Chapter 27: The Past Returns

Jackim's gaze darkened as he stared at the girl standing before him.

Melissa.

The woman who had once held his hand, whispered sweet promises in his ear, and then… abandoned him when he had nothing.

She looked different now—more polished, her clothes expensive, her hair styled perfectly. The scent of designer perfume lingered in the air between them.

Jackim crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

Melissa hesitated, her eyes scanning him as if seeing him for the first time. "Jackim, I… I heard about you."

Jackim smirked. "Heard what? That I was thrown away like trash and still survived?"

She flinched. "No… I heard that you've changed. That you're… doing well."

Jackim said nothing, waiting.

Melissa bit her lip before stepping closer. "Jackim, I—"

"Don't." His voice was cold, stopping her in her tracks. "If you're here to talk about the past, save it. I don't care."

Melissa's eyes wavered. "I made a mistake."

Jackim chuckled bitterly. "Oh? And what was that? Leaving me? Or coming back now that you think I have something to offer?"

Her lips parted as if to protest, but she had no excuse.

Jackim had seen too much, endured too much. He wasn't the same desperate boy she had left behind.

"Goodbye, Melissa," he said flatly and walked past her.

But just as he did, she grabbed his arm. "Wait!"

Jackim's patience snapped. He turned sharply, his eyes cold. "What?"

Melissa swallowed hard, her nails trembling against his sleeve. "I want another chance."

Jackim stared at her, unimpressed. "And I want my time back. Too bad we don't always get what we want."

He pulled his arm free and walked away without looking back.

---

Jackim didn't stop walking until he reached the rooftop of a nearby building. The wind was cold, but it helped clear his mind.

Melissa's return… it didn't matter.

She was a reminder of the past—a past that no longer defined him.

But even as he told himself that, something in his chest twisted.

Not because he wanted her back.

But because he hated that she thought she could come back.

"She only returned because she thought I had money now."

Jackim exhaled sharply. He had work to do.

---

A shadow flickered behind him.

Jackim's body tensed. He turned swiftly—only to find a man sitting lazily on the rooftop edge.

It was him.

The man who had appeared after Jackim's underground fight. The one who had told him he was weak.

Jackim clenched his fists. "You again."

The man smirked. "You've been training hard."

Jackim didn't answer. He was too busy analyzing him. The man was dressed in black, his posture relaxed, but Jackim knew better.

"A martial artist. And a strong one."

"You're different from before," the man continued. "More controlled. But still weak."

Jackim's jaw tightened. "If you're just here to talk trash, leave."

The man chuckled. "I'm here to give you a choice."

Jackim frowned. "What choice?"

The man leaned forward. "Come with me. Train under someone who will truly make you strong. Or… stay here and be nothing more than a street fighter with slightly better skills."

Jackim's pulse quickened. A real master?

"What's the catch?"

The man's smirk deepened. "Only that once you step into this world, there's no turning back. The enemies you've faced so far? They're nothing. If you accept this training… you'll enter a battlefield where only the strongest survive."

Jackim took a slow breath. He had fought to climb from the dirt. He had endured humiliation, pain, and betrayal.

And now… he had a choice.

Was he ready for what lay ahead?

Jackim's fingers curled into fists.

He already knew his answer.