Zazm Mystic had always been a carefree soul, a high schooler who floated through life with an easy smile and a laid-back attitude. At seventeen, he was the kind of kid who could charm his way out of trouble, if not that he could simply destroy most troubles.
But that charm had recently been put to the test. Just a week ago, he had gotten involved in a fight with a fat man. The encounter had left Zazm shaken, a feeling he was unaccustomed to.
He had narrowly escaped with his life, but the experience had ignited a fire within him—a desire to learn how to defend himself. "If Jahanox wasn't there, I would've been history."
Zazm sat down on his seat glancing at his mark, "If someone found out about our abilities that: I can teleport objects or Nox can control minds." Zazm paused his thoughts taking over.
"Then I'm sure we will be surrounded by weird people in a complete blank white room." He shook his head getting rid of his thoughts.
"Sure, we can wipe his memories but Nox had to touch the person and it takes a few second. It's useless if we can't neutralize the target." Zazm opened his laptop and started searching up on the web.
Determined to never feel that vulnerability again, Zazm dove into research. He scoured the internet, reading about various fighting styles and their philosophies. It was during this search that he stumbled upon the 'Titan Institute of Martial Arts', a sprawling complex that promised to teach everything from Krav Maga to Kick boxing.
The institute was renowned for its luxurious facilities and expert instructors, and Zazm felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of stepping into such a world.
The next day, he donned his best clothes designer jeans and a crisp black shirt over a seemingly gray highneck. He looked himself in mirror, 'I shouldn't wear this much black, I really look like a shadow.'
He remembered his friends words and looked at himself again. He quickly changed the shirt with a nice, white one...Black was better... and looked himself in the mirror, "I just hope it isn't too cold outside." With this he exited the house, the December had already reached the end and the new year was about to begin.
"After a few weeks classes will start again, huh?" Zazm started thinking about what the new year held for him, "Guess I'll be 17 in a month or so."
He made his way to the institute. The building loomed before him, a modern architectural marvel with glass walls that reflected the sunlight.
Inside, the atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of feet hitting mats and the rhythmic thuds of punches landing on pads. Zazm approached the reception desk, his heart racing with anticipation.
After a brief conversation, he signed up for a personal appointment with one of the institute's top professionals. It was expensive.....for a normal person that is.
For Zazm it wasn't much, "Not like they are gonna care about what I do." He was lost in his thoughts before shaking his head and started looking through the corridor.
He was led through a series of lavish hallways adorned with trophies and photographs of legendary fighters. Finally, he arrived at a spacious training room where he met, the head coach.
The room was elegantly furnished, with a plush couch against one wall and a large mirror reflecting the sunlight streaming through the windows.
A wiry man with a calm demeanor that belied his impressive skills. His hair was peppered with gray, but his eyes sparkled with youthful energy.
Zazm felt an immediate sense of ease in his presence, as if he had known him for years. But his presence also had an unspoken weight that intimidated Zazm.
The man gestured for him to sit on the couch, and they began their conversation. At first an awakard silence reigned between them before the coach put his hand forwards, "I'm Silva, the head coach here. I'll be examining you."
Zazm shook his hand with a smile, "Nice to meet you, Sir. I'm Zazm Mystic."
"Welcome, Zazm." he said, his voice steady and authoritative. "Before we proceed, I need to understand your intentions. Why do you want to learn to fight?"
Zazm felt a slight tension in the air, as if Silva was gauging him, trying to see through the facade of his carefree demeanor. "I want to learn self-defense. I want to protect myself," he replied, his voice firm.
Silva's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "Self-defense, you say? You realize that fighting is not a game, right? It can lead to serious consequences. Are you prepared for that? Are you ready to face the reality of violence?"
Zazm met Silva's gaze, his resolve solid. "I understand the risks. I just want to feel safe. I don't want to be a victim again."
Silva studied him for a moment, his piercing eyes searching for any hint of weakness. Zazm felt the weight of the coach's scrutiny, but he stood his ground.
Finally, Silva nodded, a hint of respect in his expression. "Very well. I appreciate your honesty. But remember, fighting is not something to be taken lightly. It should only be used when necessary. Violence without resolve is a path to destruction."
Zazm appreciated the wisdom in Silva's words. He had always been a carefree spirit, but he understood the importance of responsibility. "I get that. I just want to feel safe."
"Good," Silva replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "And I can see you have a well-tuned body. How did you achieve that?"
"I play football and a bit of other physical activities when I get time," Zazm replied, his confidence growing. "I've also had my fair share of fights. I've been in a few scuffles at school, and I can hold my own against kids my age."
Silva's eyes lit up with interest. "Ah, a fighter at heart. I can see that. But let's see what you can do." Silva got up and started walking towards the centre of the huge hall.
'Where is he going?' Zazm questioned in his mind and started following Silva. The coach stopped in the middle of the hall, his back still turned against Zazm. "Now Zazm, attack me."
Zazm looked confused, 'He isn't even gonna look at me?' A slight smirk appeared on his face, he didn't care if he was being looked down on. He wanted to know what the coach will do.
Zazm felt a rush of adrenaline. He stepped forward, throwing a straight punch with all his might at the head of coach from behind. But before he knew it, he was lying flat on his back, the world spinning around him.
"What?" Zazm looked at the coach who stood over him, a look of amusement on his face. "Just because I wasn't looking at you, you assumed that you can take that chance to land a hit. It didn't even crossed your mind that it could be a trick."
Zazm quickly got up, his eyes filled with intrigue. Silva looked at Zazm straight in the eyes and spoke in a serious tone, "Keep attacking me, every fighter has their own style let's see what style is best for you."
