A Drink, A Dream, A Disaster

Elion had no idea how he ended up here.

An hour ago, he'd been playing street soccer, buying groceries—and, oh yeah, surviving a street fight.

Now, he was here. Xylo Club.

Not just any club.

The bass didn't just pulse in his chest—it vibrated through his bones, making it hard to think. The neon lights flickered against the sweaty bodies packed onto the dance floor, casting shifting shadows over the chaos.

A girl in a tight dress stumbled past their table, laughing too loudly, while a guy at the bar slurred something at the bartender, waving his empty glass.

The air smelled like sweat, expensive drinks, and disappointment.

Meanwhile, Elion?

He sat in a corner booth, backpack at his side, sipping orange juice—grocery bag still in hand—like a lost time traveler.

The weirdest part? No one else seemed to think this was weird, and to be honest, nobody cared.

Raymond and the red team were dancing wildly on the floor, moving like tonight was the last night they had. People could mistake the shaking of the ground for an earthquake here. Still, nobody cares. Everyone was filled with energy.

Across from him, Jordan grinned, sipping his cola like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

"Dude, seriously? Orange juice? In a club?" Jordan laughed, shaking his head.

"Why not? It's on the menu," Elion shot back, then eyed Jordan's drink. "And you—aren't you the 'live a little' guy? What's with the cola?"

"Busted," Jordan admitted with a smirk, taking another sip. "I don't drink alcohol."

Elion blinked. "Huh?"

"Never have, never will. Gotta stay sharp." Jordan shrugged and looked more serious as he leaned back in his chair. "Who knows what else could happen tonight?"

That comment made Elion pause. What else might happen tonight?

He glanced around the club, taking in the chaotic energy of the place. The flashing lights. The moving bodies. The sheer insanity of how his life had flipped upside down in the span of a single evening.

For the longest time, his life had been a predictable loop.

Wake up. Work. Study. More work. More stress.

Repeat until emotionally numb.

A never-ending cycle of responsibility, like a hamster wheel but with less fur and more existential dread.

But tonight wasn't just different—it was something else entirely.

He had played the one true love of his life—football (not that he had ever been in a romantic relationship, but hey, priorities).

He had gotten into a full-blown street fight.

He had kicked a metal rod straight into some guy's head (which, okay, not exactly his finest moment, but also, come on, that was some elite-level aim).

For the first time in forever, Elion's life didn't feel like a routine.

It wasn't just wake up, study, work, repeat. It wasn't a to-do list of responsibilities he had to check off before crashing in bed, only to do it all over again the next day.

Tonight was different. Chaotic. Unpredictable. Reckless.

And the weirdest part? He wanted more.

Not the getting-chased-into-an-alley part. Or the nearly-breaking-his-foot-on-a-metal-rod part. Definitely not the part where he almost had to pay off someone else's five-thousand-dollar bet. But the feeling of being alive—of stepping outside of the safe, predictable world he had spent years building.

That realization hit him like a truck.

Maybe this need for chaos ran in the family.

His mother always said his father was an archaeologist. But the way she talked about him—the sudden trips, the constant moving—never quite matched the image of a guy carefully dusting off relics in a quiet museum. He was chasing something.

But what?

Elion never questioned it before. He had always figured his dad was just another workaholic who chased his passion at the cost of his family. But now? Now he wasn't so sure.

What if his father wasn't just chasing history? What if he was chasing the thrill of it?

Elion had never considered himself a thrill-seeker. He was logical, practical. He played things safe. But tonight?

He had fought. He had rushed into chaos instead of running away. And the scariest part? He had enjoyed it.

That was dangerous. Because if this was something he inherited—if that same reckless spark ran through his blood—then maybe his future wasn't as set in stone as he thought.

He absentmindedly stirred his juice, watching the ice cubes knock against each other, his mind still spinning. What else? What else was out there waiting for him? Could his life actually be changing into something bigger? Or was tonight just some weird fluke before everything went back to normal?

He had no idea.

But one thing was certain—he was about to find out.

Lost in thought, he barely noticed how long he had been quiet until Jordan's voice broke through the noise.

"Yo. Earth to Elion."

Elion blinked and looked up, meeting Jordan's curious gaze.

"What's up with you? You've been staring at that juice like it personally wronged you."

Elion blinked a few times. He smiled to brush off the embarrassment while leaning back in his seat.

"Nothing. It just that..." he paused before adding, "Ever have one of those nights where you suddenly feels your whole life just... flips?"

Jordan took a slow sip of his cola. He did not look directly at Elion but he was nodding. His action felt as if he had been in this kind of conversation a few times before. "All the time. Usually right before I make a bad decision."

