The lecture finally ended, and Akshat and Aavya made their way toward the cafeteria. The halls still smelled faintly of disinfectant and old books, and every step sent sharp aches through his bruised body.
Inside the cafeteria, Alexander Vane sat quietly at a corner table. He didn't try to draw attention, didn't speak. Just… existed. When Akshat and Aavya approached, he looked up and, without hesitation, slid into the seat beside them. Akshat didn't flinch. Didn't care. The boy was harmless—for now.
The meal passed in relative silence. Aavya chatted, making sarcastic remarks about the monotone professor, and despite the dull ache coursing through him, Akshat found himself laughing. Alexander ate quietly, eyes flicking toward him now and then, but he didn't speak.
_________
Afterward, Alexander followed them out, keeping a careful distance. Akshat ignored it at first.
Until they reached the dorm corridor. Then his patience snapped.
"Why are you following me?" he asked sharply, spinning to face the boy. His left hand throbbed, his body ached, and his patience had been stretched to breaking.
Alexander froze, then dropped to his knees. Fear, awe, and desperation shimmered in his eyes.
"Please… Mr. Akshat," he stammered. "I—I want to be strong. Strong like you… like what I saw last night."
He swallowed hard, hands pressed together like he was praying. "I want to protect myself… to never feel helpless again. Please… teach me."
Akshat studied him. The memory of the previous night's chaos—every punch, every fall, every second he had spared—flashed through his mind. Yet in Alexander's gaze, he saw something extraordinary. Potential.
"You want strength?" he said slowly, voice low, almost a growl. "You're willing to endure pain, fear, blood for it?"
Alexander nodded frantically. "I'll do whatever it takes!"
Akshat sighed, running a hand through his hair. His body protested every motion, but his mind had already made the decision.
"Look," he said, voice rough, bruised. "I don't know special training methods. I don't teach martial arts. I'm not some master you can hire lessons from." He shook his head. "If you really want to get stronger, find a good teacher. Use your money—you're rich enough. Don't waste your time following me."
Alexander didn't flinch, didn't blink. His gaze stayed locked on Akshat, unwavering.
Akshat sighed again, frustration mixing with begrudging admiration. "Fine." He turned on his heel and entered his room, shutting the door behind him.
For an hour, he tried to ignore the persistent silence outside. Tried to rest. Tried to let the pain fade. But when he peeked through the crack in the door, Alexander was still there. On his knees. Waiting.
Akshat weighed his options. His body ached. His left hand was practically useless. Yet the resolve in the boy's eyes gave him pause.
He opened the door fully. "Alright," he said, voice steady. "Come in. Let's talk."
Alexander's eyes lit up instantly. Hope. Reverence. He rose carefully, stepping across the threshold and closing the distance between determination and opportunity. Something told Akshat this conversation wouldn't be quick—and somehow, he knew it was only the beginning.
---
Akshat leaned against the doorway, patience thin. "Why the hell are you sticking to me?" he snapped. "Go—take your admission in a dojo or whatever."
Alexander didn't flinch. His dark eyes gleamed, a mixture of desperation and stubborn hope. "I've… tried every martial art," he said, voice shaking. "Studied them all. Every stance, every form, every theory… but in practice… I fail. That's why… I get bullied."
Akshat blinked, taking him in. A boy so desperate, yet determined to keep trying despite endless failure. Part of him wanted to feel sympathy. Another part refused to sugarcoat reality.
"You're just dumb," he said bluntly, stepping into the room. "With all that knowledge… even a low-level thug could beat a kung fu god."
Alexander flinched, but no fear. Only fire. Stubbornness. A spark Akshat couldn't ignore.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Well," he said slowly, "what exactly do I get if I teach you to fight?"
Alexander met his gaze without hesitation. "I'll be loyal," he said firmly, reaching for a small bottle of soju on the table. "Loyal… until the very end."
Akshat raised an eyebrow.
"There's a tradition in my family," Alexander continued, holding the bottle carefully. "If a family member drinks a glass of soju with an outsider… they become bound to serve that outsider for life. I want to drink this glass with you. Please… accept it."
Akshat shook his head. "I don't drink."
A faint smile flickered on Alexander's lips. "Then let this be a first… with me."
Akshat studied him. The boy knelt there, unwavering despite his bluntness, fire in his eyes refusing to die. With a slow sigh, Akshat grabbed the bottle and sat across from him.
They drank.
The liquid burned as it went down, heavier than alcohol itself. A contract—unspoken yet binding—passed between them. Teacher and pupil. Master and servant. A bond forged through action, tradition, and trust.
When the bottle was set down, Alexander looked at Akshat with reverence and excitement. No words were needed—the promise was clear.
And somehow, Akshat knew this was the start of something… bigger than either of them.
He finally asked, "What did your family do?"
Alexander paused, then said softly, "Now… I am going to narrate my story to you, Master."
End of ch 17
To be continue...
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