That night, Master Kangfu spent almost the entire night admonishing Harry. The lamp in the chamber burned low, its flame trembling whenever the wind slipped through the narrow window. Shadows climbed the walls and sank again as Kangfu paced. “Do not react to any provocation,” he said, stopping suddenly in front of Harry. His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. “Not with your words. Not with your body. Do your best not to lose your cool.”

  Harry stood straight, hands at his sides. The rubber glove on his left hand felt heavier than usual. “On no situation,” Kangfu continued, leaning closer, “should you pull off the plastic before a fight. Not even if they mock you. Not even if they strike you first.”

  Harry nodded. Once. Then again. He didn’t speak. He had learned that silence pleased the master more than promises. Kangfu studied his face, as if searching for cracks. Finding none, he reached out and patted Harry’s head, rough but brief. “Good boy.”

  Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  When morning came, the bell rang earlier than usual. Its sound rolled across the academy, heavy and final. All proceeding students were gathered before Master Kangfu in the outer yard. Their faces were drawn tight with excitement and fear, eyes darting toward the massive inner gate.

  Master Kangfu stood before them, hands clasped behind his back. “Follow me,” he said. The gate creaked as it opened.

  Beyond it stood the Level Two walls. Taller. Thicker. The stone was darker, older. As they stepped through, another master awaited them. His robes were yellow, edged with black.

  “Welcome,” he said, his voice smooth and distant, “to the Yellow Belt, champions.”

  Smiles broke out like sparks. Some students clenched their fists in triumph. Others laughed quietly, disbelief shining in their eyes.

  “I am Master Fen Xin. I will be your instructor all your stay in level two.”

  As the big gate swung closed behind them with a deep, echoing boom, Master Kangfu exhaled sharply. He remained standing on the other side, staring at the stone as if he could see through it. His fingers tightened inside his sleeves.

  He knew it would take nothing short of a miracle for Harry not to be exposed. He knew the boy had a short temper and the desire to show himself worthy. “I hope he hides long enough,” he whispered.

  Inside the walls, Master Fen led them onward. “You will rest now,” he said without slowing his pace. “By evening, your journey in Level Two begins.”

  They were led into the Level Two students’ quarters. The room was larger than the white belt hall, lined with sturdy beds and narrow lockers. Sunlight spilled through high windows.

  The students nodded obediently as Master Fen turned and left. The door had barely closed when footsteps echoed down the corridor again.

  Louder. Heavier. Harry was folding his things neatly when voices drifted in, sharp with amusement.

  Kelly entered first. Behind him came a group of older Level Two students, their yellow belts worn loose, confidence draped over them like armor. Their eyes scanned the room, lingering on fresh faces.

  Then they saw Harry. “Well, well,” Kelly said, clapping his hands once. “Harry Jones. You finally made it to level two.”

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  A few of the boys laughed. Harry didn’t look up. He continued folding his clothes, smoothing the fabric carefully. “Thank the gods you met me,” Kelly went on, circling him. “I still have one more badge to proceed.”

  No one answered. Kelly’s smile vanished. “None of you will have bed,” he growled.

  He snapped his fingers. His boys surged forward, shoving students away from the beds. Some stumbled. One fell hard against a locker. Panic spread fast.

  “Please,” someone cried. Another dropped to his knees. “We just arrived.” Harry stepped back, calm, his back against his bed. He said nothing.

  Kelly’s eyes flicked to him. Then he nodded slowly. “If you want your bed,” he said, his voice sweet, “you must earn it.”

  The room fell silent. “If any of you can get me down in one move,” Kelly continued, spreading his arms, “all of you will sleep comfortably on your bed tonight.”

  Stomachs churned. Everyone knew Kelly. King of Level Two. The first among his set to obtain nine badges. One away from Level Three. His reputation walked ahead of him.

  Still, one student stepped forward. He threw a punch. Kelly swayed aside and struck once. The boy dropped, his jaw slack.

  The second rushed him with a shout. Kelly’s fist met his eye. He screamed and fell. The third barely raised his hands before Kelly nodded his head into his face. He crumpled.

  The fourth’s nose broke with a wet crack. Blood spilled freely. The fifth collapsed when Kelly’s blow landed squarely on his chest. After that, no one moved. “Anyone else?” Kelly asked, smiling, arms wide.

  Silence answered him.

