As the pillar of flames slowly vanished and the scorched ground remained, Shen looked at the man standing before him.
"I must admire your entrance, Warden of Fire. What a scandalous arrival," he said with a sneer. "You've only just tapped into your powers, and you won't stand a chance against me and the power of metal. Let me show your sensei that you're nothing more than a brick I'll turn to dust."
Guztav's smile widened.
"Come and face me, Warden!" he shouted.
Immediately after, Guztav dashed forward, clenching his fists as tightly as possible before they turned to metal, just as before. Shen watched every move. His mind was sharp, though his eyes were blurry and unfocused. But he didn't need sight he had the rhythm of his heart, the beat of his lungs, and the instinctive memory of battle. Every time he fought, he felt like himself.
As Guztav approached, Shen's body moved swiftly aside, delivering an instant counterattack straight into Guztav's gut with enough force to lift his massive body several feet into the air.
Before Guztav knew what had happened, a small amount of blood spilled from his mouth just before he hit the ground.
"What... How did he...? That's some bullshit! How did you move so swiftly just now?" Guztav shouted as he got to his feet, glaring at Shen, who stood calmly, examining his own hands as his vision gradually cleared.
"I feel... so well. So good. Like I could do anything," Shen whispered, clenching his fists. Sparks of fire flickered around him, and with each long, steady breath, those sparks merged into a fiery, burning aura that wrapped around his body.
"Warden of Fire, you said? I like the sound of that. You called me a brick you'd turn to dust well then, let's not waste any more time."
With that, Shen leaned forward and surged ahead. Empowered by his flame, the force behind his dash propelled him forward at incredible speed. Guztav tried to match him, but he was slower and the outcome was clear.
The first strike belonged to Shen. With a quick spinning back kick, he struck Guztav cleanly. The sheer momentum and power of the blow launched Guztav through the air, slamming him into the wall behind, the stone cracking in a spiderweb pattern on impact.
Shen's breathing remained calm, but he could feel his body straining unaccustomed to wielding such power. His foot trembled slightly beneath him.
As his focus wavered, drawn to the aftermath of his own devastating strike, Guztav grinned. His palm swelled, shifting and transforming into a flail-like sphere covered in jagged spikes. With a low, guttural groan, Guztav launched the spiked weapon toward Shen.
Shen dodged it with ease.
The battleground was narrow cramped, with little room to maneuver. It left Guztav with no space to fully utilize his weapons. For now, Shen held the advantage. Or at least, he believed he did.
Yet Shen squinted. "What did Marcus do to get someone like you working for him? He's just a rich, arrogant idiot."
Guztav pushed himself off the cracked wall and met Shen's gaze. "He paid me and my crew to rough someone up. I didn't know we'd be fighting under these terms."
"Then let's stop," Shen said, stepping forward. "This fight isn't worth it. Besides, even I can see your powers are useless in a place like this a dead-end alley? Not exactly ideal. And I don't like fighting with an unfair advantage when there's no need."
He raised his hand in a gesture of truce.
"I'm Shen Walker. Second year. I hope we can continue this fight somewhere better where we can both be at our best."
Though the strain in his muscles still ached, Guztav managed a small sigh. He didn't take the handshake. Instead, he picked up his gear and walked past Shen.
"Guztav Nemakachenko. And yeah... I hope we do fight again. That was my first time facing a Warden."
He turned the corner and disappeared.
Shen turned to leave as well until he remembered.
He moved behind a stack of boxes and there, cowering in the corner, was Marcus.
"What the he ?" Marcus started, but didn't finish.
Shen did the only thing that felt right.
He punched Marcus. Once. Twice. A third time. Then left him slumped there, groaning.
"I'm not some damn toy, you twisted little shit," Shen muttered. "Remember that because next time, I won't be so nice."
Just as Shen was finally about to leave already late for school thanks to Marcus an old man stepped into his path.
"Well, aren't you in a hurry?" the man asked with a slight smile.
Shen turned, startled. "Hey, sorry, but I really need to go. And-Uh-thanks. You were the one who told me what to do, weren't you? I'm... grateful. But I seriously have to run."
He moved to walk past, but the man spoke again.
"I'll teach you," he said calmly. "And tell you more about the power you just used. I have a small dojo just down the street. Please call me Yi. I'd like you to come by and let me explain... what all this really means."
Shen gave a light nod and rushed off, heading back to school already running late.
Meanwhile, Cecil sat in class, watching the clock. The first period had just begun, and Shen was nowhere to be seen. A knot twisted in Cecil's stomach. He couldn't help but worry about what might've happened.
