At exactly fifteen hundred hours, we were already standing in a hall that was radically different from Selina’s sterile classrooms. The air smelled different here: chalk dust and fresh rubber mats. The combat training hall was equipped to the highest standard, with rows of heavy punching bags, tatami mats, racks of training weapons, and protective gear.
Standing in the center of the hall with his arms crossed over his chest was Master Smith. He wore a perfectly white, heavily starched gi that contrasted sharply with his dark skin.
The moment we approached, he broke into a wide, sincere smile that gathered tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He painfully reminded me of Santiago, my jiu-jitsu sensei back in Los Angeles. The same aura of calm strength and good nature. My shoulders relaxed instinctively. If the lesson promised to be exhausting, at least it would be free of pointless toxicity.
"My name’s Samuel Smith," he declared, his deep velvet voice effortlessly filling the room. Light from the powerful ceiling lamps playfully reflected off his perfectly smooth bald head. "But let’s skip the formalities. To you guys, I’m Master Smith or just Sam."
"Yes, sir!" we barked in unison like properly disciplined cadets.
Sam shook his head in mock despair and waved a carefree hand as if brushing away an annoying fly.
"Save the military routine for your sergeant. Look around. There’re no ranks, no patches, and no hierarchy here. This is a dojo, a place to study martial arts, not a military training ground. Relax a little."
"Okay, Sam! No problem!" Ted, staying true to his habit of crossing boundaries, casually threw up a thumbs-up.
"Better already," the master said with another smile, though a trace of irony flickered in his eyes. "As you’ve probably guessed, my job’s to teach you how to use your own limbs as weapons. Grab some armor, helmets, and gloves. We’re starting with an introductory hand-to-hand combat lesson."
The cadets stirred and headed toward the equipment racks. But Mary did not move an inch. On the contrary, she sharply turned on her heels, clearly intending to leave the hall.
"Hey, where’re you going?" Sam asked with genuine surprise, raising his eyebrows. "If you need the restroom that badly, basic manners say you should inform the instructor first."
Mary stopped and slowly turned around. Her gaze was cold and calculating, something completely unnatural for a twelve-year-old girl.
"I’m not going to waste my time on this nonsense," she said flatly. "I’ve got reliable information that there’s no final exam for hand-to-hand combat at the end of the course. It’s an elective. Entertainment for people who’ve got nothing better to do."
The hall fell into ringing silence. The cadets froze with gloves and helmets clutched in their hands. Every single person in the room had the exact same thought at that moment, but naturally only Ted was blunt enough to say it out loud.
"Wait, what? Seriously?" He lowered the helmet he had just tried on. "No exam? Sam, is that true? Then why the hell should we sweat our asses off in here? I’d rather spend that time doing something useful, like gaming or catching up on sleep."
"Looks like we’ve finally agreed on something for once," Mary tossed over her shoulder as she continued toward the exit.
Sam let out a heavy sigh. His optimistic demeanor visibly dimmed, and his shoulders slumped for a moment.
"It’s true," he admitted, and genuine sadness cut through his voice. "The leadership of the Awakened Corps decided that under portal conditions, this discipline’s secondary. Their logic’s that fists won’t help much against aliens, so they kept it in the program mostly for general development. But I still strongly recommend staying. Understanding how to throw a punch without dislocating your own joint on first impact is a basic survival skill."
"Survival where? In a boxing ring?" Mary stopped in the doorway and gave him a skeptical look. "We’ve all seen the footage. We know what kind of monsters live on the other side. No kung fu, no grappling, and no pressure-point strikes are going to help against a creature that weighs half a ton and wears chitin armor."
It was a devastating argument. Everyone could feel it. Spending hundreds of hours mastering kung fu only to face a steroid-powered rhinoceros barehanded sounded less like training and more like an elaborate form of suicide.
"I agree that pure martial arts might not save you in the portals," Sam admitted, desperately trying to preserve both his dignity and what little enthusiasm remained. "But just imagine this: you’re walking through the city and some thugs attack you. Then bam, you take them down one after another like in those old Bruce Lee movies! Isn’t that cool?"
He cast out the bait and froze with a strained smile, waiting for at least one teenager to bite on the romantic image of the urban hero. I silently watched the scene from the side, feeling a strange mix of pity and curiosity.
"If some thugs attack me, I’ll just fry them with my power or smear them across the pavement in a second!" Ted shouted boastfully, no longer bothering to hide his contempt. "Why the hell would I swing my fists when I can turn them into meat patties with a snap of my fingers?"
