"What? Who's the strongest?" Seraphine asked, caught off guard.
"You don't know?" Rina raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her mango juice. "I figured you would've heard about him by now. You were in Central City, after all."
"Who are you talking about? You still haven't said his name," Seraphine replied, though a quiet suspicion was already settling in her chest.
"Oh, Jake, of course. Who else?" Rina said casually.
"Wait...Wh...What??! Jake? He's actually at this college?" Seraphine's eyes widened. "Do you mean the Jake? The martial arts prodigy?"
"Yep. That's him."
"I see..." Seraphine muttered under her breath.
She wasn't surprised by who he was-anyone in the Central Continent who knew the first thing about fighting knew that name. He was practically a urban legend. The actual shock was learning that someone like him was wasting his time at a completely ordinary college.
His name carried weight across the entire continent for a reason. He was widely recognized as the youngest prodigy the martial arts world had seen in generations, reaching the absolute pinnacle of several disciplines at an age when most fighters were still trying to master their basic footwork. Even her father-a hardened military commander who rarely had a good word to say about anyone—spoke of him with genuine caution.
"He's one of the few people I would never fight without expecting to lose," her father had told her once.
Because of his sheer potential, details about his whereabouts and daily life were kept under tight wraps. Her father had made sure she understood that much.
The guy wasn't called the strongest just for show. He was a monster wrapped in human skin. He was the first person in recorded history to earn a 4th Dan Black Belt in Karate at just twenty-two-a milestone that typically demanded decades of dedicated training.
As if that wasn't enough, he held a 4th Dan in Taekwondo, a rank usually reserved for the people who trained grandmasters. In Muay Thai, he had been awarded the Black Pra Jiad, an honor so rare you could count its living holders on one hand. And in Kendo, he held the 5th Dan, Godan-a title spoken with absolute reverence among master swordsmen.
Under normal circumstances, accumulating those ranks in a single lifetime was practically impossible. The mandatory waiting periods alone were supposed to take half a century. But the traditional governing boards had been backed into a corner when a twenty-year-old kid walked into their dojos and systematically dismantled dozens of their top masters simultaneously without breaking a sweat.
The old men running the martial arts federations hated it. Having a young kid trivialize their life's work felt like a slap in the face to their entire heritage. But they couldn't deny reality, so they buried him in titles and official ranks just to satisfy their own pride.
Back home, Seraphine had seen him in person exactly once, during the Grand Tournament. He had walked through the bracket and claimed the championship as if it were nothing more than a light morning warm-up.
Beyond his raw physical ability, there was something else about him that unnerved people. Grown men, seasoned veterans, and renowned instructors practically begged him for lessons, but he turned every single one of them down.
To an outsider, it sounded absurd-why would grandmasters beg a college kid for instruction? But in the fighting world, age meant nothing; absolute skill was the only currency that mattered. Jake possessed an almost supernatural ability to read movement. He could watch a fighter for five seconds and instantly pinpoint every fundamental flaw, every micro-imbalance, and every weakness in their stance.
Seraphine still remembered the day he had casually deconstructed her father's technique right in front of his own division. Her father hadn't even gotten angry; he had simply absorbed the critique like a student listening to a master.
What bothered Seraphine the most, however, was how completely unreadable the guy was. He could see through everyone else instantly, but his own posture gave away nothing. He moved with an eerie, effortless stillness, like he was operating on a completely different plane of existence.
And then there was her father's constant nagging. Every time her form slipped or she lost her temper during training, it was always the same line: "Why can't you analyze things the way Jake does?" or "Jake wouldn't have overextended like that."
She didn't hate the guy—she respected what he could do. But hearing his name thrown in her face for years had left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Jake this, Jake that," she muttered, staring narrowed-eyed at the empty, oversized table across the room. "Seriously... that guy."
Rina blinked, pausing her drink. "Did you say something, Sera?"
"Nothing," Seraphine said smoothly, wiping the irritation from her face. "By the way... what's his deal with Rix?"
"Oh, they've been best friends since they were kids. At least, that's what everyone says."