Elion chuckled. "It's just—my life's always been predictable, you know? Studying, working part-time, just trying to survive. But tonight? It's different. Feels better."

Jordan smirked. "See? I've told you many times. You gotta enjoy life. We're twenty. We should be out doing stupid stuff."

Elion raised an eyebrow. "Like getting into street fights?"

Jordan grinned. "Hey, I never said all stupid stuff was bad."

Elion shook his head with a laugh. Then, he suddenly remembered something. He leaned forward and with a slightly lowered voice, he asked, "Now, explain this. How the hell did you fight like that?"

Jordan's usual grin stayed, but something about it felt different now—calmer, more controlled. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he swirled his drink, considering his words. Then, with a small smirk, he finally said, "Honestly? Even I don't really know."

Elion wasn't buying it. "Bull. You don't just 'accidentally' get that good at fighting."

Jordan chuckled as he knew his reply was ridiculous. He tapped his fingers against the glass as he was choosing his words. "True. But if I told you how I figured it out, you'd probably call me crazy."

Elion folded his arms. "Dude. You just fought half a soccer team for fun. We left 'crazy' two blocks ago."

Jordan sighed, looking half-amused, half-serious. "Alright. You know how after high school, I said I was gonna take time off before college?"

Elion nodded. They'd lost contact for over a year, so he never got the full story.

"Worked for my parents for a bit, saved up, and traveled," Jordan said casually.

Elion knew all that except the part about traveling the world. He waited for Jordan to keep talking.

Jordan lightly tapped his glass. Now, he looked like he was thinking about how much to share. "Some parts of this world are rough, Elion. Too rough. And unlucky me? I ended up in one of them."

"Where?"

Jordan exhaled, staring at his drink. "Well… I ended up in Arang."

Elion nearly choked on his orange juice. "You WENT to Arang? Voluntarily? Dude, even Google Maps tells you 'good luck' when you try to navigate that place."

Jordan laughed. "What can I say? It was cheap."

Elion stared at him like he had lost his mind. "Jordan, people don't go to Arang because it's cheap. They avoid it because they like breathing."

Jordan shrugged. "Yeah, well, turns out breathing was optional that day, because guess what? I got mugged."

Elion sighed. "Of course, you did."

Jordan smirked before saying, "One second, they were on me. The next? I was the one standing, and they were on the ground."

He exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his glass. "I didn't even have time to think—my body just... reacted."

Elion narrowed his eyes. "So what, like a superhero origin story?"

Jordan smirked, but there was something unreadable behind it. "Something like that and that was the best thing that ever happened to me."

Elion stared. "Getting mugged was... the best thing that happened to you?"

Jordan leaned back, stretching. "Yup. Because that's when I realized—I could fight."

Elion frowned. "What do you mean you 'realized'?"

Jordan took another sip of his drink, choosing his words carefully. "I mean... my body just moved. Like I wasn't even thinking about it. One second, these guys were coming at me, and the next thing I knew, I had taken them down. It was weird."

Elion raised an eyebrow. "Weird how?"

Jordan tapped his temple. "Like... instinct. But not the normal kind. It felt like something deep in me woke up. Like muscle memory for something I never actually learned."

Elion stared at him. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. 

"Nah," Elion said, shaking his head. "No way you just 'discovered' you could fight like that. Normal people don't just wake up and decide they can drop-kick someone."

Jordan chuckled. "I mean, I wasn't about to stand there and get stabbed."

Elion opened his mouth but then closed it again. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. The worst could happen at Arang.

They could kill Jordan before taking his things. But he believed Jordan never thought about this, and if he did, that was the reason he fought.

Jordan stretched his arms as if this entire story wasn't completely insane. "After that, I figured if I had a natural talent for it, I might as well get better at it. So I went to Thailand for half a year."

Elion blinked. "Thailand?"

Jordan smirked. "Thailand."

Elion exhaled through his nose. "You… trained in Thailand."

Jordan nodded. "Muay Thai, mainly. Picked up a few other things too. Turns out, I really like fighting."

Elion ran a hand through his hair. "You're actually insane." He could not believe what he heard.

This guy, whom he had known since high school—the one who used to skip morning practice because he was too lazy to get up—had spent six months training in one of the toughest martial arts countries in the world.

Jordan saw the disbelief in Elion's eyes and laughed loudly. "Yeah. I know. It's crazy, right?"

Elion didn't even know what to say. Crazy didn't even begin to cover it. And something told him Jordan's story wasn't over yet.

True to Elion's thought, the next thing Jordan said was even wilder than expected.

