Chapter 7
The sun was already up, and the salty air around Benny's dock was filled with the sound of waves lapping against the pillars and the thump of heavy boots. The boys were up early—Jax, Cole, Rufus, Big Tim, Lenny, Rick, Shawn, Dino, Marcus, Joel, Gage, Bruno, and Tiny—hauling crates, fixing nets, and clearing the splintered wooden boards that had cracked from the storm last night. They were deep in conversation, voices low but urgent, tossing glances toward the distant Rand dock. "I swear," said Cole, wiping sweat off his brow, "they had f**kin' machine guns, bro." Dino nodded, his face tense. "And someone got to 'em. Sliced through like butter." Tiny, who was unusually quiet, spoke up. "I saw it. Around 8:30. I was out for a smoke… something moved out there."
While that had been happening, Ash had been back in his room, devouring six steaming bowls of noodles like his stomach was bottomless. His appetite had grown overnight, along with something else—his strength, his presence, the weight of his steps. And now, walking up to the dock for work, he looked different. "Here comes noodle boy," Rufus smirked. "Did you grow overnight or what?" Jax gave him a once-over. "Swear to God, bro's shoulders got wider." Bruno chuckled. "Yo Ash, where you hiding them muscles yesterday?" Ash just shrugged with a lazy grin. As they hauled a full barrel, Ash grabbed it with one arm and lifted it with ease. The boys stared, jaws slack. Benny watched from his deck, one eye squinting. "Kid's a damn workhorse," he muttered with a nod.
With the sun climbing, the men got to moving crates from the edge of the dock onto Benny's transport boat. Ash kept up without breaking a sweat, outpacing even Big Tim, who was known for carrying two at once. "This ain't natural," Gage muttered. "Ash's on somethin', I swear." Lenny grinned. "Nah, that's clean living, right Ash?" Ash just smirked as he passed them, hauling another load while stepping over broken boards and spilled nails like it was nothing. Benny let out a whistle. "You boys better pick up the pace. New guy's making y'all look like toddlers." The others groaned and picked it up. Ash didn't slow—his body moved with precision and strength that made everything look light.
When lunch break hit, the docks quieted as everyone scattered. Ash dusted off his hands and left, walking across town with steady steps. The Colleen Dojo sat tucked between two brick shops, the sound of mitts and wooden swords echoing from inside. She was already there, standing in the center of the mat, adjusting the straps of her training gi. When she spotted him, her face lit up. "Ash! You showed up. Been practicing what I taught you?" she asked. Ash scratched the back of his head, remembering the crab fight, the brutal movements, the reflexes he'd honed in real combat. "That counts as practice… right?" he thought. "Sorta," he said with a grin.
"Good," she replied, tossing him a pair of boxing gloves. "Then show me." She picked up a padded sparring pillow and raised it. Ash stepped forward, tightening the gloves as his stance shifted. His jab shot out—clean, straight, and fast. Thud. "Tighter elbow," she corrected, smiling. He adjusted, throwing a cross that slammed into the pad, then ducked low and followed with a body hook. "Nice flow. You're faster." He spun, threw a rear kick with balance, landing it with a solid smack. She raised a brow. "Not bad at all." He stepped back, faked a jab, then launched a quick double-punch combo, ending with a low sweep. "Ooh, mixing it up now?" she laughed. "Again!" Ash reset and came again—jab, cross, step-in hook. "Beautiful," she said, breath quickening, "keep that up and you'll outgrow my mitts."
Ash grinned, pulling back another punch just before it landed. He hadn't even used all of his strength—let alone activated his mana—worried he might send her flying if he slipped up. He was here to learn, not scare her off. The dojo air smelled faintly of wood polish and sweat, with dust motes floating through the afternoon light coming from a cracked upper window. The floor creaked slightly beneath their steps. Taking a short break, Ash sat at the edge of the mat, thinking about his current living situation." I can't always live in a shipping container," he thought, "no matter how many old sofas or lamps I stuff in there."