Seraphine hesitated for a second before asking, "So... where is he right now?"
"Hmm, I think he's out of town for some tournament. That's the rumor, anyway."
Seraphine felt a strange mix of relief and annoyance. She was glad she wouldn't have to bump into her father's favorite golden boy, but it still irritated her. Even when the guy wasn't even in the building, his mere reputation was enough to keep an entire cafeteria from sitting at a perfectly good table.
"A tournament, huh?" she muttered.
She glanced back over at Rix.
He was slouched back in his chair, looking bored out of his mind, completely indifferent to the fact that the rest of the cafeteria was practically bursting at the seams. He had an entire six-person booth to himself simply because nobody dared sit anywhere near Jake's usual spot.
"Best friends, huh?" Seraphine grumbled quietly. "Must be nice having a walking threat as a shield."
Suddenly..
The heavy double doors at the main entrance slammed open, the loud bang cutting through the chatter. A few students near the front flinched and turned.
"YOU FUCKER! Where the hell is my assignment?! You said it'd be done today!"
The roar bounced off the high ceiling like a thunderclap. Every conversation in the room ground to a sudden halt.
It was Bryan.
Broad-shouldered, heavy-set, and universally avoided, Bryan was one of the college's most notorious bullies. He was part of the self-proclaimed "Bully Faction"-a small group of fighters who spent their time terrorizing anyone who couldn't fight back. They weren't particularly respected, but nobody tested them either. A few of them were legitimate martial artists who had no problem breaking bones over minor slights.
Standing in front of him was Noel. Noel was a quiet, thin kid who spent ninety percent of his life in the library, always near the top of the academic rankings and completely helpless in a physical confrontation.
Noel was sitting at a crowded table, but the moment the other students realized Bryan was stomping toward them, they scrambled. Within five seconds, the surrounding chairs were empty, leaving Noel sitting completely alone.
Noel shrank back, his hands trembling as he struggled to squeeze out a response. "I-I'm sorry... I got back late from my tutoring gig last night. I was so exhausted I didn't even get to finish my own work..."
His voice was barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning. He was trying to hold himself together, but his entire frame was shaking.
Bryan closed the distance in heavy, deliberate strides, his boots thudding against the linoleum.
"MOTHERFUCKER! I don't give a shit about your assignment! I asked you where MY work is!"
The assignment was just an excuse. Everyone knew it. Bryan just wanted to vent some steam, and Noel was the easiest target in the room.
"I... I'm sorry... please, just give me until tonight..." Noel whimpered, ducking his head as Bryan's massive frame cast a shadow over the table.
"Tonight?!" Bryan bellowed, his face flushing dark red. "It's due next period, you useless little shit!"
Before Noel could answer, Bryan's hand shot forward, grabbing a fistful of Noel's hair and yanking his head backward. Before anyone could react, he drove Noel's face straight down into the wooden tabletop.
CRACK....
The sound was heavy, wet, and sharp.
The entire cafeteria went dead silent. Forks froze halfway to mouths. Conversations vanished.
Blood immediately pooled across the wooden surface, staining the open notebook beneath Noel's face. A jagged, breathless scream tore from the kid's throat.
"Gah—! Ah... nghhh—!"
Noel tried to push himself up, but Bryan maintained his grip, twisting his scalp to keep him pinned.
"S-stop... it hurts... please—"
"Does it?" Bryan sneered, leaning down until he was breathing directly into Noel's ear. "It's gonna hurt a lot worse if that paper isn't on my desk in ten minutes."
People knew bullying happened around campus—it was usually dragged into quiet hallway corners or behind the gym buildings. But seeing this kind of raw, open violence in the middle of a packed lunchroom was different. It wasn't just intimidation anymore. It was an assault.
Several students leaned away from the scene instinctively. A girl two tables over covered her mouth, her eyes watering.
Seraphine's gaze narrowed, a cold, dangerous stillness settling over her blue eyes. She wasn't the type to go out of her way to act like a hero, especially over petty college drama. But watching a guy twice a kid's size smash his face into a table was something she couldn't just ignore.