Jordan leaned forward with a big grin. Like an idiot. "You know what? That was when I decided what I wanted to do with my life."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

Jordan's grin turned sharp, his eyes glinting with something Elion rarely saw in him—pure determination.

"I'm gonna compete in the city's qualification for the Ring of Tarung."

Elion's brain stopped functioning for a full three seconds.

"The… what now?"

Jordan chuckled. "The Ring of Tarung. You know... It's kinda like MMA but with its own twist. More brutal. Less rules. But more money."

Elion looked at him in shock. "Dude... I know that. But, are you being serious?"

Jordan nodded. Multiple times. "Dead serious."

He then added, "They're holding the New Orleans qualifications next month. I'm gonna get in, climb the ranks, win the New Orleans Tarung—then move up to the state and then national, and finally…"

Elion already knew where this was going, but Jordan said it anyway—his voice brimming with excitement.

"The Grand Tarung."

Elion leaned back, fully processing the insanity of what Jordan had just declared.

Jordan wasn't just planning to join some underground fight league. He was mapping out his path to the very top.

"You're serious," Elion repeated, just to make sure reality hadn't glitched.

Jordan smirked. "What, you think I'd train in Thailand for nothing? I'm gonna make my way from the bottom up. That's way cooler than just jumping in halfway."

Elion ran a hand through his hair. "This isn't some video game where you just 'grind your way to the top.' This is real. People get hurt. You get hurt."

Jordan shrugged, completely unfazed. "I know. That's the fun part."

Elion wanted to argue, to remind Jordan that normal people don't just wake up and decide to fight their way to world championship status. But then he looked at him—really looked at him.

Jordan was serious.

He spoke with excitement, and his eyes showed that he was really looking forward to his plans. This was not just a random dream for him.

Jordan wanted to conquer the world.

Before Elion could respond, Jordan leaned in with a grin and nudged him playfully. "I will win the world title before I turn twenty-five."

Elion shook his head and laughed softly. "That's… awesome." He really meant it.

Jordan smirked and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pen—an actual, functioning pen, which, knowing Jordan, was about as rare as a solar eclipse for him to carry around. He grabbed a napkin from the table and, with an exaggerated flourish, scribbled something across it.

Then, with all the dramatics of a man bestowing a priceless treasure, he slid it across the table toward Elion.

"Here," Jordan said, tapping the napkin. "Might wanna keep that safe. In a few years, it'll be worth a fortune."

Elion glanced down at the napkin, unimpressed. Jordan's handwriting looked like it had lost a fight with a tornado. "Your autograph?"

Jordan winked. "Investment opportunity."

Elion let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

And yet, despite the sheer absurdity of it, Elion found himself staring at the napkin a little longer than necessary.

Jordan had a plan. A wild, over-the-top, probably insane plan—but he believed in it. Every word.

Meanwhile, Elion had… nothing.

The thought hit him harder than he expected. He had always done the right thing. Worked hard in school. Juggled part-time jobs. Helped his mom with money. He had followed the path that made sense, the responsible path.

But for what?

What was his actual goal?

He majored in Computer Science, focusing on Artificial Intelligence. On paper, it sounded impressive. He had top grades, professors who saw his potential, a future that was practically mapped out for him.

But was it what he wanted?

Did it excite him the way Jordan's dream did?

Had he ever even stopped to ask himself what he wanted?

Elion exhaled, sinking back into his seat. His entire life had been about surviving—getting through school, paying rent and bills, keeping his head down, making sure everything was stable.

But now? Sitting here, listening to his best friend talk about taking over the world, he realized something painfully obvious.

He had never actually lived. He had been standing still for years, watching everyone else chase their dreams, carve out their futures, take risks—while he stayed in his safe little bubble, doing what was expected.

And for the first time?

That thought bothered him. He stared at the napkin again. Jordan's signature—messy, ridiculous, barely legible—sat right there in front of him.

A declaration. A promise. A goal.

Jordan knew exactly where he was going.

And Elion? For the first time in his life, he had no idea.

Elion barely had time to process his thoughts before the air shifted. Not the music. Not the lights. Something was wrong.

A few people at the bar had stopped drinking, their gazes shifting toward the entrance.

And then—CRASH.

Glass shattered. A scream tore through the music. Someone barreled past Elion, slamming into his table hard enough to nearly spill his juice.

"RUN!"

The neon lights flickered for half a second, giving the club an eerie, stuttering effect.

"What's happening?" Jordan muttered, standing up straight.

Then, Elion saw it—a man stumbling through the entrance, blood running down his arm, eyes wild with terror.

Elion's breath caught in his throat.

Yeah. This night wasn't over.

Author's Note:

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