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New York City, 20XX.
Bronx skies. Cracked pavement. Humming radiators. The kind of noise Ashan had never known, cars yelling louder than people, people yelling louder than gods.
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"Ashan. Stay close."
His mother's voice was sharp, not out of fear, but because this city was alive, and it wouldn't wait for anyone to catch up.
Ashan, now six, clutched the edge of her dress as they climbed the stairs to their new apartment , third floor, no elevator, broken mailbox. Nothing like the island.
His father was already inside, unpacking a small statue of the clan's ancestor and placing it near the window.
"We make this place ours," he had said. "Even if the walls forget who we are, we won't."
Ashan didn't understand it then. But he nodded anyway.
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That Night...
He sat on the couch, legs folded, chewing the last of the street-vendor kebab while his dad flipped through the local TV channels.
Click.
Click.
Then a blur.
Yellow suit. Nunchaku scream. Slow-motion fists. The kind of movement that didn't look real, until it hit.
"Boards don't hit back."
Ashan leaned forward.
His father looked at him, smirked.
"That one... his name's Bruce Lee."
"He wasn't born strong. But he made himself."
Ashan watched every second of Enter the Dragon, eyes unblinking. It wasn't just the fights. It was the grace, the control, the discipline hidden beneath the chaos. The way Bruce moved reminded him of something… something he had seen before.
The way his uncles fought on the island.
The way his father's fists never wasted a breath.
The way the Korr clan treated violence, not as rage, but as art.
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Days Turn Into Weeks
Ashan didn't know how to explain it to kids at school.
He didn't know how to fit in with the fast-talking sneakers-and- 'cool kids' crowd.
But he didn't care.
Because he had Bruce.
Because every day after homework, he shadowboxed in front of the TV.
He copied every punch.
Every elbow.
Every scream.
Until his movements started to sing, just like the old ways.
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"Don't think. Feel."
"It's like a finger pointing away to the moon. Don't concentrate on the finger or you'll miss all that heavenly glory."
Those words didn't just entertain him.
They taught him.
And from that point on, Ashan Korr didn't just admire Bruce Lee.
He followed him.
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