She didn't jump up immediately. Instead, she leaned slightly toward Rina, who was staring at the blood on the table with a pale face.
"Who's the big guy?" Seraphine asked, her voice dropping an octave.
"H-Huh?" Rina stammered, swallowing hard. "That's... that's Bryan. He's with the bully council. He's not one of their top guys, but... I think he's ranked in the top fifteen fighters on campus..."
"I didn't think he'd do something like this right out in the open," Aria whispered from the other side, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
From a few tables back, a guy named Julian suddenly stood up. His chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"That's enough, Bryan!" Julian yelled, his voice tight with anger. "You've gone too far. I'm taking this straight to the administration!"
Bryan paused, his hand still buried in Noel's hair. A slow, ugly grin spread across his face. "Oh yeah?"
With an effortless, violent shove, he hurled Noel sideways. The kid slammed hard into the brick pillar behind the table before slumping to the floor with a painful gasp, clutching his ribs.
"Go ahead. Run to the old men," Bryan said, turning toward Julian with his hands shoved casually into his pockets. "See if they give a shit."
He walked right up to Julian, stopping an inch from his nose.
"Mind your own business, hero."
Bryan lowered his voice slightly, but made sure the surrounding tables could still hear him clearly. "You remember what happened last time you tried to play the knight, don't you? The council doesn't let things slide twice. Especially not the guys in the top five."
He patted Julian's shoulder twice, hard enough to rock him back slightly. "You think I'm the problem? Try crossing Seth or Cain. You won't end up with a couple of bruised ribs this time."
Julian went completely rigid.
His fists were clenched so hard his knuckles turned white, but he didn't move a muscle. The memory of his last encounter—two weeks in a hospital bed with a fractured wrist and zero help from the school board despite his family's money—kept him anchored to the spot.
He had the build of an athlete, but he wasn't a fighter. He stood there, staring at the floor, silent.
Bryan smirked, satisfied, and turned back toward the whimpering kid on the ground. "Right. Now back to you, you little—"
"Stop."
The voice was clear, calm, and cut right through the heavy atmosphere of the room.
Seraphine stepped out from between the tables, her hands resting comfortably behind her back as she walked forward. "I'm not sitting here watching this."
Bryan turned around, blinking in surprise as his eyes landed on her.
Rina stepped up right beside her a second later. Her legs were visibly shaking, but she crossed her arms and forced a sharp look onto her face. "Don't get cocky just because your little group scares freshmen, Bryan," Rina said, her voice carrying across the room. "Picking on someone who can't hit back just makes you look pathetic. We all know you only act like this when Jake isn't on campus anyway. If you're so tough, why don't you try this when he's sitting right over there?"
At the sound of Jake's name, Bryan's expression twitched. For a fraction of a second, his swagger faltered—his jaw set, and his eyes flickered toward the empty booth near the back. But he quickly recovered, forcing a greasy smile onto his face.
"Well, well..." Bryan drawled, looking both of them up and down. "Where'd you girls find the nerve? You think the council goes easy on pretty faces? Big mistake. We actually prefer messing with girls."
He made a crude sound with his tongue, his eyes lingering on Seraphine. "Why don't you two come over to my place after classes? I can show you real quick how strong I—"
SLAP!
The sharp crack echoed off the walls like a gunshot.
Bryan's head snapped violently to the side, his cheek flushing dark red instantly. Seraphine stood in the exact same spot, her posture straight, her right hand already dropping casually back behind her waist.
"That," she said coldly, "is not how you speak to a women."
Bryan went entirely still.
Slowly, he turned his head back around. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with pure, unfiltered rage. Nobody in this school had ever laid a hand on him like that, let alone in front of a hundred staring students.
"You... you crazy bitch," he growled, his hands curling into heavy fists. "Jake isn't here to save you. I'm going to break your fucking legs."
He lunged forward, swinging a heavy right hook aimed straight for her jaw.
"Too slow," Seraphine murmured.
