The flickering light from an old television bathed the orange-toned lobby in a dull glow. Miss Lana sat on a worn-out couch, her arms crossed as she watched the news. Another broadcast of violence—gang wars, murders, and rising crime rates—swept across the district and neighboring cities. Her lips curled in frustration.
"Ahh, what does the world have against peace?" she muttered, shaking her head. "Can't the police handle these big-for-nothing meatheads?"
Her eyes drifted toward the window, where children laughed and played in the orphanage's courtyard. A pang of worry settled in her chest.
"I just hope these kids don't take the wrong path and end up worse than those criminals."
Oakville Orphanage had always been a safe haven, a place where abandoned children could grow up in a nurturing, modern environment. It was one of the few places in the city untouched by crime—at least for now.
---
Inside one of the rooms, Van sat cross-legged on the floor, doodling in his notebook. His small hand moved lazily, sketching shapes and figures, an escape from boredom—and more importantly, from the older kids. The sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds who roamed the orphanage were trouble, always roughhousing and picking fights.
Van wanted nothing to do with fighting. The very idea of using violence to settle things seemed ridiculous to him. Yet, to his bewilderment, fighting wasn't just entertainment—it was a way of life for some people.
Ever since he was admitted to the orphanage as a baby, he had known nothing about his real parents or family. Whenever he asked Miss Lana, she would tell him the same story:
"I found you in a basket at the orphanage's front steps, Van. You weren't alone. There was a pendant with a glowing crystal attached to it, and… you yourself were glowing too."
To Van, it all sounded too dramatic, too much like something out of a fairytale.
But one particular item intrigued him.
A faded photograph, placed inside his baby basket the night he was found. He often studied it, hoping to find answers. The image showed a black dragon symbol, painted on a cloth and a ninja mask resting beside it.
What bothered him the most, however, was the writing on the back.
It was in Japanese.
The translation read:
"The one in the shadows. The way of the Shadow Clan."
Every time he read it, a cold shiver crawled up his spine.
"Ahhh… what does any of this mean?" Van groaned, flopping onto his bed. He rubbed his temple, frustration bubbling inside him. Why did he have this uneasy feeling that it was important—maybe too important?
A sudden door jamm echoed through the halls.
Van sat up instantly.
"That weird old man is back."
---
A few blocks away from the orphanage stood an unusual building.
To most people, it was simply a gym, bathhouse, and massage center. But those who truly knew what went on inside Marshall Palace understood that it was much more.
A few students had signed up for the martial arts lessons, but not many stayed long. Those who did whispered about the mysterious old master who ran the place.
Van had never stepped foot inside, but that didn't stop him from watching.
Every evening, from the window of his room, he would observe the strange old man in the courtyard. The way he moved—fluid, controlled, yet lightning-fast—was unlike anything Van had ever seen in martial arts movies.
"Whatcha gonna do today, Shifu?" Van murmured with a smirk, mimicking the man's stance from behind the glass.
The old man suddenly shifted forward with impossible speed, his movements barely visible. He threw out his palm, and a burst of invisible force shot forward—obliterating the head of a wooden mannequin.
Van's breath caught in his throat.
"What… was that?"
The old man smirked, lowering his hand. Then, his gaze snapped toward Van's window.
Van's heart pounded.
He quickly ducked under his bed, pressing his back against the wall. His pulse raced in his ears.
"That… was not normal."
His hands trembled with excitement.
"But that was the most awesome thing I've ever seen."