But Master Kangfu cleared his throat. Harry turned and bowed. “Master, I am ready for my fight with Andy.”

  Master Kangfu smiled, but the look in his eyes was sharp. “Are you ready for the fight, or you are ready to show how strong you have become.”

  Harry’s smile drained at once. It felt like his thoughts had been pulled straight out of his chest. His fingers curled slightly at his sides.

  Master Kangfu squatted until they were at the same height. The noise of the academy faded behind him. “Look here, kid. What you possess is not something to play with. Trust me, those who would envy you would be more than those who will applaud you. You must keep it a secret.”

  Harry swallowed. “I will do my best.” “Good.” Master Kangfu nodded. “Now, I have a gift for you.”

  He reached into his robe and brought out the rubber hand. It looked strange and stiff, nothing like flesh. Harry stared at it as Master Kangfu gently fixed it over his left hand.

  “What will this do?” Harry asked, turning his wrist slowly. “It will prevent others from seeing the glowing hand in case it happens.” Harry flexed his fingers. The rubber creaked softly. “Thank you.”

  Master Kangfu rubbed his head once, brief and careful. “Now, go on, kid.”

  Harry let out a small giggle and turned away. Behind him, Master Kangfu stayed where he was, already adjusting his own robe, eyes heavy with thoughts he did not share.

  At the White Belt Arena, the level one students had gathered. The stone seats were packed. Voices overlapped, rising and falling like restless waves. Those whose names were on the board kept shifting, wiping their palms on their robes, staring at the sand as if it might give them answers.

  All except Andy and Harry. When Harry stepped in, the Astania boys saw him and stiffened. A few of them went quiet at once. No one dared to hold his gaze for long. Their eyes slid away, then back again, uncertain.

  Andy moved closer. His shadow stretched across the ground and touched Harry’s feet. “I hope you are prepared to join your ancestors today.”

  Harry did not move back. He simply looked up and smiled. “We would see.” Andy felt something twist inside him. The smile was too calm. It did not belong on a boy who was broken by a tiny little girl.

  The seven supreme Masters arrived and took their seats above the arena. Their robes brushed against the stone, and the crowd slowly fell into a tense hush. Master Kangfu came in with them.

  “May we begin today’s fight,” one of the Masters said. The first matches rolled on. Feet struck sand. Fists met flesh. Some fights ended quickly. Some dragged on until someone fell. The smell of sweat and blood thickened the air.

  Then a voice rang out. “Tag sister two. Harry Jones of Astania, against Andy Cole of Rock Land.” A ripple ran through the arena.

  Andy stepped into the ring with pride. His shoulders were squared, his jaw set. Harry stepped in as well. The way he walked made a few heads turn. There was no limp. No hesitation.

  The confidence in his eyes was clear for all to see. Some students whispered. “Is he even fully healed?” “It is foolish of him to have accepted to fight.” “If I were him, I would just pack my bags and go to the monks’ cave.”

  “What is that he is wearing? Does he think that rubber will suddenly help him win the fight?” Others shook their heads. “Andy is going to kill him.” But the Astania boys did not share that pity. They watched Andy with something closer to fear. “Begin,” Master Kangfu’s voice boomed.

  Andy gritted his teeth and lunged.

  Harry dodged. Andy threw another punch again. But Harry dodged. Andy smiled. “No matter how long you run, you will end up like Floxy.”

  The words cracked through Harry like a whip. Floxy’s face flashed in his mind. Blood on the floor. The way everyone had turned away. Harry’s jaw tightened, but his feet kept moving, light and steady, sliding across the arena floor.

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  Andy lunged again. But he missed. “Why not face me, coward?” Andy barked. Harry let out a low laugh. It came out rough, almost strange to his own ears. “Why not get me instead?”

  The crowd leaned forward. You could feel their breath change, like a storm about to break.

  Andy’s eyes twitched. He swung harder now, wild, fists cutting the air. Every strike whooshed past Harry’s face, so close he felt the wind brush his skin. Still, Harry slipped away. Left. Right. Back. His body moved before his thoughts could catch up.

  “You bastard!” Andy spat. “All your life you have been unwanted. Remain still so I can end your miserable life.” The words didn’t sound like insults. They sounded like memories. Things people had said before. Things Harry had tried to forget.

  He stopped. The arena went quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy.

  “Alright,” Harry said softly. “I will remain put. Try to end me.”

