The buzz from the festival had long faded.
Rumors still circled the school about Jalen Creed copying Gun Park's technique, about him naming "Shiro Oni" like it was nothing, and about how even Crystal Choi seemed intrigued by him. But for Jalen, none of that mattered.
He had work to do.
That night, alone in his room under the soft glow of his massive flat-screen monitor, Jalen sat with a protein shake in hand, shirtless, sweat glistening across his lean torso from an intense workout.
He pulled up a browser and began typing something only someone with his memories would ever search:
"How to fight Samdak."
Enter.
A small, forgotten YouTube channel popped up.
1 subscriber. 0 views.
Jalen's eyes lit up.
He hasn't found it yet... Yu Hobin hasn't started his journey.
That meant opportunity.
That meant time.
He clicked into the first video the ripped man's casual, enthusiastic demeanor and shaky webcam quality did nothing to hide the sheer genius behind the techniques he demonstrated. Footwork, distance control, eye manipulation. Psychological warfare.
Jalen devoured it.
Night after night, after school, after hours of MMA conditioning, striking drills, and strength training he'd return to this channel, replaying videos over and over, mimicking every move, adapting every technique.
He learned how to fake fear. How to bait. How to act.
> A fighter who could copy what he saw… was now learning how to manipulate what people saw.
One Month Later.
Winter vacation ended. School was reopening.
And Jalen?
Transformed.
He stood in front of the full-length mirror in his room. Shirt off. Towel around his neck. Abs carved deep. Shoulders broader. V-lines sharp. His biceps flexed as he wiped sweat off his face, veins prominent and clear.
He wasn't huge.
He was toned. Dense. Aesthetic. Efficient.
He grinned faintly.
Still the same pretty boy look… just with real heat under the hood.
Back at school, the whispers came back with full force. But this time, even the ones who used to scoff or stay silent were watching with awe.
"Did he bulk up?"
"He's like… carved out now."
"He looked good before, but now it's like… scary-good."
And somewhere, behind tinted glasses and a calm smirk, Gun Park sat in a high-rise office, watching festival footage on his phone.
He paused the video right at the Brazilian kick.
Replay.
Again.
Replay.
His eyes narrowed. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Samdak-level eyes… and a Phantom's memory."
He closed the phone.
"This is going to be fun."