Ch-1 The Rise Of The Fist

The city was falling apart.

Screams echoed through the shattered streets of downtown Toronto. A massive, blue-skinned monster rampaged through the skyline, ripping buildings open with every swing of its claws. Its roar wasn't just loud—it shook the steel, the concrete, and even the hearts of those still running for their lives. Cars were overturned. Sirens wailed. Smoke swallowed the sky, turning it a dirty, lifeless gray.

Right in the middle of it all—

A boy, maybe fourteen at most, tripped and hit the pavement.

Dust clung to his cheeks. His wide, terrified eyes looked up—straight at the monster bearing down on him.

It turned toward him. Those glowing red eyes narrowed.

One step. Then another. Each footfall cracked the asphalt, splintering it like glass under pressure.

Its mouth opened wide—jagged teeth lining a dark, endless maw.

It was going to devour him.

And then—

BOOM.

A streak of gold slammed into the beast like a divine thunderbolt. The impact sent the monster flying through a skyscraper, which exploded in a spray of glass and twisted metal. Shards rained down like deadly snowflakes.

The boy blinked, coughing as the dust settled.

Someone stood in front of him now.

A man—tall, calm, cloaked in light. His entire body shimmered with golden energy, his fist still glowing from the strike.

He glanced over his shoulder with a smile that radiated ease.

"You're safe now, kid."

Then he raised his fist again, pointing it at the monster as it clawed its way from the rubble.

"I'm The Strongest Fist."

He turned back to face the beast, voice cool but heavy with resolve.

"And you… you're about to be judged."

He charged.

And when his punch landed—

BOOOOM.

Blue fire exploded from the monster's body. A shockwave pulsed through the city.

For one long, breathless second—

Silence.

Then cheers. Shouts. Applause. People calling out his name.

The boy could only stare.

He didn't just want to be saved.

He wanted to be that man.

He would be that man.

---

RIIIIING. RIIIIING.

Virat shot up in bed, groaning as he slapped at his alarm clock.

His small, cluttered room slowly came into focus.

"…It was a dream?" he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He sighed, sinking into the mattress. "Aw, man…"

Then he looked at the time.

7:30 AM.

His eyes snapped open.

"OH CRAP, I'M LATE!"

He jumped out of bed like he'd been electrocuted, threw on his uniform, and nearly faceplanted over his own shoes.

From the kitchen, a voice called, "Virat! What's with all the racket?"

"I'm late for school, Mom!" he shouted, flinging his backpack over one shoulder.

"There's no need to panic—it's just result day!"

He skidded to a stop.

"…Wait. Really?"

A smile slowly spread across his face.

"YES"

---

At the School Assembly

The courtyard buzzed with morning chatter. Hundreds of students sat cross-legged under the sun, the air warm with expectation.

The principal stepped up to the mic, cleared his throat, and began.

"Today, we celebrate academic excellence. And this year's top scorer is…"

A pause.

"…Virat Singh. With 97.65%."

The crowd gasped.

Even Virat's mouth fell open. "Wait, me?"

At the back, his mom jumped up, waving her scarf like a victory flag. "That's my boy!"

Face red, ears hotter, Virat made his way up to the stage. A modest round of applause followed. He shook the principal's hand, took his certificate.

Some kids nodded in approval.

Others just blinked, confused.

---

After the Assembly

Virat walked alone toward the school gate, certificate safely tucked away in his bag. A quiet pride settled in his chest.

Then—footsteps.

"Well, well. Look who's the genius now," said a voice laced with sarcasm.

Virat turned.

Salman. Tall, broad, with heat still radiating faintly from his right arm.

Beside him was Shinjuro—or Shin. Hands in his pockets. Shadows curling lazily around his ankles.

Virat's smile faded.

"97.65%, huh?" Shin smirked. "Shame that won't help you fight villains."

"Yeah," Salman laughed. "You can't even dodge a baseball. And you want to be a hero?"

He stepped in close, voice low and mocking.

"That's like a mute saying they wanna be a singer. Doesn't make sense."

Virat didn't respond.

They brushed past him, bumping his shoulder hard. His bag dropped. Books spilled onto the pavement.

Shin glanced back with a smirk. "Keep dreaming, nerd. Just don't forget—you don't belong in our world."

Salman chuckled. "At least, not the world of heroes."

Their laughter faded as they walked away.

Virat knelt down, slowly picking up his books. His certificate had a fresh crease across it.

He stood up, slung the bag over his shoulder again.

And then, softly—but firmly:

"I hope you both make it. I really do."

No anger. No spite.

Just truth.

They didn't turn back.

But Virat did.

And he walked on— Holding onto the one thing they couldn't break.

His dream.