundational movements the coach had incorporated into their martial arts, and one Jackson had mastered perfectly.
Without stopping, he took another step forward, tightened his fist, and threw a left punch.
Swish!
His elbow bent prominently—a more standard left hook.
This scene didn't stand out in the entire martial arts school, where about thirty students practiced combined movements in the spacious practice hall.
Some threw punches, others kicked, blocked, or stomped, all with firm stances and decent form.
There were even some students hitting the punching bags on the side to refine their moves.
For a moment, sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the sweat-covered faces of the practitioners.
Swish!
Without looking to the side, Jackson launched another punch.
This time…
The force behind it caught the coach's attention, who watched him quietly from afar.
Only after Jackson stopped did the coach look away.
"I should stop now." Murmuring these words, Jackson wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked toward the lockers to change clothes.
His full name was Jackson Dunbar, he was about to turn sixteen, and he was also moving to another city.
The reasons behind the move were destroying his life; the truth was he didn't even want to think about them. But…
"Jack, the boy's mother is outside the front door. Better take the back door, some guys are telling her you're not coming in here anymore." The coach, Yuri Boyka, looked sympathetically at his first student—the one who started this martial arts school.
"Does that woman never get tired? It's not Jackson's fault that her son took his own life after losing a tournament." Liam, one of Jackson's classmates, complained loudly, but fell silent when he felt the heavy stares of everyone around him.
"That's the truth, damn it."
"We all know the truth, Liam, even the police. Don't make Jackson's last day at the gym harder." Coach Boyka glared fiercely at his naïve student.
"Thank you for your support these past days. I'll come during vacation, so I won't be gone long." Jackson smiled, as if the situation surrounding him didn't affect him. But the truth was he was shaken—he had even considered quitting martial arts entirely.
If it weren't for Coach Boyka, whom he had begged as a child to train him, he wouldn't still be in this gym.
In the midst of his emotional crisis, he discovered there was no better feeling than torturing himself day after day with intense training routines just to stop thinking about his problems.
"Are you moving today?"
"Yeah, my uncle handled everything." Jackson had already said goodbye to everyone. Today, he had only decided to train one last time before moving.
A month ago, he was the undisputed three-time champion of the tournament of New York's five districts. His life was perfect—he even had a beautiful and charismatic girlfriend—but everything began to fall apart when the boy he fought in the final of the last tournament took his own life.
In his letter, he said Jackson had ruined his life—the humiliation he suffered in the tournament shattered his sense of respect—and since then, Jackson's hell on social media had been endless.
Now, Jackson was seen as a cruel fighter no one wanted to be associated with. Wherever he went, people stopped seeing him as normal.
Jackson even considered breaking up with his girlfriend to avoid dragging her into the storm of crap he was involved in, but she refused.
So, to prevent the situation from escalating further, Jackson and his uncle decided he should transfer to California, San Fernando Valley—a place where, according to his uncle, things would be less suffocating than in the city.
Jackson didn't doubt it. Besides, he had friends living in California.
"See you, coach." Jackson, without being sentimental, said goodbye.
"All right, don't forget to train."
"Never." Aside from his coach, friends, and girlfriend, Jackson had nothing else left in this city.
His parents had died when he was a child, and his uncle raised him, taught him karate, and since then Jackson's interest in martial arts only grew.
His girlfriend Mia, who was his age and studied at the same school, spent her time helping in her father's business. To tell the truth, it didn't help her at all to get infected by the bad reputation he was gaining.
Thinking about this, Jackson stopped walking and looked at his reflection in the window.
He was nearly 1.8 meters tall, wore a black T-shirt, and with the rest of his athletic clothes, he looked a bit slim. But he hid a toned physique, perfect for the martial arts he practiced.
At fifteen years old, with sharp eyebrows and a short buzz-cut hairstyle, he didn't need to be a monster to look like one.
"This sucks…" Jackson put on his helmet, looked at his motorcycle, and without looking back, left the gym.
This was a world where people judged others easily without stopping for a moment to consider their situation.
Since he was a child, Jackson learned to observe others carefully before judging or jumping to conclusions. But he couldn't expect the same from everyone. That was how things were—and he was okay with it.
If he was leaving this city for a while, it was because he wanted everything to calm down and for the people around him not to be affected by his problems.
Was it the right thing?
Jackson believed so, but his girlfriend Mia didn't seem happy with his way of thinking, which had triggered a strong argument.
After driving for a while, he arrived at a pizza restaurant. He got off his bike and walked in without removing his helmet.
"Welcome!" Victor, Mia's father, spoke before turning around.
"It's me, Victor. I came to say goodbye." Jackson left the helmet on one of the tables and tossed the keys to the man, who looked at him in silence.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Victor didn't blame Jackson, nor was he in favor of him leaving. But in this world, decisions had to be made, and Jackson's decision made sense.
"I don't plan to take the bike. You can give it to Mia—though I doubt she'll use it—so take care of it until I come back." Jackson was changing his life completely.
Leaving his world behind was difficult—painful, in a way—but he had no alternatives.
"All right, I'll look after it for you." Victor nodded, and before Jackson left his restaurant, he said, "Mia doesn't hate you for leaving like this, you know that, right?"
"Yeah, but I've already hurt too many people." Jackson left after saying that.
His relationship with Mia was stable, but after this day, he didn't know if she would still be his girlfriend.
The older guys at the gym said his relationship would end as soon as he traveled from one damn country to another—and in a way, it made sense.
They were young. Mia had a bright future ahead of her, and Jackson… well, he would just go with the flow of whatever came his way.
When Victor saw Jackson leave, he looked toward the kitchen and asked, "Are you sure you don't want to say goodbye?"
"No, we're fine." A weak voice came from the kitchen.
"Hmm… Teenage romance." Victor shook his head and went out to move the motorcycle into the alley.
…
New York Airport.
"Uncle Terry, isn't it nighttime where you are?"
"That doesn't matter—are you at the airport?"
Jackson answered his uncle's call and said, "Yeah, I'll be in California in eight hours."
"All right, I'll visit you as soon as I can."
"No need, I'll be fine." Jackson wanted to bother his uncle as little as possible; after all, he was now old enough to take care of himself in most things.
"I know, but I want to make sure you're okay."
"Yes, Uncle…"