Andrew stepped inside the dojo, the old floorboards creaking under his shoes. The air was heavy with dust and nostalgia, as if the walls were still holding the echoes of punches, shouts, and long-forgotten training sessions.
Sunlight leaked through the broken paper windows, painting pale rectangles on the wooden floor.
Andrew turned slowly, eyes wide.
"Uncle… this place is amazing," he whispered. "It feels… alive."
Ryo didn't respond immediately.
He was across the room, crouched in front of an old storage closet—one whose sliding door looked like it hadn't been touched in years.
He tugged it open with a rough pull.
Inside were old uniforms, broken staffs, torn gloves, and thick layers of dust. But Ryo's hands moved with purpose, searching deep within the clutter.
Andrew watched, curious.
After a moment, Ryo found what he was looking for.
He pulled out a long, rectangular wooden box, old but carefully sealed.
He carried it to the center of the dojo, holding it with both hands as if it were something fragile… or dangerous.
"Andrew," Ryo said, his tone lower and more serious than before, "inside this box is a secret."
Andrew swallowed.
"A… secret?"
Ryo nodded.
"One people can kill for. One people are willing to die for."
The atmosphere in the dojo grew colder.
Ryo set the box on the dusty floor between them.
"This," he said, tapping the lid gently, "is the origin of Phoenix. Before your father… before the gangs… before everything went wrong."
Andrew's heart thudded in his chest.
"What's inside it?" he asked.
Ryo looked at him with a faint, unreadable smile.
"That's what you're about to learn. But once you see it… you can't turn back."
He paused.
"You ready?"
Andrew took a deep breath.
Then he nodded.
Andrew hesitated.
Ryo's words echoed in his head:
Once you see it… you can't return.
He looked down at the old wooden box, then at his uncle's serious eyes. His hands trembled slightly, but he forced his voice to stay steady.
"I… I want to see it," Andrew said.
Ryo nodded, almost as if he had expected that answer.
He slowly unlatched the metal clasp.
The box creaked open, releasing a faint smell of old parchment.
Inside lay a single object—
a tightly rolled ancient scroll, bound by a faded red string.
Ryo lifted it with both hands, reverent, as though holding a sacred relic.
He unrolled it partway, revealing strange, flowing symbols and rough sketches of human figures in powerful stances.
"This scroll," Ryo said quietly, "is a gift of the gods to humankind. A prophecy. A record of a lost fighting style drawn from nature itself."
Andrew's mind went blank.
He couldn't breathe for a moment.
Forbidden fighting style… Nature fighting… ASFC… the ancient championship…
Every fight he had ever watched on TV—
Every moment he had imagined himself in those battles—
Every technique, every stance, every spark of excitement—
—flashed through his mind at once.
It was as if the world inside him cracked open.
Images of fighters using movements inspired by the wind, the earth, the sea…
Legends who moved like lightning, kicked with the force of waves, and struck with the weight of mountains…
He staggered slightly, overwhelmed.
Ryo watched him carefully.
"This," Ryo continued, tapping the scroll,
"is the origin of the styles you watch on TV.
These techniques were once common… now only a few can use them."
Andrew stared at the scroll, jaw trembling.
"So… why show it to me?" he asked softly.
Ryo closed the scroll with a solemn expression.
"Because, Andrew… this prophecy doesn't talk about the style alone."
He leaned closer.
"It talks about a child. Someone who will revive the forgotten techniques… and change the fighting world forever."
Andrew blinked.
"A… child?"
Ryo placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"And I believe that child… is you."
Ryo carefully placed the scroll on the wooden floor, his expression becoming calm… almost spiritual.
"Andrew," he said quietly, "our people—our ancestors—are watching us from heaven."
Andrew lifted his eyes.
"They once used this method," Ryo continued. "They mastered these techniques, protected them, passed them down… and finally sealed them inside this prophecy."
He touched the scroll with a respectful hand.
"And now it is our duty to continue it."
Andrew's heart thumped faster.
He felt fear… but also a strange excitement pulling him forward.
"Uncle… I don't know if I can—"
"You hesitate," Ryo said, "but that's normal."
Then his tone grew firm.
"But interest is already in your eyes. Curiosity. Determination. That is enough for now."
Andrew looked down, unsure what to say.
Ryo stepped back and stood tall, his voice strong.
"There are many kinds of ancient techniques. Some imitate the wind. Some copy the sea. Some move like beasts or strike like storms."
He paused.
"But the one our ancestors created… the one your bloodline carries…"
He pointed to Andrew.
"…is the most powerful of all."
Andrew's breath caught.
Ryo's next words echoed through the silent dojo like thunder:
"Are you ready to become the child of prophecy for us?"
Andrew felt the weight of those words on his shoulders.
"Are you willing," Ryo continued,
"to learn the forbidden technique—
The Phoenix Style?"
The creaking dojo, the smell of dust, the ancient scroll on the floor—
everything froze around him.
Andrew swallowed.
For the first time in his life…
someone was offering him a path not of fear, not of bullying, not of running—
—but a path of strength.
He lifted his eyes and met Ryo's steady gaze.
Ryo rolled the scroll back into its box and set it aside.
Then he sat down cross-legged on the old dojo floor.
Andrew quietly sat beside him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The faint sound of wind through the cracked windows was the only thing filling the room.
A strange tension floated between them—
Not discomfort…
But the weight of a choice that could change a life.
Andrew stared at the floor, fists on his knees, heart pounding.
He opened his mouth once, then closed it again.
Finally, he took a deep breath.
"Uncle…" he said softly.
Ryo turned his head slightly.
Andrew lifted his eyes.
"I… I want to learn."
The words came out firm.
Clear.
Determined.
Ryo's expression shifted—not into a smile, but into something deeper. Pride. Relief.
"Good," he said quietly. "Very good."
Then, with a rare gentle smile:
"I'm happy you chose this path. Truly."
He placed a strong hand on Andrew's shoulder.
"You will face pain. Hardship. Fear. But if you keep moving forward… you will become stronger than anyone who ever tried to break you."
Andrew nodded, his chest tightening with a mix of nerves and excitement.
Ryo stood up, brushing dust from his pants.
"All right. That's enough for today."
He walked toward the door and glanced back.
"Go home. Rest. Tomorrow your training begins."
He added in a firm tone:
"There is a lot I must teach you…
and very little time."
Andrew stood up slowly, looking once more at the old dojo—the birthplace of his new life.
He felt it in his bones:
This was only the beginning.