The class dragged on for Cecil. Unlike the rest of the students, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Most of them didn't think much of Shen and Marcus's feud it was nothing new.
Then, the door slammed open.
There stood Shen, bruised and slightly battered.
"Sorry," he muttered with a long sigh. "I ran into a little trouble on the way to class."
The teacher looked him over but didn't say a word, simply nodding and letting it slide.
Shen made his way to his seat beside Cecil and dropped into the chair.
"You got beat up? What happened? And where's Marcus?" Cecil asked quietly.
Shen let out a breath of relief. "Yeah... believe it or not, it was kind of a battle. Well, not really. Marcus paid some douchebags to rough me up. Didn't go according to his plan, though. He's probably still lying behind some dumpsters right now."
Cecil raised an eyebrow. Shen continued, "And don't worry it didn't happen on school grounds, so I should be safe from punishment... this time. But damn, Marcus pisses me off so much!"
As the day dragged on and classes blurred together, something felt off for Shen. A restlessness brewed inside him. His mind kept drifting back to the flames—how they had surrounded him, how alive he'd felt in that moment. Being set ablaze hadn't been frightening... it had felt exhilarating. Powerful.
If there are more of these so-called Wardens... could there really be others with powers like mine?
His thoughts spiraled. Maybe that old monk can give me answers. He said he knew more than just what I saw today.
With that, Shen made up his mind. He sat through the rest of the school day, but it was clear—he had grown bored, impatient. The classroom felt like a cage.
During breaks, he wandered through the quieter corners of campus, places where few people passed by. There, he tried to summon the fire again. Over and over, he focused, reaching inward. But nothing happened.
Unlike before, the flames didn't come.
The inability to summon the flames left Shen slightly annoyed. No matter how hard he tried, the fire wouldn't return to his hands like it had before. Still, he didn't lose his composure. After a few more failed attempts, he let it go and returned to class.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the school day came to an end.
Cecil, as planned, was eager to head to the Arcane with Shen, but Shen stopped him before they could leave.
"Sorry," he said with a quick, apologetic tone, "I can't go today. There's something I need to take care of."
Cecil raised an eyebrow but didn't push it.
With their paths split, Shen ran. He dashed through the streets, scanning every corner, searching for the place the old man had mentioned. It didn't take long. Soon, Shen stood before a small building, humble in appearance, with Yi's Dojo written across the glass front.
He didn't hesitate. Shen opened the door and stepped inside.
It was not what he expected.
Instead of a simple room with mats and worn-out dummies, the dojo breathed tradition. Wooden floors, incense lingering in the air, scrolls lining the walls. It didn't feel like a gym. It felt like home warm, quiet, and ancient. The atmosphere wrapped around Shen like a living spirit.
"So, young Warden, you're finally here," the old man said, seated on the floor with a cup of tea beside him. "I expected you to come earlier."
Shen took a slight step back, raising an eyebrow.
"You were listening when I introduced myself to Guztav, weren't you? Pretty sly for an old man... Mister Yi," he said with a light, teasing tone.
"Well, every old man should know when it's good to listen and when it's not," Yi said, rising to his feet with a calm, unreadable smile. He looked Shen over, sharp eyes measuring more than just physical strength.
"So, you want to know more, do you?" Yi continued, stepping forward. "Well... everything will be explained if you can make me talk."
He slid effortlessly into a stance Shen didn't recognize. It was fluid, ancient, and precise nothing like the structured forms taught in modern martial arts. It caught Shen off guard.
"Wait, old man... you don't want You want us to fight? I'm just curious about what happ-"
His sentence was cut off.
With terrifying speed, Yi moved. In a blink, he closed the distance, unleashing a flurry of strikes. Shen barely had time to react. A palm to the chest, a sweeping foot, a spinning elbow within seconds, Shen was slammed into the wall of scrolls, winded and stunned.
"Words are unnecessary in a place like this," Yi said, standing tall. "If you seek answers, know this I reveal my secrets only to my students. And you are not one... yet."
His eyes sharpened, tone unyielding.
"Come, young Warden. Show me all your capabilities."
Shen slowly pushed himself up, wincing slightly, his body still aching from the impact. Despite the pain, there was a flicker of intrigue in his eyes.
"I must admit, old man... that was a solid stance. What was it some kind of old form of kung fu or Shaolin?" he asked, genuinely curious. The movements were fluid, unfamiliar, and yet somehow complete. It fascinated him.