She didn't back up. She simply shifted her weight, slipping inside his turning circle as the punch whistled harmlessly past her ear. Before Bryan could adjust his balance, her foot swept cleanly across his lead ankle.
The heavy gym rat went down hard, his chest slamming against the floor.
Before he could push himself up, Seraphine stepped in and grabbed his right wrist, twisting it sharply outward.
CRACK.
"AAAAHHH! YOU BITCH!" Bryan shrieked, thrashing against the floor as the small bones in his wrist gave way under her grip.
CRACK.!!
"AGHH! STOP! YOU PSYCHO!"
Seraphine didn't let go. Despite her slim build, her grip was like a steel vise locked around his joint. She put a fraction more pressure on the lever.
CRUNCH....!!
"AAAAAHHHHH!! PLEASE!"
A collective gasp echoed across the cafeteria.
"Is she... breaking his arm?!"
"No way..."
Bryan writhed on the floor, sweat pouring down his forehead, his face pale as paper. "LET GO! I SWEAR TO GOD—"
CRUNCH!!
"AAGGHHHHHHH!!!"
The entire room watched in stunned silence as Bryan's screams slowly broke down into ragged gasps. Seraphine held his arm at an unnatural, sickening angle, her expression entirely unreadable. She wasn't smiling, nor was she angry. She just looked like she was holding down a nuisance.
Pinned to the floor, breathing in the dirt from the tiles, Bryan felt a sudden, awful sense of familiarity.
The physical pain was bad, but the sheer, overwhelming helplessness was worse. It reminded him of that guy.
The guy who never yelled, never carried a reputation like a weapon, and didn't care about rankings. The guy who just walked into a room with his hands in his pockets, and suddenly the whole atmosphere would drop five degrees. Gravity itself seemed to pull harder whenever he was around. Even the loudest, ugliest guys in the senior halls would go quiet when he passed by.
They called him "The Untouchable." The "Uncrowned King." The guy everyone silently agreed was the strongest person on campus, without him ever having to ask for the title.
Seraphine wasn't him. But as she stood over him, looking down with those cold blue eyes, the pressure felt eerily similar.
She tilted her head slightly. "Have you had enough?"
Bryan gritted his teeth, tears of pain mixing with the sweat on his face. "S-sorry! Just let go! I'm done! I won't touch him again!"
His voice cracked, completely stripped of any leftover pride.
Seraphine released her grip. Bryan instantly yanked his ruined arm back against his chest, curling onto his side and breathing in ragged gulps.
She knew a guy like him wouldn't suddenly turn into a good person over a broken wrist, but that wasn't her problem.
Without another word, Bryan scrambled to his feet, cradling his arm as he practically stumbled over his own feet trying to get out the double doors.
Rina walked up beside Seraphine, watching him leave. "Seraphine, we should probably report this to the head office right now. The rest of the bully council isn't going to let this slide."
Seraphine offered a faint smile and patted Rina's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I can handle them." She paused, her tone softening slightly. "Though... I'm impressed. I didn't expect you to jump in like that."
Rina forced a small grin, nudging her shoulder. "Well, yeah. What kind of friend would I be if I just stood there?"
Over at his isolated booth, Rix watched the entire scene finish up, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of his neck.
"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, leaning back into his seat. "Is it too late to go over there and apologize now?"
Probably...
He rubbed his face with both hands. "I mean, technically I could just walk over, say hi, and..."
His hand reached out for his glass of water to clear his throat, but his fingers froze an inch from the glass...
He blinked.
The water inside the glass wasn't still.
It wasn't splashing, and nobody was kicking his table. There was no vibration running through the floorboards. But the surface of the liquid was moving.
A slow, steady, rhythmic pulse.
Back and forth.
Like a tiny tide rising and falling inside the glass.
Rix stared at it, his breath catching in his throat.
Around him, the cafeteria noise was slowly coming back—trays clattering, people talking in hushed whispers about what just happened, chairs sliding against the floor.
He didn't look at any of it. He just kept his eyes locked on the glass.
The water kept moving.
"...what the hell?".