The adrenaline from the night was still huming through my veins, but the cold morning air began to settle the dust. My shoulder burned where the bullet had grazed it—a sharp, rhythmic reminder that I was still human. I didn't go home. Not yet. I couldn't face Sophia's worried eyes or William's silent judgment while I was still smelling like gunpowder and damp alleyways.
Instead, I went to the one place where the world made sense. The boxing gym was tucked away in an old industrial basement, the windows thick with grime and the air heavy with the scent of old leather and dried sweat.
Ethan was already there.
He wasn't in his police uniform. He wore a simple black hoodie, leaning against the edge of the ring, watching a younger kid shadowbox. He didn't look like a cop. He looked like a man who carried the secrets of the city in his pockets.
I walked up to him, my movements slightly stiff. He didn't turn around, but he knew it was me. He always knew.
"You're late," Ethan said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "And you're bleeding."
"I handled it," I replied, leaning against the ropes next to him.
"The girl?"
"Safe. She's a doctor. She knew how to keep her head."
Ethan finally turned to look at me. His eyes were sharp, scanning my face for any sign of weakness. "You took a risk, Andrew. A big one. If that girl talks—"
"She won't," I interrupted. "She didn't see my face. And even if she did, she owes me her life. Doctors understand debts."
Ethan let out a short, dry laugh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small roll of medical tape, tossing it to me. "Fix yourself up. You look like hell."
I caught it with my good hand. For a few minutes, we stood in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the heavy bags in the corner.
"Ethan," I said, my voice dropping an octave.
"Yeah?"
"Look at me."
He sighed, finally giving me his full attention. I stood up straight, ignoring the flare of pain in my shoulder.
"You've known me since I was eighteen," I began, my voice steady. "You saw me at my worst. You saw me when I had nothing but rage and a set of grades that didn't mean anything to a boy who had lost his world. You've treated me like a partner, but sometimes... sometimes I feel like you see me as a younger brother."
Ethan's expression didn't change, but his eyes softened, just a fraction. "I do, Andrew. You know that."
"Then do something for me," I said, stepping closer. "If you really see me that way, help me get to where I belong. Give me the bridge. I'm tired of playing in the shadows without a purpose. I'm tired of saving strangers while the people who destroyed my life walk free."
The air between us grew heavy. This was the conversation we had been dancing around for years.
"I want the people who murdered my parents, Ethan," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "I don't want justice. I want a reckoning. Put me in the position where I can take it. I know I'm ready. I know I'm worthy of the place you're keeping me from."
Ethan stared at me for a long time. He wasn't just a mentor in that moment; he was a gatekeeper. He knew the path I wanted to walk was one-way. There was no coming back from the kind of vengeance I was asking for.
"You think you're ready for the big leagues?" Ethan asked, his voice returning to its professional, icy tone.
"I know I am."
"We'll see," he said, pushing himself off the ring. He walked over to a gear bag and pulled out a strange, weighted object. It wasn't a boxing glove. It was a Sepak Takraw ball—a ball made of woven synthetic strips, hard and intricate.
"Your game," Ethan said, tossing the ball toward me. "How's the progress?"
I caught the ball with my foot, flicking it up to my knee, then my shoulder, before balancing it on my head with effortless precision. Sepak Takraw—kick volleyball—was my secret life. It required more than just strength; it required insane flexibility, lightning reflexes, and the ability to move your body in ways that defied gravity. It was the perfect cover for my combat training. People saw a professional athlete; they didn't see a trained killer.
"I'm at the top of my form," I said, letting the ball drop and catching it in my hand.
"Good," Ethan replied. "Because if you want to move up in my world, you have to be flawless in yours. When is the next step?"
"Next month," I said, my eyes narrowing. "I'm going to the National Camping and Selection Trials. If I make the cut, I'll be traveling with the national team. It's the perfect cover for the movement you need me to make."
Ethan nodded slowly. "National Camping... that gives us a thirty-day window. If you make that team, I can get you into the inner circles. But Andrew," he stepped forward, his hand heavy on my uninjured shoulder. "Once you're in, the 'brother' talk ends. You'll be an asset. And assets are replaceable."
"I'm not going to be the one who gets replaced," I said.
The next three weeks were a blur of pain and precision. I spent my mornings at the gym, pushing my body to the breaking point. Sepak Takraw isn't just about kicking a ball; it's about the Sunback Spike—a mid-air bicycle kick where you have to flip your entire body and strike the ball while upside down.
Every time I leaped into the air, I imagined the faces of the men from my past. Every strike of the ball was a strike against the memory of the night my parents died.
Sophia noticed the change. She saw me eating more, sleeping less, and the way my eyes never seemed to rest. She would bring me milk at night, sitting on the edge of my bed.
"You're going away soon, aren't you?" she asked one night.
"Just for the national trials, Mom," I said, using the title that always made her smile, even though we both knew the truth.
"Promise me you'll come back," she said. "Not just the athlete. Come back... the boy I know."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. The boy she knew was already gone, buried under layers of scar tissue and secrets.
The day of the National Camping arrived. I packed my gear—my sneakers, my jerseys, and the hidden kit Ethan had given me. It was a small, encrypted device and a set of untraceable contact lenses that could record video.
William drove me to the station. We didn't talk much. He knew this was more than just a sports tournament. He saw the way I checked my surroundings.
"Andrew," William said as I got out of the car.
"Yeah?"
"Don't let the game become the reality. Remember who you're doing this for."
"I never forget," I replied.
I walked into the terminal, the Sepak Takraw ball bag slung over my shoulder. I looked like any other elite athlete—young, fit, and full of potential. But as I saw Ethan standing in the shadows of the platform, giving me a single, sharp nod, I knew the game had truly begun.
The National Camp wasn't just my ticket to a trophy. It was my ticket to the belly of the beast. And I was going to swallow it whole.