Episode 11: Shadows of the Past

Talent Reborn – Season 2

Episode 11: Shadows of the Past

The cold night air whipped against Haruto's face as Renji pushed the motorcycle to its limits. Their narrow escape from Reiner and the shadowy organization still left his heart pounding.

"Where are we going?" Haruto asked, his voice barely audible over the wind.

"Somewhere safe," Renji responded, eyes locked ahead. "We need time to regroup."*

Haruto nodded, pressing a hand against his bruised ribs. Reiner's attack still left a dull ache, a painful reminder that copying talent alone wasn't enough.

After what felt like an eternity, they pulled into an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Renji parked the bike inside, shutting the doors behind them.

"We should be safe here for now," Renji muttered.

Haruto slid off the bike, wincing as he stretched his sore muscles. He turned to his friend, eyes serious. "Renji, what the hell was that guy? He wasn't normal."*

Renji sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Reiner isn't just some thug. He's an 'Enhanced'—a product of the same organization that's been hunting you."*

Haruto's eyes widened. "You mean… he has a talent too?"

"More than that."* Renji's voice was grim. "He's undergone physical enhancements. Unlike you, he wasn't 'gifted' with his abilities. He was made."

Haruto clenched his fists. So the organization wasn't just watching talent users… they were creating them.

"And the worst part?" Renji leaned against the wall. "Reiner isn't even their strongest."*

Silence settled between them. Haruto stared at the ground, his mind racing.

If Reiner wasn't the strongest, then what kind of enemies were they really up against?

"We need to train," Renji said suddenly. "You need to be stronger, Haruto."*

Haruto looked up, frowning. "I've been training—"

"Not enough."* Renji's eyes were sharp. "You've been relying too much on copying talent. But what happens when your ability doesn't work? What happens when you face someone like Reiner again?"

Haruto exhaled sharply. Renji was right. Copying wasn't enough anymore.

"Then what do you suggest?"

Renji crossed his arms. "We find someone who can teach you to fight."*

Haruto raised an eyebrow. "You mean you're not going to train me?"

"I can help," Renji admitted. "But we need someone better. Someone who can help you break past your limits."*

Haruto hesitated. "And you know someone like that?"

Renji smirked. "I know just the guy."*

The next evening, they arrived at an old, rundown boxing gym hidden in the backstreets of Tokyo. The neon sign flickered above the entrance, casting eerie shadows on the wet pavement.

"This place looks abandoned," Haruto muttered.

"It's not," Renji replied, pushing the door open.

The moment they stepped inside, the smell of sweat and blood filled the air. Fighters sparred in the ring, their punches echoing through the room. Others lifted weights, wrapped their hands, or shadowboxed in the corners.

But one man stood out.

A towering figure stood near the ring, his muscles tense as he watched two fighters exchange blows. His sharp eyes observed every movement, his expression unreadable.

"That's him," Renji whispered. "Takeshi Arata."*

Haruto studied the man. Takeshi looked like he belonged in a warzone rather than a gym. His presence alone was intimidating.

Renji approached Takeshi, who barely glanced at him. "It's been a while, Arata."*

Takeshi snorted. "Didn't think I'd see your face again, Kujo."*

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't important," Renji admitted. "We need your help."*

Takeshi's gaze shifted to Haruto. His piercing stare made Haruto feel like he was being evaluated.

"This the guy?" Takeshi asked.

"Yeah," Renji confirmed. "He needs to learn how to fight—fast."*

Takeshi exhaled, unimpressed. "Does he have any experience?"

"He can copy talent," Renji explained. "But he needs to develop real skill."*

Takeshi folded his arms. "Copying talent, huh? That's not real fighting."

Haruto stepped forward, meeting Takeshi's gaze. "Then teach me."*

Takeshi smirked. "We'll see if you're worth my time."*

The next morning, Haruto stood inside the ring, fists clenched. Takeshi circled him like a predator, analyzing his every movement.

"Alright, kid," Takeshi said. "Show me what you've got."*

Haruto lunged forward, throwing a punch.

Takeshi dodged with ease.

Haruto tried again, using copied movements from a professional boxer he had once seen. Still too slow.

Takeshi countered with a devastating body blow, knocking the wind out of him.

"What the hell—" Haruto gasped, stumbling back.

"That's your problem," Takeshi said coldly. "You're copying moves, but you don't understand them. You don't own them. You're just a mimic."*

Haruto gritted his teeth. He had never felt this helpless before.

"Again," Takeshi ordered.

Haruto attacked once more. He moved faster, sharper, using the footwork of the best fighters he had observed.

But Takeshi countered everything.

After several rounds, Haruto collapsed onto the mat, drenched in sweat.

"Pathetic," Takeshi said. "You've relied on a crutch for too long. If you really want to be strong, we're going to break you down—and build you up the right way."*

Haruto clenched his fists.

This wasn't just training.

This was going to be hell.

To Be Continued…