shattered life, REBORN

The dim glow of the streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement as Hiroki took a step forward, his eyes locked onto the five men cornering the girl. Their drunken laughter echoed through the empty alley, their intentions clear. Fear radiated from the girl's trembling form, her voice caught in her throat as she struggled against their grip.

Peter D. Rasel remained beside Hiroki, arms crossed, watching silently. This was no longer training. There were no weighted vests, no controlled sparring matches—this was reality, and Hiroki had to face it head-on.

"Five men," Peter murmured, his voice unreadable. "Are you going to run?"

Hiroki's jaw tightened. "No."

Peter smirked. "Then handle it."

The Approach

Hiroki exhaled slowly, pushing every trace of hesitation from his mind. He walked toward the group, his footsteps deliberate. The thugs turned, noticing him for the first time. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running across his temple, sneered.

"What do we have here?" he chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "A hero?"

Hiroki didn't answer. Instead, he met their gazes with unwavering calm. He had spent months training for this moment—not for glory, not for revenge, but to reclaim control over his life. And now, it was time to put his skills to the test.

The tallest thug let go of the girl's arm and stepped forward. "Beat it, kid. Unless you wanna leave here in pieces."

Hiroki rolled his shoulders, loosening up. He wasn't afraid. His heart beat steadily, his breathing controlled. For the first time, he felt truly in command of himself.

THE FIGHT BEGINS!

The first man lunged, swinging a heavy right hook toward Hiroki's face. The attack was slow, sloppy. Hiroki saw it coming the moment the man shifted his weight.

Dodge. Counter.

Hiroki ducked under the punch, pivoted on his back foot, and drove his elbow into the man's ribs. A sickening crack filled the air as two of the thug's ribs shattered on impact. A wheeze of agony escaped him, but before he could react, Hiroki hooked his leg behind the man's knee and slammed him face-first onto the pavement. Blood splattered as his nose broke instantly, his muffled screams echoing through the alley.

The second thug reacted fast, swinging a steel pipe toward Hiroki's head. Stay calm. Focus. Hiroki raised his arm, blocking with his forearm at the right angle to deflect most of the force. A sharp sting ran up his arm, but he ignored it. Instead, he grabbed the thug's wrist and twisted violently. The man shrieked as his elbow bent in the wrong direction, bones snapping like dry twigs. Hiroki followed up with a brutal kick to his chest, sending him sprawling against the wall, coughing up blood.

Drawing Out the Fight

The third thug, seeing his friends in agony, rushed forward in blind rage. Hiroki sidestepped the wild punch and grabbed the man's outstretched arm, yanking him forward and slamming his knee into his gut. The thug gasped, doubling over in pain, but Hiroki wasn't done. He wrapped his arm around the man's neck and executed a brutal judo throw, sending him crashing onto the hard pavement. The impact knocked the air out of him, but Hiroki followed up with two devastating stomps to his ribs. Another sickening crack echoed, and the thug let out a hoarse cry before passing out from the pain.

The fourth man was smarter. He took a step back, reaching into his pocket, and pulled out a switchblade. Hiroki's eyes narrowed. Knife fights weren't about power—they were about control. One mistake, one miscalculation, and it could be fatal. Peter's words echoed in Hiroki's mind: 

"The strongest fighter is not the one who throws the hardest punch, but the one who chooses when to strike."

The thug lunged, slashing wildly. Hiroki stepped back, dodging each attack with precise movements. His opponent's breathing turned ragged, his frustration growing. The moment the thug overextended, Hiroki struck—his palm shot forward, smashing into the man's wrist. The knife clattered to the ground.

Hiroki wasted no time. He grabbed the thug's collar and yanked him forward, driving his knee directly into his stomach. A guttural gasp of pain escaped the man as he doubled over, but Hiroki wasn't done. He grabbed the thug's arm and twisted it behind his back, dislocating his shoulder with a sickening pop. The man howled, his legs giving out beneath him.

before Hiroki finish the last one, an unknown guy; seems one of the thug's friend—almost kinda fat and look stronger then Peter—charged at Peter.

before the thug grab him, Peter grabbed his face. he struggled to release himself but no help.

with a push, Peter pin him with a strong impact to the wall, make some crack on the wall.

Peter start punching the thug; JAB, HOOK, UPPERCUT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, and few KICKS, not giving the thug a small chance to fight back, punching the thug almost all his body, stomach, shoulders, legs, chest, each punch, each bone to break.

with the last strike, Peter slammed his knee to his nuts powerfully; broken face, painted with his own blood and body almost destroyed.

the thug fall on the ground, not dead but won't recover soon...

One left.

The last thug, the first one who had spoken, stood frozen. His bravado had drained away, leaving only fear. He took one shaky step back.

Hiroki grabbed the steel pipe and slowly walk towards him.

before the thug even react, it was too late, Hiroki grab his arm and with a strong swing, he broke the thug's arm, scream in pain while the the arm was completely destroyed, bones was completely visible due to the strong impact and... with the final move, Hiroki kick his face and send the thug few meters away

the thug, holding his beaten face, look over him, the coldness in his face, the pure anger and rage in his eyes... 

The message was clear.

"Get lost," Hiroki said, with his voice cold.

The thug hesitated for only a second before turning and running after his fallen comrades, disappearing into the darkness—though not unscathed. Hiroki's last attack had left him with a shattered arm, one he would never fully recover from.

Aftermath

Silence settled over the alley. Hiroki stood there, his breath even, his fists still clenched. Blood stained his knuckles, the scent of iron lingering in the air. He had done it. Not out of vengeance, not out of anger—but because it was the right thing to do. And for the first time, he felt truly strong.

Peter clapped slowly behind him. "Not bad."

Hiroki turned, meeting his mentor's approving gaze. "I could have been faster."

Peter chuckled. "Perfection isn't the goal. Control is. And you had it."

Hiroki exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The adrenaline was fading, but his mind remained sharp. 

Peter then walked toward the frightened girl, who was still catching her breath. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash, handing it to her. 

"Get a taxi. Go home," he said in a calm yet firm tone. "Don't linger in places like this again."

The girl hesitated, looking at Hiroki, then at Peter. With shaking hands, she took the money, nodding quickly before sprinting away from the alley, disappearing into the city streets.

Peter glanced back at Hiroki. "Come on," he said, motioning for him to follow. "You've earned a meal."

As they walked away, Hiroki glanced at his hands. No trembling. No hesitation.

He was ready for whatever came next.

To Be Continued...

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!! spoiler !!

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new character incoming in few chapters!!!!