Zazm quickly got ready his excitement bubbling up, he attack the coach again. But once again he found himself laying flat on his back.
"This is Krav Maga," he said, extending a hand to help Zazm up. "One of the best styles for self-defense. It's about efficiency and effectiveness."
Zazm got to his feet, brushing off the embarrassment. "Okay, let's try that again."
This time, Zazm feigned a jab, then pivoted and delivered a swift kick aimed at Silva's stomach. But Silva was ready; he parried the kick with a fluid motion of his wrist, his other hand stopping just short of Zazm's neck.
Zazm can feel a sudden shiver run down his spine, 'My neck would've probably went flying with that,' the coach noticed Zazm expression and removed his hand giving him space to breathe.
"What was that? I couldn't even see it." Zazm spoke his tone barely above a whisper as he got himself back in position.
"This is Muay Thai," Silva explained, his voice steady. "It's known as the art of eight limbs. It incorporates punches, kicks, elbows, and knees. You have to be quick and unpredictable."
Zazm nodded, feeling the thrill of the challenge. He launched a series of punches, each one fueled by determination. Silva blocked and countered with ease, his movements a dance of precision. Zazm felt the strength in his own punches, but he was no match for the seasoned coach.
Silva kicked Zazm in the thigh, and Zazm stumbled back, surprised. Before he could regain his balance, Silva unleashed a swift kick aimed at Zazm's face. Zazm barely managed to duck, his heart racing.
"What was that now?" Zazm gasped, his eyes wide.
"Mixed Martial Arts," Silva replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's a combination of various fighting styles. But you, Zazm, you're more of a freestyler. You have a unique style that's all your own."
Zazm furrowed his brow in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Silva leaned closer, his expression serious. "Every fighter has their own style, their own rhythm. You have the potential to develop yours, just like I did with mine." He paused letting then tension build in, a grin appeared on his face "Capoeira."
Zazm's curiosity piqued. "Capoeira? What's that?"
Silva chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Allow me to demonstrate."
With that, Silva settled into a low, swaying stance, "This stance.. this is called gange, now look closely Zazm."
Zazm watched, intrigued, as Silva moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost hypnotic. The gentle rocking from side to side was mesmerizing, and Zazm found himself leaning forward, captivated.
Then, in a flash, Silva dropped into a handstand, his legs scissoring through the air in a blur of motion. Zazm's jaw dropped as he witnessed the seamless transition back to the ginga, the coach's body flowing like water.
"That's… a handstand kick?" Zazm stammered, his mind racing to comprehend the skill on display.
Silva chuckled again, his voice warm. "The au batido. One of many surprises in Capoeira." He moved again, this time executing a cartwheel that morphed into a spinning kick, the meia-lua de compasso. The force of it whistled through the air, and Zazm felt a rush of excitement.
Silva continued, transitioning into a low sweep, the rasteira, his foot skimming just above the mats. Zazm's eyes widened in awe. The graceful, almost playful movements masked a surprising power that left him breathless.
"But… where's the fighting?" Zazm asked, still trying to wrap his head around the beauty of the movements.
Silva gestured with his hands, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "The fighting is hidden within the dance, Zazm.
Every movement, every sway, is a potential strike, a potential escape. Capoeira is about deception, about rhythm, about using your entire body as a weapon. It's a game, Zazm. A dangerous game."
With a sudden burst of speed, Silva moved again, a flurry of kicks and sweeps that seemed to defy gravity.
Zazm watched, mesmerized, as the coach demonstrated the art of finding openings, using his opponent's momentum against them, and remaining unpredictable. Each movement was a blend of athleticism and artistry, a dance that was both beautiful and deadly.
Silva executed a series of rapid spins, his body twisting and turning with an elegance that belied the power behind each kick.
He transitioned seamlessly from one technique to another, showcasing the versatility of Capoeira. Zazm felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized that this was not just a performance; it was a demonstration of how to turn the body into a weapon.
"Capoeira is about rhythm, Zazm," Silva explained, his voice steady as he paused to catch his breath.
"It's about understanding the flow of movement, both yours and your opponent's. You must learn to read the rhythm of a fight, to anticipate your opponent's actions and respond accordingly. It's a dance of life and death."
Zazm nodded, his mind racing with the possibilities. "So, it's not just about brute strength? It's about strategy?"
"Exactly," Silva replied, a proud smile on his face. "Strength is important, but it's not everything. The most skilled fighters are those who can outthink their opponents. Capoeira teaches you to be fluid, to adapt, and to use your environment to your advantage."
Zazm felt a surge of excitement. The idea of learning a fighting style that was as much about the mind as it was about the body resonated with him. "I want to learn this. I want to master Capoeira."
Silva's expression turned serious again. "But remember, Zazm, with great power comes great responsibility. You must never use your skills to harm others without cause. Fighting is a last resort, a means of protection, not a tool for aggression."
Zazm felt the weight of Silva's words. He understood that this journey would not just be about physical training; it would also be about personal growth, he knew if he wanted to keep himself safe and his powers hidden it was necessary . "I promise, I'll use what I learn wisely."
With that Zazm left the institute and decided to come back again tomorrow the coach told him, he should atleast take 3 to 4 classes per week. But Zazm was going to do it everyday.
With that Zazm started to make his way towards his house with a new resolve. The new year was just around the corner and the second year of his highschool was just about to begin. Zazm had to master his powers and had to learn how to protect him, all while coping with school, "Guess, I'm up for one hell on an year.' he dryly laughed to himself
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