Andrew hurried around his room, shoving clothes into his bag as fast as his hands could move. Fabric snagged, zippers rattled, and drawers were left half open—but he didn't stop.
His heart still hadn't slowed from the day before.
The dojo.
The dust-filled air.
The ancient scroll.
The Phoenix Style.
Today wasn't just another day.
Today… everything changed.
"Andrew!" his mother's voice echoed from downstairs, sharp enough to cut through his thoughts. "Come eat your lunch before it gets cold!"
"I'm coming!" he shouted back, fumbling with the zipper before forcing it shut.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and rushed down the stairs two at a time, nearly missing a step. The smell of warm food filled the kitchen as he slid into his chair, breath slightly uneven.
His mother set a plate in front of him, steam rising. She studied him the way she always did when something felt off—eyes sharp, lips pressed thin with concern.
"Slow down," she said. "You're going to choke if you keep moving like that."
Andrew nodded quickly and picked up his utensils, forcing himself to sit still. He ate, but barely tasted anything. His thoughts were far away—back in the dojo, back to the weight of Ryo's words.
Once you see it… you can't turn back.
Every sound felt louder than usual. The scrape of his fork. The ticking clock. Even his own breathing felt different—heavier, more alert. Like his body knew something his mind was still trying to catch up to.
His mother sat across from him, watching in silence.
"You've been acting strange since yesterday," she said at last. "Quiet. Distracted."
She tilted her head. "Did something happen at school?"
Andrew's hand froze mid-motion.
For half a second, his heart stopped.
"N-no," he said quickly, lowering his eyes to his plate. "Everything's normal."
The word normal felt wrong the moment he said it.
She narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. The silence stretched, thick with things unsaid—but she didn't push further.
Andrew stood up, chair scraping against the floor.
"I'm done. I have to go."
Before she could respond, he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
"Andrew," she called after him. Her voice had softened now. "Be careful."
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
For a moment, he wanted to say more. To explain. To tell her everything.
Instead, he nodded.
"I will."
He stepped outside.
Sunlight washed over his face, warm and blinding—and with it came a feeling he had never known before.
As Andrew stepped outside, he nearly collided with someone standing at the gate.
"Why are you always late?"
He stopped short.
Lia stood there with her arms crossed, pink hair tied loosely behind her head, a few strands already slipping free. Her eyes were sharp, impatient—but familiar.
Andrew let out a quiet laugh, adjusting the strap of his bag.
"Good morning to you too."
"Don't change the topic," she said. "If we're late again, we'll both get in trouble."
Without waiting for his reply, she turned and started down the street.
"Come on."
Andrew hurried after her, falling into step beside her. The morning air was cool, carrying the smell of asphalt and distant food stalls as they picked up their pace. Houses and shops slid past in a blur, the quiet neighborhood slowly waking around them.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Lia glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
"You're acting weird again," she said.
Andrew kept his gaze forward.
"Am I?"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "You're quieter. And… different."
Her words hit closer than he expected.
Andrew tightened his grip on his bag strap.
"I'm just thinking about stuff," he said.
Lia slowed slightly, studying his face as if trying to read something hidden beneath the surface. Whatever she saw—or didn't—made her look away.
"All right," she said after a moment. "But whatever it is…"
She shot him a sideways look.
"Don't do anything stupid."
Andrew smiled faintly.
"I won't."
They continued walking, footsteps falling into an easy rhythm.
As the street stretched ahead of them, Andrew felt it again—that strange sensation blooming in his chest.
Like a flame that had just been lit.
Small.
Unsteady.
But impossible to ignore.
The school gate came into view just as the bell rang.
Ring—Ring—
Lia clicked her tongue in frustration.
"We're late again."
She tugged lightly at Andrew's sleeve, urgency in her grip.
"Move. Faster."
They sprinted through the crowded corridors, the sound of their footsteps bouncing off the walls. Lockers slammed, students shouted greetings, and the faint tang of chalk and disinfectant lingered in the air. They reached the classroom door—too late.
The teacher stood there, arms crossed, sharp eyes sweeping the room. She raised an eyebrow as she spotted them.
"Late again?" Her gaze landed on Lia first. "And you, Lia… try finding friends who focus more on their studies."
Lia opened her mouth, then hesitated.
