Chapter 2 (Pt. 1)

The middle-aged man and his new student strolled through the wet streets of the city in the late afternoon, the fading daylight casting a soft, orange glow over the scene. Fresh snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, settling on the damp ground but quickly melting away into the slick pavement. Neither of them seemed bothered by the weather—it was a frequent occurrence in this part of the world, and they had grown used to the way the city breathed through the seasons.

Logan glanced up at his mentor, the man's face etched with focus, his eyes watching the path ahead. The air between them was calm but thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, breaking the silence, Logan spoke, "So... I told my uncle I joined a fighting club."

Marcus acknowledged this with a slight nod, his expression unchanged. "Good. It's a convenient explanation. Now he won't question why you're coming home late on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Logan chewed on his lip, mulling over the conversation. The sun dipped further toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of purple and pink. "...I suppose," he said quietly, sighing. There was something in his voice, a hint of uncertainty.

"Why are you sighing like that? We haven't even started yet..." Marcus's voice cut through the chilled afternoon air, his tone sharp, almost impatient.

Logan, walking a few steps behind, hesitated before replying, his breath visible in the cold. "Well... I'm probably going to struggle—" he began, only to be abruptly silenced by the hard stare Marcus threw over his shoulder. The older man didn't even bother fully turning around. The disdain in his gaze alone was enough to communicate his frustration.

"Listen here, boy," Marcus's voice was low but commanding, carrying with it the weight of experience. "Who doesn't struggle? What kind of excuse is that? Struggling isn't something to avoid—it's necessary. It's how you learn. It's how you grow."

He let the words linger in the air for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing before he refocused ahead. Without another glance back, Marcus resumed his steady pace, his gaze fixed on the road that led to the gym. He knew Logan would follow, even if the boy didn't fully grasp the lesson yet.

"Let's say, for example," Marcus began, his tone a bit softer but still carrying that edge of authority, "struggle could also be seen as effort. And effort, boy, that's life-changing—not just in my opinion, but in every sense of the word." He paused briefly, as if weighing his next words.

"When you were up against those two men... struggling to survive? That wasn't just struggle—it was your effort to live, to push through when everything was stacked against you. The universe... it smiled on you that day, probably because you gave it that effort. You didn't just accept your fate, you fought back."

Marcus stopped walking for a moment, allowing Logan to catch up. His eyes were serious but not unkind as he glanced at the boy. "That's what it takes, Logan. Effort—your own, personal force against whatever comes at you. It's the only thing that changes anything."

He resumed his stride toward the gym, his words hanging in the air like the snowflakes slowly descending around them.

"Thanks, I really needed that, sir!" Logan replied enthusiastically, snapping a playful salute with his hand stiffly over his forehead like a soldier reporting for duty.

Marcus glanced at him, his face an unreadable mask of exasperation. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, "If you don't stop that tomfoolery, I'll personally train you without the basics."

Logan hesitated for a second, blinking. "But... doesn't that defeat the purpose of train—"

Marcus cut him off with a raised eyebrow and a smirk that hinted at his dry humor. "Who said I didn't know that?"

"Oh."

"We're here," Marcus announced, breaking the rhythm of Logan's thoughts as they came to a halt in front of a large building. It loomed above them, with glass doors and a broad facade that Logan found vaguely familiar.

"Wait... Waaaaiiit... Isn't this the place where they host those tournaments?" Logan asked, his eyes widening as he scanned the building again.

Marcus glanced at him, unamused. "Yes. It's a famous place, so that shouldn't be surprising."

"I think I've been here before," Logan continued, rubbing his chin like he was piecing together a mystery. "I saw Karate or something?"

Marcus sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Shut up a sec, will ya?" he said before pushing open the doors and stepping inside.

Logan paused at the entrance, still processing everything. "Wait... we can just go in like that?"

Marcus stopped just inside, turning to look at Logan with a hint of a smirk on his face. "Kid, I'm the owner."

Logan blinked, the weight of Marcus's words hitting him like a ton of bricks. His jaw dropped slightly. "You're the—"

"Yeah. Now get inside before I start charging you rent for standing on my doorstep," Marcus said, his smirk growing as he watched Logan stumble through the doorway, still processing this whole new revelation.