Yi stood calmly, his posture unwavering. "That was Shun'En Jitsu my own creation. A style built from my experiences, forged through years of discipline. I learned, I adapted, and then... I mastered. I broke the rules of tradition and rewrote them in my own image. That is what makes me terrifying, young Warden. I have mastered all that I am... to master what I created."
Shen pulled off his jacket and dropped his backpack to the side. He stepped forward into his familiar stance a boxer's guard, solid and tight. It was his number one, his go-to in every fight he'd ever been in.
But skill alone wasn't enough here.
Despite all he'd learned, all he could do, Shen quickly found himself outmatched. The old man's strikes came from angles Shen couldn't predict, each one clean and efficient. He tried to block, to read the rhythm but it was like fighting the wind.
Yi flowed through Shen's guard with ease, pressing him back with effortless precision.
Shen hit the floor again, breathing heavy, pride bruised. The old man didn't mock him. He simply waited patiently for Shen to rise once more.
"Again!" Shen shouted, forcing himself to his feet once more.
And again he fell.
Each time, he switched stances, adapting and trying new angles. And each time, the result was the same. Yi moved like water, unpredictable and seamless. Shen was thrown, swept, struck, and dropped. Over and over.
But he got up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
His pride, though bloodied, refused to burn out.
Breathing hard, sweat dripping down his brow, Shen staggered upright. "Okay, old man…" he panted, fists tightening. "I'll get the answer. I swear it."
This time, something changed.
The fight that followed wasn't one-sided. Shen, bruised but burning with will, began to last longer. He wasn't just attacking he was learning. Every fall had taught him something. Every strike Yi delivered had etched itself into Shen's memory.
Without realizing it, he was studying the flow of Shun'En Jitsu its patterns, its pauses, its subtle transitions. He wasn't learning like a student in a classroom. He was absorbing it with instinct, with grit.
And with each exchange, he grew sharper. Faster.
More dangerous.
Another fall. Another hard landing. Another breath forced through clenched teeth.
And still Shen got up.
This time, slower. This time, angrier. The sting in his limbs no longer registered as pain, just fuel. He wiped the sweat from his brow, rolled his shoulders, and stepped forward like a man chasing something that wouldn't run.
Yi watched him with narrowed eyes. The old man's movements, once effortless and dominant, were starting to shift. He wasn't repeating techniques as freely now. Shen had begun to recognize them read their flow, understand their rhythm. What once overwhelmed him now came with the echo of familiarity.
With each clash, Shen lasted longer. Each blow he took became a lesson. His mind worked silently behind the beat of his fists, learning, calculating, adapting. He wasn't just fighting. He was studying not by theory, but by instinct.
Then it happened.
One mistake.
Yi, for the first time, repeated a strike. Not out of habit—but because Shen's subtle positioning forced him into it. Shen had baited it, predicted it, and prepared.
As Yi lunged, Shen slipped beneath it with perfect form—fluid, fierce, and focused. In a blink, he twisted his stance and launched a devastating punch straight into the old man's jaw.
CRACK.
Yi was sent flying across the room, landing on the opposite end with a heavy thud.
The room fell silent.
Shen stood there, chest heaving, one fist still raised. Not in victory. Not in arrogance. But in disbelief—at what he'd just done. At how good it felt to finally land that strike.
A loud shout echoed through the room, sharp and full of disbelief.
"I did it!" Shen cried, throwing his arms into the air as high as he could, his voice still breathless. Then, with a groan of satisfaction, he collapsed flat onto his back on the dojo floor, arms spread wide, chest rising and falling like waves.
"I did it... I hit him! How lucky was that?" he laughed, the sound light, almost boyish.
Across the room, Yi stirred. Slowly, stiffly, the old master pushed himself to his feet. He was breathing heavily, one hand on his knee, the other brushing dust from his robes. His eyes locked on Shen—not with anger, not even with pride—but something quieter. Something older.
Disbelief.
"Lucky, you said?" Yi's voice was hoarse, but steady. He took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing with a strange intensity. "That didn't look like luck to me. That looked like someone who knew exactly what they were doing."
Shen blinked, still lying there, the ceiling spinning slightly above him.
Yi continued, his tone softening. "Tell me, Shen... do you understand what kind of talent you just showed me? That isn't something you're given. That's something born—something rare. To learn with your body like that, in the middle of combat... it's not normal. It's remarkable."
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, the quiet hum of the room returning like a breath held too long.
"You weren't lucky, Shen."
"You were ready."