"Yes, ma'am," she muttered, a mix of guilt and defiance in her tone.
The teacher's gaze shifted to Andrew, narrowing slightly.
"And you, Mr. Andrew," she said, voice stern. "Put some discipline into your life. If you keep going like this, you'll regret it."
Andrew lowered his head, muttering,
"Yes, ma'am."
She stepped aside, pointing toward their seats.
"Now go. Sit down. Don't let it happen again."
They slipped into the classroom quietly. The hum of the students' chatter and the scratch of pens filled the room. Lia leaned over and whispered,
"This is your fault."
Andrew smiled faintly, his eyes drifting to the window.
"Worth it," he said.
Lia scowled, though the corner of her mouth betrayed a flicker of concern. Andrew's gaze lingered on the sky, pale blue and endless, but a restless feeling coiled in his chest. Something told him this day wouldn't stay normal for long.
The final bell rang. Students poured out, laughter and chatter filling the hallways. Andrew remained seated, staring blankly ahead. Lia tapped her foot impatiently beside him.
"Hey," she said, "are you even listening—"
A voice cut through the noise, smooth and mocking.
"Pathetic."
Both froze. Lia turned first, and Andrew followed.
A girl stood a few steps away, her blue hair cut neatly at her shoulders. Her build was strong—broad shoulders, muscular arms—more solid than most boys in the school. Confidence radiated from her posture; a faint, dangerous smirk tugged at her lips.
Without warning, she sprinted forward and leapt onto Andrew's desk, perching there as if it belonged to her.
Andrew blinked. "W-What are you doing?"
"Relax," she said, leaning back on her hands. "It's been a while, Andrew."
Lia's expression darkened.
"…Who are you?"
The girl's eyes flicked to Lia, sizing her up in a single, sharp glance.
"Name's Mika," she said. "And this guy?" She tapped Andrew's desk lightly with her heel. "He owes me."
Andrew swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. Mika's presence felt heavy, like someone who had walked through fights and come out on top.
Clearing his throat, Andrew tried to ease the tension.
"Lia… meet Mika. She's from the karate club."
Lia crossed her arms, skepticism and curiosity warring in her gaze.
"And when exactly did you guys become friends?"
Before Andrew could answer, Mika spoke, her tone casual.
"Last summer. He tried to rescue a cat stuck in a tree."
Lia blinked.
"…A cat?"
Mika smirked.
"He almost fell. I helped him down. After that, he kept showing up at the dojo to watch my fights."
Andrew scratched the back of his head, cheeks warming.
"I just… liked watching," he admitted quietly.
Mika gave him a sideways glance, amusement sparkling in her eyes.
"Yeah. Watching."
Lia sighed, shaking her head.
"So you like fighters now?" Her voice held a mix of annoyance and worry.
Mika leaned forward, her tone sharp but teasing.
"Careful. This one's got more courage than he looks."
Andrew felt a strange tightening in his chest at her words. Lia studied him a moment longer, then looked away, concern flashing in her eyes.
"Just don't get yourself hurt," she muttered.
Mika leaned back, her smirk softening into something almost playful.
"As we promised," she said, voice low and confident, "if I win the fight, you owe me a treat."
Andrew blinked, startled.
"Really? You beat the carrot from the Black Fighting Dojo?"
Mika nodded, pride glinting in her eyes.
"Yes. The fight was fun, but…" She rolled her shoulder lightly. "I went on a stretcher afterward. That guy hits harder than he looks."
Andrew raised his eyebrows.
"You went on a stretcher… and you're still standing here?"
Mika shrugged casually.
"Don't underestimate me. A little pain doesn't scare me. But yes… it was intense. He's tough."
Lia's expression shifted between amazement and suspicion.
"You're serious about this fighting stuff, huh?"
Mika's grin widened.
"Very. And Andrew? He's already got a spark. I can tell."
Andrew's chest tightened again—pride, nerves, excitement—they all tangled in a strange knot.
Lia shook her head, muttering under her breath,
"You kids… just don't get yourselves killed."
Andrew glanced at Mika, heart pounding.
"Then… when's our next fight?"
Mika's eyes glittered with challenge.
"Soon. And next time… I won't go easy."
Andrew nodded slowly, a thrill coursing through him. For the first time, he felt it clearly: his ordinary school life was truly over.