CHAPTER II

  Noon painted the sky with strokes of azure and white clouds as Ren reached the city gates. He had walked all morning, driven by the thrill of leaving his home behind and taking the first step toward his dream of becoming a legendary fighter, like the Etherions he’d watched in recordings. With his backpack slung over his shoulder and Nenji’s kimono carefully tucked away like a treasure, Ren paused to take in the scene before him.

  The city was alive. Cobblestone streets buzzed with the morning’s hustle: merchants shouted, hawking their wares, children scampered about with laughter, and in the distance, the echo of strikes and commands drifted from dojos. The air carried the scent of freshly baked bread, sweat, and sharpened metal. To Ren, it was a new world, brimming with promise. Here, I’ll find my master, he thought, clenching his fists with determination.

  But reality soon doused that spark of hope.

  The first place he headed was an imposing dojo called the Iron Fist Academy. Its dark wooden walls and carved sign at the entrance exuded authority. Ren took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. Inside, a group of young trainees practiced synchronized movements while a burly man, arms crossed and face weathered, watched them with a critical eye.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Ren said, bowing respectfully. “My name is Mizuki Ren, and I’m looking for a master to train me in the art of Yu and martial arts.”

  The trainer sized him up, his gaze lingering on Ren’s slender arms, frail frame, and the dark circles marking his face from sleepless nights. He let out a dry chuckle.

  “You? A fighter?” he said, his voice echoing through the dojo. “You look more like a scribe than a warrior, kid. Go back home and find something that suits your… abilities.”

  Ren felt a knot tighten in his stomach, but he refused to back down.

  “I have determination, sir,” he pressed. “I can learn, I can improve. I just need a chance.”

  The man shook his head dismissively.

  “We don’t take just anyone here. Leave, and don’t waste my time.”

  Heart heavy, Ren stepped out of the dojo. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. There are more trainers. Someone will see my potential.

  But rejection became a relentless pattern. At the next dojo, a wizened master with a wrinkled face brushed him off with a curt, “You don’t have the right build.” At another, a sharp-eyed woman told him she didn’t see “a warrior’s fire” in his eyes. In a makeshift gym down an alley, a group of apprentices mocked him when he tried to hit a punching bag, losing his balance in the process.

  Each refusal struck his pride like a direct blow. Ren roamed the streets tirelessly, stopping at every place that promised training, only to hear the same responses: “You’re too weak,” “You don’t have what it takes,” “Go home.” The sun climbed to its peak, and his feet began to ache, but he pressed on, clinging to the hope that someone, somewhere, would give him a chance.

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  Then, in a bustling plaza, he saw him: a boy about his age, perhaps a bit taller, wearing a crisp new kimono and a smug smile that screamed confidence. He walked beside a hulking man, clearly his trainer.

  “Shiko, you’ve got intense training ahead today,” the man said, clapping the boy on the back.

  “I’m ready, master,” Shiko replied, puffing out his chest. “I’ll be the greatest Etherion this city’s ever seen.”

  Ren felt a pang of envy. He approached cautiously, determined to learn something from this boy.

  “Excuse me,” he said to Shiko. “How did you get accepted as an apprentice?”

  Shiko glanced at him sideways, sizing him up with a mix of disdain and amusement.

  “Easy,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve got confidence, strength, and talent. Not like some people out there begging for scraps.”

  Ren frowned, heat rising to his face.

  “I’ve got determination too,” he shot back. “I just need someone to give me a chance.”

  Shiko’s laugh rang out across the plaza.

  “Determination? That’s not enough, pal. Look, you don’t have what it takes. You’re scrawny, your eyes look dull, and honestly, you don’t measure up. Go home before you get hurt.”

  Shiko’s words hit like a punch to the chest. Ren clenched his fists, searching for a retort, but none came. Shiko’s trainer stepped in.

  “The kid’s right. This path isn’t for everyone. It takes more than just wanting it—you need a strong body and an even stronger mind.”

  Ren lowered his gaze, defeated. Without a word, he turned and walked away, Shiko’s laughter trailing behind him like a cruel echo.

  The day dragged on in a blur of rejections and pitying glances. As the sun began to sink, painting the sky in warm hues, Ren found himself alone in a park at the city’s edge. He sat on a wooden bench, staring at the horizon as a cool breeze tousled his hair.

  For the first time since leaving home, doubt crept into his heart. What if Shiko was right? What if he truly didn’t have what it took to be a fighter? His slight frame, trembling hands, and lack of experience—all seemed to scream that he was destined to fail. His father’s words echoed in his mind: “You need to study, Ren. Your grades are slipping.” Maybe he should give up, return home, and accept a quiet life.

  But then, a memory struck him: the fight between Nenji and Terrence, their Etherion Awakenings lighting up the screen, the strength and passion in their movements. Ren had felt something watching them, a spark that still burned inside him. He couldn’t snuff it out so easily. There has to be a way, he thought.

  At that moment, a nearby conversation snapped him out of his reverie. Two men in tattered kimonos passed through the park, speaking in hushed tones.

  “…they say there’s a master on a remote island, to the east. He takes anyone with the guts to reach him.”

  “Really? Who is he?”

  “Don’t know much. Some say he’s a retired Etherion, others that he’s a madman. But word is, he’s trained incredible fighters.”

  Ren straightened on the bench, his heart racing. A master who accepted anyone? It could be his salvation, his last hope. He stood and approached the men.

  “Excuse me,” he said, his voice shaky but resolute. “Can you tell me more about that master on the island?”

  One of the men looked at him, surprised, but then nodded.

  “The rumor about the island master, huh? Don’t know much, just that he’s east, beyond the Sea of Storms. The journey’s dangerous—only the boldest or most desperate try it.”

  Ren nodded, a spark of determination igniting within him.

  “Thank you,” he said, bowing. “I think I’m one of those desperate ones.”

  The men exchanged a glance but said nothing more. Ren walked away, his mind already forming a plan. If the city’s trainers wouldn’t have him, he’d seek out this mysterious master. No matter the risk—he was willing to do anything for his dream.

  That night, Ren reached the city’s port. Ships swayed in the water under the moonlight. With his meager savings, he bought passage on a small fishing boat headed east. As the boat pulled away from the dock, Ren gazed at the city fading into the distance. Rejection and doubt still weighed on his soul, but now there was something else: a faint glimmer of hope.

  With the wind on his face and the sound of the waves, Ren closed his eyes and clung to his dream. The path would be grueling, but he wouldn’t give up. Not yet.