"I’d just run away," Nick chimed in while adjusting his glasses. "Getting into a fight means lawsuits and legal trouble. Easier to leave."
"Thugs?" Mary yawned demonstratively behind her hand. "What’s this, some movie cliché? They don’t wait behind every corner in real life."
"No one’s ever attacked me even once in my life," Louisa whispered quietly while staring at the floor.
Sam’s fishing line came back empty. The Bruce Lee bait had failed completely. One by one, the teenagers began leaving the hall, dropping their gear onto the mats. Sam watched their backs with undisguised sorrow, like the captain of a sinking ship abandoned by his crew.
"I didn’t even get the chance to mention that classes’re only once a week..." He sighed heavily and scratched the back of his bald head in frustration. "Yeah. Guess I really am a terrible speaker."
"Why?" I quietly punched the heavy bag beside me. A dull, powerful thud echoed across the now-empty hall, making Sam flinch and turn around. "As you can see, I haven’t gone anywhere."
"Tom?" He blinked as though only just noticing me. For a moment, shock flashed across his face before melting into a warm, understanding smile. "Damn, man. I got so upset over this disaster that I completely forgot about you."
I allowed myself a faint smirk. Funny how someone could fail to notice an elephant in an empty room.
"Then again, I’m not surprised you stayed," he continued more energetically as he walked across the tatami. "With your track record. Jiu-jitsu master, Krav Maga expert... you and martial arts go way back. By the way, how’s old Goodman doing?"
"You know Goodman?" My voice came out slightly more tense than I would have liked.
"Tom, I’m from Los Angeles too." Sam chuckled, clearly pleased by my reaction. "The city may be huge, but the martial arts world’s a tiny little club where everyone knows each other through one handshake or another. People were already talking about you before your file even landed on a desk at this camp."
"And what exactly were they saying? Hopefully something decent?"
Sam hesitated. His smile turned awkward, almost guilty. He glanced away toward the equipment shelves.
"Well, you know how it goes... rumors spread fast."
"Sam, spit it out," I insisted, feeling a bad premonition slowly building inside me.
"Well... there’s a persistent rumor going around the city that you’re some kind of classified project. A secret CIA agent hooked on experimental drugs..."
"What?!" I felt the blood literally drain from my face. A dull roar filled my head. "Where the hell could something that stupid’ve even come from?"
"Well, you brought it on yourself, Tom. You practically provoked them." Sam looked genuinely embarrassed for the entire martial arts community. "Just think about it. You showed up in every top dojo and closed training program in the state. You went through courses designed for elite operatives and Navy SEALs, and you crushed them at some terrifying speed. Then Pentagon guys started pulling strings to get you clearance for special programs... well, you get it. People started talking."
"Oh, shit..." I exhaled, feeling a volatile mixture of burning shame and icy anxiety boiling inside me. "So what now? Should I start packing my bags and get the hell out of Los Angeles before some unmarked van pulls up outside my house?"
Sam stepped closer and gave my shoulder an encouraging pat. His palm felt heavy and warm. "Only if you’re sick of the city already. Listen, the owners of those gyms are a specific type of crowd. They love gossiping in their little circle, but they barely make up a tenth of a percent of LA’s population. To normal people, you’re just another gym freak. By the time you’re done staying at this camp, everybody’ll forget about you."
I nodded with understanding, although the feeling in my chest still remained awful. Paranoia was a sticky thing. Once you imagined some new Stephanie turning out to be obsessed with spy thrillers and aggressively trying to get close to an undercover secret agent, it became impossible to shake the thought loose. I just wanted to come home, toss my keys onto the table, and collapse onto the couch without checking whether somebody was tailing me. Apparently, moving was not just a whim anymore. It was a necessity. I would pay off the mortgage with military bonuses, and at the current rates that would not take forever, then I would find someplace quieter. Somewhere in Montana, where neighbors only knew the make of your pickup truck.
"Tom, tell me honestly," Sam suddenly said with complete seriousness as he studied my face carefully. "Why’d you stay? If it’s just out of politeness so the sensei doesn’t feel lonely in an empty hall, forget it. Go relax, I won’t be offended. Let’s be real: out of everybody in this class, you’re the only one I’ve got almost nothing to teach. Unless you’re interested in Muay Thai and taekwondo."
I paused for a moment. I weighed the pros and cons. With people like Smith, blunt honesty worked best.