He stared at the pale ceiling as he continued thinking. "I need a home. But not just any home… a mobile one." The idea had been burning in his head since yesterday—ever since he'd stumbled into that strange phenomenon that changed everything. "That thing pushed me not just to level two, but into the mid-stage of level two," he thought, eyes narrowing. "If I can find more of them, I wouldn't mind fighting a hundred crabs… but they don't stick to the same place. I'll have to go searching. That meant moving, constantly—and a mobile home was the only real option." But right now, he had barely over $4,000, and what he needed was ten times that. The walls of the dojo trembled faintly as someone slammed a door upstairs.
"Which only gives me one option," Ash thought with a smirk, "underground fighting rings." His fingers curled slightly as the idea simmered in his mind. "But not before I learn everything I can from her. Once I've got enough cash, I'm gone." Standing again, he rolled his shoulders and looked at Colleen, who was wiping her face with a towel. "Hey," he called out, "think you could teach me Krav Maga next? I've got a handle on boxing. I'll keep practicing that on my own." She turned, raising a brow, then nodded with a soft grin. "Alright. You've got the body control for it. Let's begin."
She stood barefoot on the mat, her stance loose but sharp. "Krav Maga's about efficiency. You end the threat fast," she said, stepping in and demonstrating a throat strike with her palm, followed by a knee to the gut and a pivot into a foot sweep. "It's brutal. We don't play fair." Ash watched closely, his eyes following every small shift in her body weight. She showed him again, slower, guiding his arm with hers as she repositioned his foot. "Palm strike, then knee, then sweep. Do it in one flow." He mirrored her movements, repeating it slowly. "Good," she said, circling around him. "Now again. Don't hesitate." He moved again—smoother this time. She nodded. "Perfect. Let's build from there."
Colleen moved across the mat with a fluid grace, her footsteps light but deliberate. "Alright, now we move into disarms," she said, grabbing a rubber knife from a nearby rack. She lunged toward Ash without warning, thrusting it forward. He instinctively stepped back, but she stopped just short of his chest. "Too slow. If I had a real blade, you'd be bleeding out," she said, calm but firm. The air in the room shifted with tension, the boards creaking beneath their shifting weight. "Here, I'll show you again." She stepped in slowly this time, grabbing his wrist, twisting, and redirecting the weapon before shoving him lightly to simulate an opening.
Ash followed her steps, mimicking the twist with caution at first. "Faster," she said. "Your window is less than a second." He did it again, this time faster, yanking her wrist and disarming the blade as his shoulder rotated into position. "Better," she nodded. Outside the dojo, a gust of wind stirred leaves into a spiral that tapped softly against the sliding window. The sun was beginning to fall lower in the sky, casting orange light across the mat. "Now follow it up with a strike," she instructed, showing him a sharp elbow to the temple. Ash followed, moving his body with an instinct that surprised even him.
Colleen stepped back and circled him like a hawk, grabbing a larger padded shield. "Let's push your reaction time. I'm going to come at you from different angles. Defend, strike, adapt. No stalling." Ash nodded, lowering his stance. She came at him hard, swinging with the shield in tight arcs. Ash ducked under a swing, twisted, and landed a palm strike against the pad. The thud echoed through the dojo. She struck again, this time from the side. He pivoted, catching the motion and redirecting it, following with a clean elbow. "Nice!" she shouted, her smile wide. "You're picking this up fast."
They continued like that for almost an hour, exchanging movements, strikes, and counters. Every step Ash took stirred the worn-down mats, every block and punch felt sharper than the last. "Alright," Colleen said, finally lowering the pad and breathing a little harder. "You're strong, faster than you were last week—but more than that, you're focused. Most guys would get cocky after a few wins. You haven't. I like that." Ash wiped sweat from his brow and gave her a small smile. "Well, I've got good motivation." before thinking to himself, "And this is just the beginning," he thought as he stepped back into stance. "I'm going to need every bit of this."
-1 week later-
The air inside the dojo was still, save for the faint hum of a ceiling fan rotating in slow, lazy circles. A thin layer of sweat glazed the wooden floor where footprints from past sessions still lingered. The scent of effort and determination had soaked into the walls over the past week. Ash stood barefoot across from Colleen, shirt clinging to his back, fists raised, chest rising and falling in a calm, controlled rhythm—inhale, hold, exhale, hold. His breathing cycle continued on autopilot, unconscious and constant. His mana swirled inside him like slow-moving smoke, unnoticed but ever-growing.
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A/N a longer chapter just to show you how much i love you, so why dont you show some love and throw some stones.