Kang finally understood why there were no cabs to the Old Temple zone. Of course not, when the whole place sat on a damn hill. Or more like a small mountain, really. You had to climb at least a hundred stone steps just to reach it.
"No wonder that kid said only lame kids go to the School..." he muttered.
He climbed the stairs quickly, his breathing calm and steady. The kid had only taken him to the foot of the hill, refusing to climb even one step. Can't blame him, what kind of kid would want to go to school, especially when getting there felt like a punishment itself?
That didn't mean Kang disliked the place. Quite the opposite, actually. A terrible choice for a school, but a perfect one for a dojo. The climb alone would make a fine daily exercise for the disciples. He wondered for a moment how property worked down here. Sure, gangs claimed territory, but did anyone actually own land in the slums?
He shook the thought away. No time for that now. That Big John guy sounded like trouble, and if the kid was right, then his gang should already be here.
When Kang reached the last step, a wide stone road came into view, circling the edge of the hill. Old wooden fences lined the sides, most of them weathered and rotting away.
"They actually have roads up here. How ironic," Kang said with a grin.
Ahead lay a broad square where the paths met, and beyond it stood the temple gate. Through the open frame he could see the main courtyard and the crumbling structures inside. The place must have been grand once. A real temple, built into the hill with room for shops, lodgings, and training halls. The stone roads likely led to dormitories or practice grounds hidden deeper inside.
Kang's eyes brightened. This would be the best place to live in his mind. This place, with its open air and real soil underfoot, beat any fancy residental area up in the city.
Right now, the square in front of the old temple had turned into a battlefield waiting for its spark.
On one side stood a mob of rough-looking street thugs, their bodies glinting with mismatched cyberware under the weak artificial daylight. Metal arms and polymer legs whirred and clicked with every movement, wires snaking out from torn jackets and scarred flesh. Some had glowing eyes that flickered like broken neon signs, others had chrome plates bolted crudely onto their skin, still stained with oil. Their augmentations were cheap and dirty, the kind you got from back-alley mechanics who didn't bother with anesthesia or warranty. The air around them reeked of alcohol and synthetic musk. They looked ready to tear something apart—anything—to prove their worth.
Facing them across the square were a dozen younger figures dressed in casual streetwear. Clean jackets, stylish sneakers, and bright, patterned scarves fluttering in the wind. Unlike the thugs, their bodies were pure flesh and bone. No metal limbs, no glowing implants, only cold steel weapons on their hands. Their calm expressions and upright stances stood out like a slap in the face amid the chaos of the slums. They didn't make menacing posture or growl. Instead they just watched, eyes sharp and quiet, as if already measuring the distance and counting the moves it would take to end the fight.
The contrast between the two groups was almost surreal. Chrome and grease against flesh and fabric, noise and fury against quiet confidence. The thugs were laughing, taunting, showing off their weapons and blades that clicked open with mechanical whines. The youths said nothing, but their silence carried weight. The tension thickened in the air, every breath heavy with the promise of violence.
In front of each group stood their respective leaders.
That massive, walking pile of scrap metal had to be Big John. What an eyesore, Kang frowned at the sight. The man looked less like a human and more like someone had glued a bald, sweaty head onto a heap of rusted machinery. He was easily eighty percent metal, twenty percent flesh. Aside from his head, only one leg and the area around his groin remained human. Kang briefly wondered if the only reason that part was left untouched was because Big John couldn't bear to part with his little John.
Across from him stood two girls, facing the mechanical giant without flinching. They looked young, barely out of their teens, maybe twenty at most for the older one. Now that Kang paid attention, most of the Orphans were around that age, kids and young adults with the look of survivors, not criminals.
The older girl, clearly their leader, was striking in every sense. Black eyes, with short green hair dyed in a daring mix of red and violet that shimmered faintly under the artificial light. She wore a sleeveless top and fitted shorts that allowed easy movement, her toned frame hinting at speed rather than brute strength. But what really notable were her legs, both made of sleek chrome, crafted with the precision of high-grade cybernetics. Unlike the crude junk grafted onto Big John's body, her augmentations were elegant, almost artistic, the kind you'd find in corporate prototypes or forgotten luxury models. Her cyberware legs were a stark contrast to the rest of the Orphans.
But it was the other girl who caught Kang's eyes the moment he saw her face.
Sharp, vivid blue eyes and long dark hair tied in a sleek ponytail, with a few loose strands softening her features. Her outfit blends style with practicality, black tactical pants, a fitted jacket with armored padding, and fingerless gloves that suggest both agility and combat readiness. She carries an air of calm control, as if perfectly at ease amid the chaos of the upcoming battle.
Kang froze, staring at her face.
"Xiao Lin…" he whispered. "No… her eyes are the wrong color… but that face…"
For a moment, the world around him blurred. He suddenly couldn't tell if this was the present or the past. That lovely face, the one he thought he had lost forever when his memories returned after waking up, was right there before him. The same face that had haunted his dreams every single night since then.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, though his heart still pounded in disbelief.
There was no mistake. It had to be her. There could be no other explanation for such a resemblance.
He had found his master's sole surviving descendant.
With that single thought, relief washed over his body. All the hidden anxiety and fear Kang had carried since waking from his three-hundred-year sleep were gone. Until now, he had been alone in this world, with nothing to his name and nothing to prove his existence, like a lone ship drifting aimlessly across a vast ocean.
But now, he had found his anchor. And he would never let it go.
He smiled, then found a comfortable patch of grass to sit on. Ever since he set foot in this district he had been running nonstop, from the city streets down to the slums. It was time to take his well-deserved rest. She was right there in his sight and nothing could harm her, not while he was still alive.
Time to enjoy some drama, then. He had always loved a good show. The reason he'd rushed here was out of fear of being late, but apparently, he was a bit early. That was good. He always wondered about those main characters in movies and novels who appeared at the very last moment. What if they were late by even a second? And that was when his master had taught him that they never were, because they'd already been there, waiting for the perfect moment to act.
Kang nodded to himself. Another valuable lesson from his master. Arrive early, but only step out at the perfect moment.
The two gangs still stood facing each other, the air thick with tension and violence waiting to erupt. From a spot not too far away, unnoticed by either side, a man sat quietly, looking completely at ease.
"Should've bought some popcorn," Kang muttered to himself.