Jordan's mother laughed at the accusation, wiping her eyes. "No way, my son wouldn't do that. Besides, you're well-built." Her dismissive tone stung, but I knew I had to press on. I pulled my shirt back down, taking a deep breath. I thought of what happened to my sister, the images flashing in my mind. Her broken ankles, the pain she endured, the way she tried to be brave. Sorry to use you like this, sister. Tears started streaming down my face, genuine pain mixing with my desperation. "Please, ma'am! He's strong... he knows BJJ. Does he go to any classes?" She looked off to the left, avoiding my gaze. Her eyes darted around as if searching for an excuse, trying to convince herself he didn't. I continued, "He doesn't, right? Then how does he beat me up so well? He's going..." I paused, feeling the weight of what I was about to say. I had to make this believable. "He's going somewhere behind your back. I don't want to spread rumors, but he might be in a cult. That's where he could've learned BJJ."

She fiddled with her purse, her fingers trembling slightly as she grabbed for something but found nothing. The silence stretched between us, heavy and tense. Finally, she faced me, fire burning in her eyes. "Why come to me, huh? Why not go to the school?" I swallowed hard, feeling a lump in my throat. The next words would be difficult. "Because..." My voice cracked, and I had to steady myself. "I believe in your son. He can't be evil. He's beaten me up..." My voice wavered as tears welled up again, more from the sheer audacity of the statement than from the pain. "But he has to have good stashed inside! He has you for a mother, so..."

She slowly rolled up the window, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed my words. "I'll look into it. I'll tell him not to bully you." I watched her, feeling a flicker of satisfaction. At least she believes the bullying part. This is implanting something that will ruin their relationship. I bowed to her, showing my utmost respect, though I held none for her. You should've raised him better. Turning away, I walked off just before school ended, making sure to avoid another confrontation with Jordan.

Several minutes later..

Down the busy street, weaving through the throngs of people entering the bustling section of town, I pulled my phone out. The cacophony of city life surrounded me—honking horns, snippets of conversation, the distant hum of construction. I needed a distraction. Checking Facebook, I scrolled to Oren's page. His latest post showed him and Tony at the dojo, both smiling, looking proud. He's trained me well, but I have a sneaking suspicion that... No, I'm just being paranoid. I don't want anything bad happening to them. If Tony or Oren got hurt I wouldn't know what to do. They sacrificed so much time and effort to train me, to help me grow stronger and more confident. But if the cult somehow knew he trained me... I shook my head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. No, they already had an interaction with Jordan. It'll be fine. It has to be. The weight of worry still lingered, but I forced myself to focus on the positive. Oren and Tony had my back, and even though we were not together anymore, we were stronger than any threat. The city around me buzzed with life, but my mind was anything but.

Lacking focus, I bumped into someone, the impact jolting me back to reality. I recoiled, feeling their solid frame, and immediately accepted their raw strength. In my peripheral vision, I could see they stood taller than me. Turning, I glanced at the man. He wore a broad smile, staring directly at me with an unnerving relaxation. His two friends, both imposing figures, flanked him, their expressions unreadable.

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"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." I said quickly, hoping to defuse any potential tension. As I got a better look at him, I noticed he was young, probably around my age. He had shaggy brown hair and average features, but his eyes were what stood out—they were childish, almost playful, hinting at a mischievous nature. Perhaps he was even still in high school. His face showed a flicker of surprise for a moment before he composed himself. Pointing at me, he exclaimed, "You're that guy from school!" Don't tell me... He continued, his voice tinged with curiosity and accusation, "I know you. You showed up at school and nobody could find you. Not in any classes. Did you ditch or something?" I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and shot back with a counter, "School hasn't ended yet either. You're ditching too?" His smile vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped scowl. He tightened his fist, his anger simmering just below the surface. The street around us seemed to close in as I focused.

He threatened me, "Yeah, but I got a permission slip." His friend backed him up with a sneer, "Yeah, you probably didn't. Just give us a few fives and we'll let this go." This still happens in twenty fifty-four? I couldn't believe it. I made a motion for my back pocket, as if reaching for my wallet. The main bully's eyes lit up with anticipation. "Yeah, that's right." he said, malice oozing from his voice. In one swift movement, I made a middle finger with my hand and pointed it at him. "That's all you're getting." I belittled him. His face twisted in rage, and he immediately threw a right haymaker. It was fast—impressive for a small-time delinquent. But I was faster. I swerved to the left, feeling the rush of air as his fist missed my face. In a fluid motion, I grasped his arm with both of my hands and bent my elbow, brushing it up against his. The leverage was perfect.

"Stop, and I won't break it." I warned him, my voice calm but firm. He struggled, his muscles straining against my grip, but he couldn't escape. He mumbled to himself, frustration evident, but he clearly wasn't stopping. I have a high-level physique, and you're still a kid. Kids need to be taught some manners! With a swift, decisive motion, I broke his elbow. The bone snapped with a sickening crunch, twisting and contorting as I threw him over my shoulder. He landed square on his back with a heavy thud, his eyes rolling back as he passed out from the pain. His friends stared in shock, frozen by the sudden violence. His unconscious form lay crumpled on the pavement, a stark reminder of the consequences of crossing me.

The other two charged at me in sync, their movements surprisingly coordinated. I could see a spark of latent potential in their attack, but they were still untrained. As they closed the distance, I brought my arms in, gathering my energy, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline and focus. In one fluid motion, I extended my arms outward at an acute angle, throwing a sharp jab. Their guards were low, a clear sign of their inexperience. At the maximum range of my strike, I extended my pointer finger, aiming for a precise poke. They both leaned back just in time, dodging the full force of the blow. Impressive reflexes. I still need practice on the Poke technique.

Despite their quick reaction, the impact was enough to catch them off guard. They each clutched their eyes and yelled in pain, their balance teetering. This was my chance. Moving swiftly, I placed both of my palms on their faces, feeling the rough texture of their skin against my hands, and with a controlled force, I slammed them headfirst into the ground. I executed the move softly, ensuring I didn’t give them a concussion. They groaned in pain, completely disoriented and in no state to continue the fight. The street, which had felt so narrow and claustrophobic a moment ago, now seemed to widen as the immediate threat was neutralized. I want to believe in a good-natured humanity, but every single time I'm proven wrong. The boy’s childish eyes, the way his friends backed him up, and that cult. It all painted a picture of a world that was becoming increasingly hostile. Adjusting my backpack, I glanced down at the two groaning figures on the pavement. "Be grateful I showed you mercy," I said, my tone merciful yet judging. "you aren't my targets."