"I completely agree with Mary on one thing: inside the portals, hand-to-hand combat’s the last thing anybody should rely on," I said while looking directly into his brown eyes. "And as you already noticed, I can handle thugs in dark alleys just fine. I’ve got enough certificates to prove it."
"Then what’s the reason? Love for martial arts?"
"Boredom." I shrugged. "We suddenly ended up with a whole free hour. And I’d rather spend it here in the quiet of the hall methodically beating the hell out of a punching bag than listening to teenagers screaming in the library while ripping each other’s spines out in Mortal Kombat."
"You’re way too old for this sandbox," Sam muttered with understanding and nodded to himself. "Okay, I hear you. Then how about we actually stretch our legs properly? Sparring?"
"Sounds tempting." I slowly looked him over. Sam was in excellent shape: lean, wiry, with the fast eyes of a fighter. "But you did read my file, right? I’ve got so much strength right now that I could accidentally cave your chest in with one careless movement."
"I know." Sam’s eyes gleamed with excitement. "That’s why we’re setting restrictions. No strikes with limbs. Forget fists, elbows, and knees. Grappling only: holds, takedowns, throws onto the tatami. We focus on technique. Deal?"
"Deal." I nodded. At least on the ground I would not accidentally kill him. "But keep in mind, I’m also freakishly agile."
"Even better!" He was already stretching his neck, which cracked like dry branches. "I’ve always wanted to test myself against somebody with Bruce Lee reflexes. Did you know he could catch an arrow in flight?"
"Never heard that one, but thanks for the idea. If he could do it, then I probably can too." I smirked.
We moved to opposite edges of the tatami. A short respectful bow according to tradition, and the air in the hall instantly became charged with tension. [Tactical Mode] activated, but I deliberately refused to use its advantages.
Sam moved beautifully. He constantly changed distance, tested my defense, and shifted around trying to get behind my back. I simply repositioned myself and killed his momentum. The moment he grabbed my shirt, I shook off his grip with a sharp, precise movement. Then I decided it was time to end things. A sudden lunge, a clean shot at his legs. To Sam, it probably looked like a blurred smear. A couple of seconds later we were already on the mats, and I had a chokehold locked in tight. Sam slapped the tatami twice, admitting defeat.
I immediately released the hold.
"Tom... that was something else." Breathing heavily, he adjusted his disheveled gi. "It felt like I was trying to wrestle a professional gymnast with the strength of a powerlifter. Unreal dynamics."
"I warned you." I held out my hand and helped him to his feet. "Official sports are basically closed to me now. It’s just not fair to the opponents."
"Then let’s at least work the bag for a while. I wanna see your striking."
I spent the rest of the hour at the punching bag. Every hit made the chains holding it groan and creak miserably, while the bag itself flew backward at such an angle that it looked as if a truck had slammed into it. Sam did far more than simply stand nearby. He turned out to be a walking encyclopedia. He gave advice on Muay Thai, corrected foot placement for karate strikes, and explained the finer points of weight distribution. The guy genuinely knew everything. Watching his enthusiasm, I realized the others had made a huge mistake by leaving the hall. Smith was a genuine treasure trove of martial arts experience.
"Time!" Sam glanced at his wristwatch and switched off the alarm. The sharp beep echoed off the walls. "Tom, do me a favor and go get our runaways. Gather them up and line them up outside by the entrance."
I silently shrugged and headed for the exit. It did not take long to find them. The whole group had predictably occupied the computers in the library block and were passionately gaming, filling the silence of the knowledge archive with shouting and swearing.
Five minutes later, I was already standing in formation with the others on the trimmed lawn in front of the hall. Sam walked out toward us with calm, measured steps. There was not a trace of resentment or disappointment on his face anymore, only professional detachment.
"You decided not to spend your time on hand-to-hand combat, and that’s your right," he said firmly. "There won’t be any punishments or disciplinary action. That was your choice. But! I’m teaching the next lesson too, and attendance’ll be mandatory for everybody without exception. We’re beginning the basic S-Power training course."
Sam sharply slammed his fist into his open palm with a loud crack.
At that exact moment, I felt something deep inside my consciousness turn like a key inside a rusted lock. The familiar hum of energy that had been muted this entire time suddenly ignited in every cell of my body, making my fingertips tingle.
[Attention! S-Power restriction removed]
[All blocked functions and abilities restored]
I unconsciously clenched my fists. Finally, the prelude was over.
Now the interesting part would begin.