As Logan entered, the gym unfolded before him. The floor was spotless, smooth enough to almost reflect the overhead lights. In one corner, a stack of mats lay neatly piled, while rows of lockers lined the opposite wall, their metallic surfaces gleaming. The space felt oddly calm, a stark contrast to the tension Logan felt building inside him.

Without warning, Marcus tossed him a roll of white tape. Logan caught it clumsily, noticing the tape was a bit dirty, frayed from use.

"Wrap your hands with that," Marcus said, his tone as blunt as ever.

Logan looked down at the tape, confused. "Wait, I thought we were going to do basic stuff, you know? Like weights, maybe some stretches or—"

Marcus turned toward him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Are you stupid?"

"Hey!" Logan protested, his face flushing with frustration.

Marcus stepped closer, his expression stern but not unkind. "Listen, Logan. Your only real flaw right now is that you can't fight well. Maybe you've had some experience... maybe not. Doesn't matter. What does matter is that when you faced those men, you almost lost because you didn't have the right skills."

Logan shifted uncomfortably, the sting of Marcus's words hitting deeper than he wanted to admit. "…Come on…!" he muttered defensively, averting his gaze.

But Marcus wasn't having any of it. "No excuses, Logan. That's why we're here. You're going to learn how to actually defend yourself, not lift weights and hope for the best."

Logan looked back at Marcus, feeling the gravity of the moment settle on him. He silently began to wrap his hands, realizing this was going to be far more than he'd expected.

Logan finished wrapping the tape around his hands, flexing his fingers and feeling the added layer of protection. He shifted into what he assumed was a fighting stance, rolling his shoulders as a nervous excitement buzzed through him.

"So, sir! What are we going to do?!" he asked with a grin, his voice brimming with energy. "I know some karate, ehehe." He scratched his nose, trying to appear confident.

Marcus stood silently in front of him, his expression unreadable. Without saying a word, he slowly began circling Logan, his hands still tucked in his pockets. Logan, oblivious to the subtle tension in the air, kept his grin plastered on his face, unaware of what was coming.

"We're going to—"

Before Marcus could finish his sentence, and without even removing his hands from his pockets, he lashed out with a sudden kick aimed at Logan's midsection. Startled, Logan barely managed to bring his arms up in time, blocking the strike with an awkward but instinctive defense.

"Hey! Why did you do that?!" Logan blurted out, his heart pounding.

"Checking something," Marcus replied, still calm and casual. "You've already passed the first test, it seems."

"Huh?" Logan tilted his head, still holding his defensive posture, confusion written all over his face.

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly in amusement. "Your reaction time is decent. You've got some experience, don't you?"

"Uuh... you could say that—" Logan started, but he was interrupted by Marcus again. This time, the man threw a swift arc of a punch, forcing Logan to quickly sidestep, narrowly dodging the blow.

"If you talk while fighting," Marcus said, his voice firm, "keep it short. Answers only."

Logan swallowed, now fully alert, realizing this was no ordinary lesson.

With the initial test over, Marcus finally removed his hands from his pockets, his expression growing more serious. "Alright, enough warm-up. Time to train for real," he said, motioning for Logan to follow him to the center of the gym.

Logan shook off the lingering tension and fell into step behind Marcus, still feeling the rush of those sudden attacks. They stopped in front of a large mat, and Marcus nodded for Logan to take his place across from him.

"Today, we start with kickboxing," Marcus announced, adjusting his stance effortlessly as if the act of fighting was second nature to him. "You'll learn how to use your hands and legs properly, with precision and force."

Logan's eyes widened slightly. "Kickboxing? I've never—"

"Good," Marcus cut him off. "That means no bad habits to break."

"Alright, let's begin with the basics," Marcus said, slipping on the focus mitts and holding them up. "Your first task is to get comfortable with your jab and cross. Start slow and focus on technique."

Logan raised his fists, mimicking the stance Marcus demonstrated. He threw a jab, but his fist was too stiff and his elbow was flared out. Marcus shook his head, stepping in. "No, no. Your jab should be quick and snappy. Keep your elbow in and use your shoulder to drive the punch."