  “Very well,” Kelly said. “I’ll take your beds.” His boys dragged them away as sobs filled the room. Harry watched. Quiet. Still. The nightmare had begun.

  Harry gritted his teeth and stood up. The room shifted. Kelly’s eyes fell on him immediately. The laughter died halfway on his lips, turning sharp instead of loud. He tilted his head, slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to be sure of what he was seeing.

  “What now?” he asked. His voice carried easily across the room. “You want to try?” Harry didn’t respond. He stepped forward, his fists clenched.

  The floor creaked under his feet. One step. Then another. He stopped a few paces from Kelly, standing straight, shoulders square.

  “Well then, let’s have it.”

  For a heartbeat, the room forgot how to breathe.

  Then Kelly burst into laughter, loud and mocking, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. He slapped his thigh, shaking his head as if he had just heard the best joke of his life.

  “Your mistress of a mother gave birth to you with one-time sex with the Astania's king,” Kelly said, stepping closer, his grin cruel and wide. “And now I will kill you with one blow. Maybe you think I have forgotten what you did to Andy.”

  The words landed. Something inside Harry snapped. Insulting the mother he never knew has always touched the deepest part of his soul.

  Not slowly. Not with warning. It was sharp. Clean. Final. The rubber covering his left hand trembled. A low hum rolled beneath it, deep and restless, like something waking up after a long sleep. Harry’s jaw tightened. His breath slowed instead of quickening.

  “You are a dead man,” he growled. The sound of his voice made a few of the boys flinch. Kelly stopped laughing.

  He stepped closer, invading Harry’s space, his chest rising and falling with confidence. Harry didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Come on,” Kelly said, spreading his arms slightly. “Let me see what you got.”

  Harry shook his head once. “You would want to try first.” The words were calm. Almost polite. Kelly’s face darkened. The insult sank in.

  Muscles bunched beneath his robe. Veins stood out on his neck as he gathered his strength, feet digging into the stone floor. He twisted his waist and drove forward, his fist cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.

  Harry didn’t dodge. He didn’t step back. He raised his fist and blocked the blow. The impact cracked through the room. Kelly’s fingers bent at angles fingers were never meant to bend. The sound was dry and brittle, like snapping twigs.

  “Ahhh!”

  Kelly screamed, staggering back, clutching his hand. Pain exploded across his face, wiping away every trace of arrogance. Harry moved. Before the scream could fully leave Kelly’s throat, Harry stepped in and punched him.

  There was no flourish. No wasted motion. The blow landed. Kelly flew.

  His body smashed into the nearby wall, stone shuddering under the force. His back hit first, then his head. The sound echoed, deep and sickening. He slid down slowly, bones cracking as he collapsed onto the floor.

  Silence swallowed the room.

  The new boys drew backward, their feet scraping against the ground. Some stumbled over each other. Eyes wide. Mouths open. Fear spread faster than words ever could. Kelly’s boys stared in disbelief. Harry turned to them.

  His eyes glowed. Not bright. Not blinding. Just enough. Enough to make the air feel wrong. Enough to make their knees weaken. They didn’t wait.

  They bolted. The beds were abandoned where they stood, half-dragged, legs scraping loudly as the boys fled the room. Their footsteps faded down the corridor, panic trailing behind them like smoke.

  “Whoa!” The new boys stared at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. “He got him down in one move.” Whispers rippled through the room, shaky and awed.

  Kelly lay on the floor, chest barely rising. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes fluttered open and shut, struggling to focus.

  Harry stepped closer. Each footstep sounded heavier than the last. Kelly’s gaze locked onto him. His lips trembled.

  “Who.” he coughed, pain twisting his face. “Who are you? Your punch. Your eyes. You are a monster.”

  Harry stopped in front of him. The hum beneath the plastic glove faded, retreating into a low, steady pulse. His eyes dimmed, returning to normal.

  “I am Harry Jones,” he said quietly. Kelly swallowed, fear replacing defiance.

  Harry looked around the room, at the scattered beds, the shaken faces, the boys clutching themselves where they had been struck earlier. He bent down, picked up one of the beds, and set it back in place. “Take your beds,” he said.

  No one argued. No one hesitated. They moved quickly, silently, as if afraid the moment would break if they spoke.

  Harry turned back to Kelly. “Do not come near us again,” he said. “If you do.” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. Kelly’s eyes closed. The room remained silent long after.