The next morning, Noa arrived at the dojo before the sun had even kissed the skyline.
The city still slept, but Crestfall never felt peaceful just paused. The mist rolled low across the cracked sidewalks, and the streetlamps flickered with the same exhausted buzz as the vending machines down the block. A single crow sat perched on the dojo's sagging rooftop, staring down at Noa with beady, silent judgment.
He adjusted the straps of his tattered backpack, took a breath, and stepped inside.
The scent hit him first aged wood, faint incense, and something dry and sharp, like chalk dust and sweat. He paused at the threshold.
Kai was already there.
Barefoot. Shirtless. Moving.
He cut through the dojo like water shaped into a man fluid, coiled, precise. His movements came in slow arcs, each motion connected to the last, like the wind pulling through bamboo. One breath carried a strike, the next dissolved into stillness. His body flowed like silk, but underneath the surface was steel. Every gesture had weight, every exhale timing.
Left hand sliced the air like a blade.
Right hand followed like a tide.
Footwork shifted with each stance, grounded yet seamless, never jerky, never forced.
Noa didn't speak. He didn't want to break whatever spell he'd walked into.
He wasn't watching a man practice. He was watching something ancient. Something trained down to the bone, beyond thought. This was what martial arts looked like. Not the flashy kicks on YouTube, not movie star kung fu. This was closer to poetry written in muscle, rhythm, and control.
Kai ended the form with a final exhale. Then stillness.
He opened his eyes.
"You're early," he said.
Noa shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."
Kai nodded, not unkindly. "Good. That means you're beginning to understand what this takes."
They trained without another word.
Noa had expected punches, maybe some flashy techniques, a few dramatic poses.
Instead, Kai taught him how to stand.
And he taught it ruthlessly.
He demonstrated a simple stance low, square, knees slightly bent, weight distributed across both feet and expected Noa to copy it perfectly. When Noa's back slouched or his toes pointed the wrong way, Kai corrected him with a quiet tap of the foot, a push on the shoulder, a reposition of the hips. Every mistake was met not with anger, but with precision.
"Lower," Kai said.
"Back straight."
"You're leaning too far forward. Again."
It went on for hours. Noa's thighs burned. His calves quaked. His sweat pooled on the mats below him.
"This is ridiculous," Noa muttered at one point, grimacing as he reset the stance for the thirtieth time. "You're just teaching me how to stand."
Kai looked at him over his shoulder. "I'm teaching you how not to fall."
By midmorning, the dojo was flooded with light, the sun slanting through the broken skylight and splashing across the floor like molten gold. They paused for water near the back wall. Noa dropped to the mat like a bag of bricks, chest heaving.
Kai stood over him like a statue calm, unreadable, barely sweating.
"You're not human," Noa muttered, half in awe.
Kai took a drink from his tin flask and said nothing.
Noa wiped sweat from his brow and asked, "What was it like? Before all this before it fell apart."
Kai didn't answer right away. He turned and stared at the dragon crest, half-restored and glowing now in the full light of day.
"It was loud," he said at last. "But it had purpose."
He pointed to the mural on the wall. The red dragon spiraling inward around a golden flame.
"You see the dragon?"
"Hard to miss," Noa said.
"And the flame?"
Noa leaned in. He'd seen the image a dozen times by now, but this time he focused.
In the center of the spiral, a tiny, deliberate golden flame glowed inside the coiling red dragon. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't even large. But it was there quiet, constant, eternal.
"That flame," Kai said quietly, "is intent. It burns inside every fighter. Without it, the dragon is just a beast. A monster."
Kai looked over at Noa.
"Dragon Crest wasn't about brute strength. It wasn't about reputation. We trained to fight with purpose. With clarity. We protected people. We pushed limits. We earned our name."
Noa sat silently, absorbing the words.
There was weight behind them not just history, but regret.
Kai stepped toward the wooden board near the door old and dusty, once used to schedule classes. He grabbed a stick of white chalk and began writing, the letters sharp and deliberate.
When he stepped away, three lines were etched into the board in bold block script:
CRESTFALL RULES
1. Never throw the first punch.
2. Never fight without purpose.
3. Never dishonor the flame.
Noa read them aloud, brows furrowed.
"What's the third one mean?" he asked.
Kai set the chalk down gently. "You'll find out."
"That's not an answer."
Kai met his eyes. "You'll find out," he repeated, "probably the hard way."
Later that day, they resumed training.
More stances. More falling. More sweat.
Kai introduced footwork drills measured steps across the mat, pivots, turns, resets. It was harder than Noa expected. Half the time, his body moved faster than his brain, and he'd overstep or slip.
"No power without root," Kai said. "And roots are built from your feet."
By the time the sun had begun to dip behind the skyline, the dojo felt like a crucible. Noa's shirt clung to him like second skin, and every muscle ached.
Kai ended the session with a simple bow.
"You'll return tomorrow."
Noa nodded.
Kai turned away, but paused.
"Good work," he said without looking back.
And somehow, despite how broken his body felt… those two words made Noa's chest rise just a little higher.
Later that evening…
Noa walked home through narrow back streets, backpack slung over one shoulder, his legs like jelly. The city had returned to life around him horns blaring, scooters weaving, street vendors shouting prices. But for the first time in weeks, it all felt… quieter.
He took a shortcut through an alley behind the 7-Eleven, the same one where Kai had saved him days earlier.
That's when he heard the voice.
"Hey."
He froze.
Two figures stepped out of the shadows. Both wore black jackets with silver fangs embroidered on the back. Steel Fang. Their eyes gleamed under the flickering alley light.
The taller one cracked his knuckles. "You're the kid training with Takeda, right?"
Noa didn't answer right away.
Then, evenly: "So what if I am?"
The second one, leaner, smirked. "Just a friendly warning."
The tall one took a step closer. "Dragon Crest doesn't belong in Crestfall anymore."
The lean one chimed in, voice oily. "Stay away from Takeda. Or we'll break more than your broom."
Noa's hands clenched.
He could feel the stance under him everything Kai had drilled. Weight on the balls of his feet. Hips loose. Shoulders low.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Never throw the first punch.
Never fight without purpose.
They stepped closer.
"What's the matter?" said the tall one, sneering. "All that dojo time and no bite?"
Noa's breathing slowed.
Balance. Breathing. Foundation.
"Not afraid of you," he said.
The taller boy raised his hand just a twitch, but enough.
Noa stepped back into a guarded stance.
That was all it took.
The taller one lunged.
Noa didn't flinch.