Logan tried again, but his form was still off. Marcus adjusted his position, correcting Logan's stance. "Relax your shoulders. This is all about using your whole body. Again."

Logan threw the jab again, this time with slightly improved form, but Marcus still saw room for improvement. "Better, but your timing is off. The jab should set up your cross. Let's try a combination: jab, cross."

Logan nodded, throwing the jab and then attempting a cross. His footwork was clumsy, and he stumbled slightly as he moved. Marcus raised an eyebrow, taking the focus mitts away. "You're not keeping your balance. If you're off-balance, your punches lose power."

Marcus demonstrated the combination again, his movements precise and fluid. Logan watched closely, trying to mimic the rhythm. He tried the jab-cross combination once more, but his punches were still out of sync. Marcus stepped in, blocking one of Logan's crosses with the mitts.

"Your cross should follow naturally after the jab," Marcus explained. "It's like a chain reaction. The jab sets up the cross. If your jab is off, your cross will be too."

Logan wiped the sweat from his brow, frustrated but determined. "Let me try again."

They moved to the next drill: low kicks. Marcus demonstrated a powerful low kick, showing how to pivot on the standing leg and drive the kick with the hips. Logan attempted the kick, but his form was sloppy. He didn't fully rotate his hip, and his kick lacked power. The sound of his foot hitting the air was weak and hollow.

Marcus watched him, shaking his head. "You're not generating enough power. The kick should come from your hip, not just your leg. Try to snap it through."

Logan tried again, but his kick was still lacking. Marcus grabbed his leg gently, positioning it correctly. "Use your whole body. Drive through the kick and follow through."

Logan nodded, attempting another kick. He felt a slight improvement, but it still wasn't quite right. Marcus sighed, stepping back. "You're getting there, but it's going to take time. Focus on your technique."

Finally, Marcus had Logan practice some defensive maneuvers. He threw light punches at Logan, who was supposed to block and counter. Logan found himself struggling to react quickly enough. He missed a few blocks and had to retreat to avoid Marcus's strikes.

"You need to react faster," Marcus said, his voice firm. "You're too slow. Your reflexes need to be sharper."

Logan took a deep breath, trying to absorb the feedback. "Okay, I'll work on it!"

As the session drew to a close, Marcus gathered his equipment and approached Logan, who was catching his breath and wiping sweat from his face. "You did okay today," Marcus said, his tone softer but still serious. "You've got potential, but you need to focus on improving your technique and reaction times."

Logan nodded, exhausted but determined. "Got it. I'll keep working on it."

Marcus clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Remember, progress comes with persistence. Keep at it, and you'll get there."

Logan left the gym that day with sore muscles and a clear sense of what he needed to work on.

As Logan made his way home, the cool evening air helped soothe his sore muscles. His steps were slow and measured, his mind replaying the events of the day. He had struggled more than he expected, failing to execute even the basic kickboxing moves with the fluidity Marcus had shown. Every stumble and misstep echoed in his head, but alongside the frustration, there was something else—a flicker of pride.

"Man, I really thought I knew more," he muttered to himself, rubbing his aching shoulder. His feet splashed through shallow puddles left from the melting snow, the city around him quiet and calm compared to the chaotic energy of the gym.

As he walked, he reflected on the moments Marcus had pushed him, forcing him to confront his weaknesses. There was no sugar-coating it—Logan wasn't as skilled as he'd once believed. His karate lessons in the past had been more superficial than practical, and facing Marcus's no-nonsense approach had stripped away his illusions.

But strangely, he didn't feel disheartened. The training had ignited something inside him—a drive to improve, to prove to himself that he could do better. He thought back to Marcus's words: "Effort is what changes things." Those words stuck with him now as much as they had when Marcus first said them.

Logan glanced up at the streetlights flickering on, their glow casting long shadows across the wet pavement. Tomorrow would be a day off from training, giving him some time to rest and let his body recover. But instead of relief, he felt an odd sense of impatience.

"Maybe I'll practice a bit at home..." he mused, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.