Law pushed open the heavy door of the ScrapYard, the muffled sounds of the bar fading behind him as he stepped into the dim, foggy streets of Trax. The neon signs flickered overhead, casting erratic red and blue glows onto the cracked pavement. The city was waking up, yet still shrouded in its usual haze of grime and chaos.
Law's shoulders were tense, muscles still humming from the adrenaline of the fight that awaited him in four days.
He took a deep breath, the stale air filling his lungs, and headed toward the warehouse where his new journey would begin. The streets were quiet now, save for the distant hum of machinery and the occasional shout from a nearby alley. The city was alive in its own broken way, a place where the strongest survived and the weak fell into the cracks.
As Law approached the old, battered structure, he saw him waiting in the shadows, Riko.
Riko was short, narrow shouldered, and moved with the calm confidence of someone who had seen too much and learned to hide his scars behind a steady exterior. His features were hard, chiseled, with a high cheekbone and a scar running from his left brow down to his cheekbone, a testament to countless fights. His hair was short and dark, tousled as if he'd just rolled out of bed. His piercing eyes flicked toward Law as he leaned against a rusted steel drum, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
"You're early," Riko said, voice gravelly but steady.
Law nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Wouldn't want to keep you waiting."
Riko pushed off from the wall and gestured toward the warehouse's dark entrance.
"Come on in. We've got a lot to cover."
The inside of the warehouse was a cavernous space, shadows stretching across the uneven floor. The faint glow of dawn seeped through broken windows, casting fractured patterns on the cracked concrete. The scent of oil, sweat, and dust hung thick in the air. Makeshift training gear was scattered around, torn punching bags, rusted weights, and scrap metal fashioned into crude barriers.
Riko clapped his hands once, breaking the silence. "First things first. If you're serious about this, you need to understand the basics, your stance, your breathing, your mind. Combat isn't just fists and fury, it's control. It's knowing when to strike and when to hold back."
Law listened carefully, nodding. "Got it."
Riko stepped forward, his movements fluid and confident. "Let's start with stance. Feet shoulder width apart. Distribute your weight evenly, ready to move in any direction. Keep your hands up, protect your face, but don't get stiff. Stay loose. Stay alert."
Law mirrored him, awkward at first, from the unfamiliarity of the stance. Riko circled him slowly, eyes sharp, studying.
"Now, breathe," Riko said softly. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Clear your mind. Fear and anger, they're distractions. Focus on the moment. Your body will respond if you let it."
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, trying to steady his racing thoughts. The faint scent of oil and sweat thickened the air, but he pushed through, knowing the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
"Good," Riko continued. "Next, let's try some basic strikes. Jab, cross, hook. Slow at first. Focus on form."
He demonstrated, his fist snapping forward with practiced precision. Law mirrored his movements, unfamiliar with using a form that would be considered correct.
"Again," Riko said, guiding him through the motions. "Use the power in your hips, not just your arm. Connect your whole body to the punch."
Time blurred as they repeated the drills, jab, cross, hook, until Law's arms should've ached, but his form began to sharpen.
"Now, we add movement," Riko said. "Don't stand still. Dodge, weave, counter. Combat is chaos, embrace it, control it."
He threw a quick punch, and Law instinctively sidestepped, his body moving with rough instinct. Riko nodded approvingly.
"Good. Now, let's get into the real stuff. Defense."
He threw a swift jab, followed by a hook, Law barely managed to block in time. Sparks of adrenaline surged through him. But there was an odd thought creeping into his mind, something he had to constantly remind himself of. He couldn't feel pain. Not like others. It was a strange, almost disorienting sensation, knowing that even if he took a hit, it wouldn't hurt. That made him dangerous, but also reckless. Without pain to hold him back, he had to rely entirely on instinct and discipline. His body didn't scream at him to stop, it simply didn't register the damage. That made every strike, every block, all the more critical.
"Your opponent won't wait for you to be ready," Riko said, voice steady. "You have to anticipate, read their moves, and react. It's about timing, not just strength."
They moved into a sparring session, Riko attacking with quick jabs, Law trying to defend and retaliate. The first few exchanges were awkward, clumsy even, but gradually, Law's instincts sharpened. The thrill of contact, the act of a punch landing or missing, ignited a fierce resolve within him, one that was amplified by knowing he couldn't feel pain.
He watched Riko's movements carefully, studying the way he shifted weight, the subtle flick of his wrist, the slight tilt of his head. Everything was deliberate. Every move was a calculated act of control, something Law desperately needed to learn.
Hours passed like minutes. Sweat poured down Law's brow, but he could feel no pain, only a relentless surge of adrenaline and focus. He threw punches, blocks, dodges, each one precise, each one a step closer to mastery. His mind was clear, free from the usual hesitation that pain would cause in others. But that also meant he had to be more disciplined than ever; a single reckless move could be his undoing.
Finally, Riko signaled a pause, both of them breathing heavily, though Law's breathing was steady and silent as always.
"Not bad," Riko said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're raw, but there's potential. You just need to learn to harness it, control your anger, focus your energy. That's what separates fighters."
Law looked at him, eyes burning with determination. "I'm ready to learn. Whatever it takes."
Riko studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Because this isn't just about fighting. It's about discipline. About pushing past your limits, even when everything hurts."
He paused, then added, "And you need to understand, your pain threshold isn't like most people's. You can't rely on feeling pain as a warning. That's why you must be sharp, always alert, always disciplined."
Law's mind flashed back to the countless times he'd been injured but felt nothing. It was both a gift and a curse, one that made him dangerous, but also careless.
"Tomorrow," Riko said, "we'll start sparring seriously. No holds barred. You've got a lot to learn, but I see something in you, something worth fighting for."
He nodded. "Thanks. I won't let you down."
Riko offered a rare, genuine smile. "We'll see. But first, you need rest. Tomorrow's fight will test everything you've learned, and everything you are."
As Law turned to leave, Riko called out, "One last thing. Remember: fighting is a mirror. It shows who you really are. Be prepared to face yourself."
He looked back at him, a flicker of resolve in his eyes. "I will."
The sun was beginning to rise over Trax, casting long shadows across the broken city. Law walked away from the warehouse, his mind filled with new purpose, and a fire that refused to be extinguished.
He knew this was only the beginning.