The gym was empty when Rael returned the next night. No music. No sparring. Just silence.
He needed to train. To think. His body ached, but his mind screamed louder.
He stepped onto the mat and started moving. Slow at first—jab, cross, elbow, pivot. Every step made his ribs throb. Every swing pulled on torn muscle. But he kept going.
Pain didn't matter.
He had something to prove.
To himself.
He didn't notice the man enter.
Not until he spoke.
"You hit like someone who's been fighting their whole life—but never been taught how."
Rael stopped.
A tall figure stood in the doorway. Lean frame, sharp jaw, eyes like mercury. His hoodie was zipped to the neck, hands wrapped in bandages. He had a scar across one cheek—clean, deliberate.
"Who are you?"
"Ken Orvain."
Rael straightened. "Kuro told me about you."
Ken stepped forward. "He said you had potential. I don't see it yet."
Rael narrowed his eyes. "You here to teach me, or just talk shit?"
Ken smiled faintly. "Depends. You ready to bleed again?"
Rael didn't hesitate. He stepped onto the mat. "Let's go."
Ken dropped into stance without warming up. No ceremony. No countdown.
Rael lunged, throwing a fast left jab.
Ken moved like a shadow.
Rael's punch met air—and then his ribs met Ken's elbow.
Rael gasped and dropped to a knee.
Ken didn't follow up. He waited.
"You're fast," Ken said. "But you're wild. That's not fighting. That's flailing."
Rael spat on the mat and got back up.
"Again."
This time Rael moved slower, trying to read Ken's movements. He threw a feint—Ken didn't bite. A quick hook—Ken deflected with one arm and slipped behind him, tapping the back of Rael's neck with a palm strike.
Rael stumbled forward, furious.
Again.
Again.
And again.
For the next hour, Rael got dismantled.
By the end, he could barely stand.
Ken stood over him, breathing steady. "You're stubborn. That's good. Stubbornness can be forged into steel."
Rael blinked up at him, vision swimming.
Ken knelt beside him. "You've got something inside you. Most fighters don't. The way your body reacted during your last fight—like it knew how to survive. That wasn't just instinct. That was something deeper."
Rael swallowed hard.
"What do you mean?"
Ken's eyes narrowed. "You ever heard of the Veins?"
Rael shook his head.
Ken tapped his chest. "There are seven bloodlines in this world—seven ancient families that control every level of power, money, and violence. Their secrets run in their veins. Some of us… inherit things. Abilities. Reflexes. Strengths."
Rael's heart skipped.
"You think I'm one of them?"
Ken stood. "I don't know. But if you are… the Dominion already knows."
He walked to the door.
"You want me to train you?"
Rael nodded, breathless.
"Then show up tomorrow. Six a.m. Don't be late. Don't make me regret it."
And with that, Ken disappeared into the night.
Rael laid back on the mat, staring at the ceiling, his body destroyed but his mind burning.
Seven bloodlines.
Veins.
The Dominion.
And he was caught right in the middle.
The gym was empty when Rael returned the next night. No music. No sparring. Just silence.
He needed to train. To think. His body ached, but his mind screamed louder.
He stepped onto the mat and started moving. Slow at first—jab, cross, elbow, pivot. Every step made his ribs throb. Every swing pulled on torn muscle. But he kept going.
Pain didn't matter.
He had something to prove.
To himself.
He didn't notice the man enter.
Not until he spoke.
"You hit like someone who's been fighting their whole life—but never been taught how."
Rael stopped.
A tall figure stood in the doorway. Lean frame, sharp jaw, eyes like mercury. His hoodie was zipped to the neck, hands wrapped in bandages. He had a scar across one cheek—clean, deliberate.
"Who are you?"
"Ken Orvain."
Rael straightened. "Kuro told me about you."
Ken stepped forward. "He said you had potential. I don't see it yet."
Rael narrowed his eyes. "You here to teach me, or just talk shit?"
Ken smiled faintly. "Depends. You ready to bleed again?"
Rael didn't hesitate. He stepped onto the mat. "Let's go."
Ken dropped into stance without warming up. No ceremony. No countdown.
Rael lunged, throwing a fast left jab.
Ken moved like a shadow.
Rael's punch met air—and then his ribs met Ken's elbow.
Rael gasped and dropped to a knee.
Ken didn't follow up. He waited.
"You're fast," Ken said. "But you're wild. That's not fighting. That's flailing."
Rael spat on the mat and got back up.
"Again."
This time Rael moved slower, trying to read Ken's movements. He threw a feint—Ken didn't bite. A quick hook—Ken deflected with one arm and slipped behind him, tapping the back of Rael's neck with a palm strike.
Rael stumbled forward, furious.
Again.
Again.
And again.
For the next hour, Rael got dismantled.
By the end, he could barely stand.
Ken stood over him, breathing steady. "You're stubborn. That's good. Stubbornness can be forged into steel."
Rael blinked up at him, vision swimming.
Ken knelt beside him. "You've got something inside you. Most fighters don't. The way your body reacted during your last fight—like it knew how to survive. That wasn't just instinct. That was something deeper."
Rael swallowed hard.
"What do you mean?"
Ken's eyes narrowed. "You ever heard of the Veins?"
Rael shook his head.
Ken tapped his chest. "There are seven bloodlines in this world—seven ancient families that control every level of power, money, and violence. Their secrets run in their veins. Some of us… inherit things. Abilities. Reflexes. Strengths."
Rael's heart skipped.
"You think I'm one of them?"
Ken stood. "I don't know. But if you are… the Dominion already knows."
He walked to the door.
"You want me to train you?"
Rael nodded, breathless.
"Then show up tomorrow. Six a.m. Don't be late. Don't make me regret it."
And with that, Ken disappeared into the night.
Rael laid back on the mat, staring at the ceiling, his body destroyed but his mind burning.
Seven bloodlines.
Veins.
The Dominion.
And he was caught right in the middle.