Who is this man? What does he want? The questions swirled in my mind, but I pushed them aside. Right now, he was showing mercy to someone who had just attacked him. I dropped to my knees, and he let go of my fist. "My... sister is dead." I explained, my voice breaking. "The people responsible weren't brought to justice. I'm... losing myself." I paused, swallowing hard as bile rose in my throat. My muscles twitched uncontrollably as I continued, "I get this feeling, this feeling of hate. I want to bring the people responsible more pain than conscious thought can comprehend!" I slammed my fist into the ground, narrowly missing the man's toes.

He looked at me with a face full of worry. His eyes held a mixture of empathy and understanding that cut through my rage. Extending his arm gracefully, he said, "Come, get up." I reached for his hand, and he pulled me to my feet with surprising strength. His upper body strength was impressive, especially considering he was on crutches. As I stood, I felt a mix of shame and gratitude. "Thank you." I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. The man nodded, still holding onto my hand. "You're going through a lot, I can see that. It's not easy to deal with such loss and anger."

He explained, "Thank you for telling me this." He waddled onto the pasta noodles, his movements slow. "My name is Oren. Shop with me for a short while." He carefully placed the pasta noodles into his basket. I responded, "Sure." He shook the back of his head, a subtle gesture of discomfort. "Can you grab the items for me, though? It will help." I nodded, "Of course, sir." The bald man, who had been unconscious moments before, suddenly stirred. He rolled backward, regaining his footing with surprising agility. He jumped to his feet, his eyes wide with shock, "You caught me off guard!" I turned back, bracing myself for a confrontation. At least I'll be ready—Oren held me back with his right arm, his grip firm but not harsh. He handed me his crutches, "Hold these for me." I turned and took them, concern etched on my face. "How are you going to walk or even fight?" He explained, "I can use my left leg for a few seconds, at least." A few seconds? That didn't sound like much time. The bald man yelled, "You're gonna fight for this pipsqueak?" Oren didn't respond, his face set in calmness. Instead, he put up his fists, ready to defend us both.

The bald man dashed at Oren, aiming for a tackle. Oren quipped, "Predictable." With fluid precision, Oren pivoted and jumped, delivering a devastating flying knee strike to the man's gut. The impact was forceful, causing the man to spit out blood, which landed perfectly on his belly button. Oren landed back onto his left leg gracefully. He jumped with his left leg, hit him with his left knee, then landed back onto that same leg? What level of balance does he have? He then hopped back to where I stood, his movement smooth despite his apparent disability. The man clutched his stomach, doubling over as he vomited all over the floor. Why does it have blood mixed within? The thought crossed my mind, but I didn't dwell on it. A few bystanders, who had gathered around, were amazed at Oren's prowess, their faces a mix of shock and admiration, but none spoke a word. Oren took back his crutches from me, his face calm and composed. "Let's go." he said. I grabbed my shopping cart and followed him, leaving the scene of devastation behind us.

We shortly finished our shopping, and as we did so, I told him the rest of my story. I explained how I knew there were three people involved instead of just one. During the few weeks of my grief, I had studied my sister's diary in more depth, uncovering entries that outlined three people who had stalked her. She had wanted to go to the police but hadn't. Why didn't she? Many questions gnawed at me, a puzzle I needed to solve. Oren's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Hey, you have a phone, right?" His question jolted me back to reality. We were at the checkout. "Uh, yeah. The new iPhone 25 Max Pro." I pulled it out of my pocket and showed him. Oren raised his palm, "Can I see it for a moment?" I hesitated but then unlocked it and handed it to him. He quickly input a location on Google Maps, handing it back to me with a confident nod. "Go there after we leave. Nothing you or I have will rot." I glanced at the screen. A mixed martial arts gym? It had good reviews. The icon on the map seemed to pulse. Is that a new feature? I shook my head. I nodded, "Alright." As we finished checking out, the cashier gave us curious glances but remained silent. I loaded the groceries into my car, the plastic bags rustling as I arranged them in the trunk. The drive to the gym was silent and peaceful. I didn't hate having silence around me.

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I opened my car door, surveying the place. The parking lot was well-kept, and the name of the gym caught my eye. The sign that held the name was a beautiful gold. Gifted Martial Arts Gym? Is he referring to... that? I shut the car door, a bit apprehensive. Oren's car was parked on the other side, closer to the actual gym entrance. I walked over and opened the door, stepping inside. The gym was adorned with punching bags, speed bags, and various pieces of equipment. The air smelled faintly of sweat and determination. "Oren, are you here?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the large space. "Yeah, give me a second." Oren responded from somewhere deeper inside the gym. I zoned in on the noise, realizing he was in the back rooms. His voice carried a sense of purpose. "There should be a small bag on the left, it has some gloves and headgear. Put it on."

I looked to my left and spotted some cubbies. Sure enough, there was a small bag sitting there. I bent down and opened it, finding the items as he had directed. The gloves were worn but sturdy, and the headgear had seen better days but was still functional. I tightened the headgear, adjusting it until it felt secure. Then I wrapped the gloves around my hands, feeling the snug fit. With everything in place, I stood up. What was Oren planning?

Oren walked a few feet and, at the border of the mat, bowed. Following his lead, I stepped onto the mat and bowed as well. I had heard that this was a tradition in martial arts. Then it hit me—he's walking? I couldn't hide my surprise. "How are you walking?" I asked. He slapped the side of his thigh with a grin. "Under my pants, I have an experimental walking assistance exoskeleton." For a moment, I thought he was serious, but then he laughed. "I'm just kidding. I rehabilitated my left leg as much as possible, ignoring my right. I can hop as much as I need and can walk lightly with both for a few minutes a day." He has a weird sense of humor. "Well, what are we doing here?" I asked, eager to know the purpose of our visit. Oren's expression shifted to one of seriousness. "To teach you martial arts." A surge of excitement coursed through me. Oh, good. Yes, yes! He's strong; he can help me. The idea of learning martial arts from someone as capable as Oren filled me with hope. I haven't felt this in.. a while. This was exactly what I needed.

He explained, "The people you described are cruel to their core. They will hurt you in any way they can. First, we must make you able to take pain with minimal reaction." As he finished speaking, he pivoted and fired a quick left jab at my cheek. I staggered, my hand instinctively flying to comfort my stinging cheek. That hurt! "What are you doing?!" I exclaimed, shock and pain evident in my voice. He curled his fingers into a fist, his expression stern. "If you want revenge, you'll need more resolve than that."

Doubt flooded my mind. Should I do this? Do I need to do this? The initial fear and uncertainty began to melt away, replaced by a fierce determination. No! No, no, no! My veins pulsed as adrenaline pumped through my body. I will get revenge, no matter what! He can teach me what I need. I steeled myself and told him, "Well, c'mon then!" Oren leaned to his left and delivered a powerful punch to my liver. The impact was excruciating, and I recoiled, falling to my knees. His fists felt like steel! He praised me, "Good, now get up. I have much more pain to give you." Gritting my teeth against the pain, I pushed myself back to my feet. Every nerve protested, but I refused to back down. "Okay," I said, my voice stronger than before. I raised my forearms in a basic guard, "I'm ready!"