Three Blinks

A week had passed since Bruce Lee now living under the name Jin Lee stepped into the quiet life under the roof of the old martial artist.

Each morning began before the sun rose, and each night ended with sweat dripping onto the polished floors of the hidden dojo. Bruce had been training relentlessly, conditioning his new body with all the discipline of his past life. Push-ups on his fingertips. Shadowboxing until his limbs burned. Strikes against the wooden dummy that echoed like drums through the floorboards above.

The old man often watched from the doorway, shaking his head in disbelief at how fast Jin was adapting. Stronger. Faster. Sharper.

"You're rebuilding a blade that was never dull to begin with," he had muttered one evening.

On the seventh morning, after their usual tea, the old man handed Bruce a small envelope of bills.

"We're out of instant ramen," he said. "Go grab a few packs from the store near the corner with the blue awning. Take the alley behind the florist it's quicker."

Bruce took the money with a small nod and slipped on his coat. The cool air of Ansan brushed against him as he stepped outside.

He walked with quiet confidence now shoulders relaxed, eyes scanning without seeming to. The shortcut was narrow and lined with dumpsters, old graffiti, and crumbling brick walls.

As he turned the corner near the florist's alley, something shifted.

Three figures stepped out from behind a delivery truck. Teenagers rough looking, with dyed hair, scars, and tattoos. The middle one had a metal pipe across his shoulder. The one on the right cracked his knuckles and smirked.

"Hey, pretty boy," the leader called out. "You look a little too clean to be walking through our shortcut."

Bruce said nothing. He just glanced at them, his expression calm.

"You deaf?" another jeered, stepping forward. "Let's see what's in your pockets."

They charged.

First blink.

The first thug's punch was met with a smooth sidestep. Bruce's palm snapped out, crashing into the side of the guy's jaw like a piston. The thug crumpled instantly, knocked unconscious before he even hit the ground.

Second blink.

The second thug swung his metal pipe with a roar. Bruce ducked under, closed the distance, and delivered a low sidekick to the thug's knee crack. As the thug screamed and dropped, Bruce finished with a swift elbow across the temple.

Third blink.

The last one froze, staring wide-eyed. Bruce didn't give him a chance to run. He dashed forward, foot gliding across the pavement, and drove his fingers gently almost lazily into the boy's solar plexus. The kid wheezed, collapsed, and rolled onto his side in agony.

Silence.

The alley felt colder now. Only the wind and the shallow breathing of three unconscious bodies remained.

Bruce adjusted his sleeves, glanced at the ramen store just beyond the alley, and calmly continued walking.

Ten minutes later, he returned to the house with two bags of instant ramen and a small bottle of chili oil.

The old man looked up from his seat. "That was quick."

Bruce nodded, setting the bags down. "Took the shortcut."

"Nothing happen?"

Bruce smiled faintly. "Just a little exercise."

The old man raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

He had a feeling Jin Lee's name would be whispered around that alley before long.

End.