The terminal at JFK buzzed with voices, footsteps, and overhead announcements, but Ashan Korr stood still for a moment, just breathing it all in. He looked down at the boarding pass in his hand. First Class, Tokyo, Flight 277. and then up at the massive Boeing 777 waiting at Gate 26. His heart thudded a little faster.
This is it, he thought. I'm really going.
He walked through the gate tunnel, his newly bulked frame barely fitting into his old hoodie. A few weeks of consistent lifting, eating, and recovery had transformed him. He wasn't huge, but he wasn't small anymore either. 140 pounds at 5'8, he finally felt like he could call himself solid.
He entered the first-class cabin, blinking at the plush leather seats, polished wood, and soft overhead lighting. Every seat looked like it could turn into a bed. And somehow, this was all thanks to Jerry Tyson.
He found his seat, 1A, and as he sat down, his eyes slid over to the man in the seat next to him.
Ashan froze.
The guy looked like he had been carved from stone and then reassembled into something denser. Thick cords of muscle coiled beneath a plain black T-shirt, stretching the fabric without trying. His chest was absurdly broad, delts like cannonballs, and forearms like iron pipes. His traps sloped up like a gorilla's, and his hands rested calmly on his thighs. Big, scarred hands that looked like they'd broken more bones than most people had in their entire body.
The man's face was weathered but not old. A short, trimmed beard, sharp cheekbones, and gray-blue eyes that flicked open as Ashan awkwardly adjusted in his seat.
Ashan swallowed hard.
This dude... What is this physique? No one in real life looks like this. He glanced down at his own arms and then immediately stopped comparing.
Trying to calm his nerves, Ashan pulled out his phone and opened up the one video Jerry had sent him weeks ago, Jerry versus that gigantic sumo-looking guy. Ashan still didn't know the guy's name, but it had been one of the wildest fights he'd ever seen. Brutal elbows, throws, blood flying. Jerry had lost, sure, but he'd held his own.
Ashan tapped play.
Next to him, the massive man leaned slightly, eyes narrowing at the screen.
A low voice, calm but deep:
"Hey kid... how do you have that video?"
Ashan's head snapped up. "Huh? Oh, uh- it was sent to me. A guy named Jerry Tyson gave it to me. You know him?"
The man smirked slightly. "Yeah. I know him."
Ashan looked between his phone and the stranger. "Wait, seriously? That's crazy. Small world. Are you, like… his friend or something?"
The man looked forward, arms folded. "Not exactly."
There was a beat of silence.
"I'm the one who beat him in that fight."
Ashan blinked. "Wait. What?"
The man turned slightly now, offering a hand that looked like it could crush a melon.
"Name's Adam Dudley."
Ashan's jaw almost dropped. "Holy... I mean-you-" He glanced back at the video. "That was you?"
"Yeah," Adam said casually, stretching out his legs. "I was a little leaner back then. I fight heavier now."
Ashan sat back, stunned. "Dude… you look like something out of a superhero movie."
Adam chuckled. "You're not the first to say that."
Ashan rubbed his eyes. "Wait, hold up, what even is this? That fight didn't look like MMA. There weren't even ropes. And the crowd was weird, rich people, suits, cheering like they were at a bloodsport match or something."
Adam's expression hardened just slightly. "Because that's exactly what it is."
Ashan stared.
Adam glanced over again. "You've never heard of the Kengan Association?"
"...No?"
Adam raised an eyebrow, surprised for the first time. "Huh. Thought Jerry would've told you."
Ashan shook his head. "I mean, he mentioned something about fighting and legacy and stuff, but I figured he just meant MMA."
"No, kid," Adam said, voice now more serious. "Kengan matches aren't about belts or glory. They're about power. Corporations sponsor fighters to settle disputes with fists. The rich people you saw in that video? They're the ones pulling strings. Fighters like me? We're just the muscle."
Ashan tried to process it. "So... that fight with Jerry, it wasn't for a title?"
"It was for a corporate contract. Tens of millions at stake. Winner gets everything. Loser walks away with broken ribs if they're lucky."
Ashan looked back at the screen, this time with entirely different eyes.
"That's... insane."
Adam smiled faintly. "You'll see more of it soon enough."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ashan asked.
But Adam didn't answer. He just tilted his head back and shut his eyes like he was done talking.
Ashan sat in silence, phone still in his hand, heart racing. This world was way bigger, and darker, than he'd imagined.
And somehow, he was already on the plane heading straight into it.
[A/N: You guys may be curious as to why Adam is in New York, as he is a Texas man. Well my reasoning is that he came to New York to do some streetfighting, as he already conquered Texas.]
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