  Andy blinked, surprised. Then a grin crawled over his face. He stepped forward. The punch came fast, straight and sharp. It slammed into Harry’s nose. There was a wet crack. Harry’s head snapped back and he hit the floor hard. Warm blood spilled down his lips.

  For a moment everything spun. The ceiling looked wrong. Too far away. I thought I no longer felt pain.

  Laughter erupted from the hall. It rolled over him, ugly and loud. Harry pushed himself up on one elbow. His fingers trembled. Andy turned toward the crowd. Kelly sat there, legs crossed, fingers resting on the arm of his chair. He lifted one finger.

  “Finish him.” Harry saw it. Something inside him shifted. It was small at first, like a spark catching dry grass. He bit down on his lip. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Heat poured through his veins, burning away the ache, burning away the doubt.

  His eyes lifted. They glowed. Andy charged, pouring everything he had into one brutal strike. Muscles bulged. Teeth clenched. The punch came aimed at Harry’s face, meant to shatter it.

  Harry raised his left hand. The impact rang out like metal on stone. Andy froze. His eyes went wide. A sickening crack followed. His fingers bent the wrong way. His hand collapsed, useless.

  “Ahhhhhh!” He screamed.

  Harry moved. An uppercut exploded from the ground. It caught Andy under the jaw. The force lifted him clean off his feet. His body flew backward, spinning through the air like a broken doll.

  He crashed near the seats of the seven supreme masters. Gasps ripped through the hall. Andy didn’t scream. He just lay there, unmoving.

  Monks rushed forward, robes flapping, voices shouting. They knelt beside him, shaking him, pressing their hands to his chest. But nothing. He remained lifeless on the ground.

  Harry stood alone in the center of the arena. Sweat dripped from his chin. His left hand slowly unclenched. Eyes stared at him. Hundreds of them. Some in fear. Some in disbelief.

  One of the old masters rose slowly. Master Frederick’s voice carried across the silence. “In my seventy years of existence, no one has possessed such a powerful strike.”

  A murmur spread.

  Master Kangfu shifted in his seat. His fingers tightened around his staff. He stood abruptly. “Harry Jones wins.” His voice cut through the noise, sharp and final.

  The monks dragged Andy away. Blood streaked across the floor behind him like a dark trail. Harry’s heart still thundered. His breath came hard. He looked at his hand again. No pain. Not even a bruise.

  Something had changed. He could feel it. The crowd slowly began to breathe again. Then the bell rang.

  That day, the hall was heavier than usual, thick with anticipation and murmurs. The list of students who had advanced to level two was being called, their names echoing off the stone walls. Some cheered, some wept quietly, others sat stiffly, too nervous to even move. When Harry’s name came up, he didn’t leap for joy the way some of the others did, he simply straightened his back and nodded. Repeating the white belt might seem like a setback to an outsider, but Harry felt different. He was alive, unbroken, and for the first time, he understood what that meant.

  Kelly and the rest of his gang walked past him, faces pale and stiff. Andy, however, was conspicuously absent. Whispers had begun to snake through the room, small, tense, like sparks on dry wood. “He did, he survive?” one student muttered, and heads swiveled toward Harry, eyes glinting with a mixture of disbelief and fear.

  The monks started calling the names of the students who had failed. The two girls who had lost every fight were the last to be named. Their shoulders slumped, heads drooping as their fate was announced.

  “You will progress to the monk cave,” the announcer’s voice said flatly, “where you will learn medicine.”

  The girls’ faces crumpled in shock and despair. Tears slipped silently down their cheeks as they were handed their belongings and escorted out. Harry stepped forward, instinctively. He placed a hand on one girl’s shoulder, offering what little comfort he could.

  “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “You’ll learn things they can’t even teach here in the fighting hall. Don’t be afraid.”

  But the monks didn’t pause. There was no time for grief or hesitation. The girls were swept away, leaving Harry watching until they vanished from view. For a fleeting second, he imagined himself in their place. If the God Hand hadn’t intervened at the river, if he hadn’t survived that brutal night, he would have been dragged from the hall just like them, stripped of any chance to fight for his life, or to fight at all.

  Through the chaos of movement and chatter, Harry noticed the seven supreme masters. Their eyes didn’t wander like everyone else’s, they were fixed on him, calculating, assessing, silent. Even the passing students seemed to shrink under their gaze.

  “There is something about that Astania bastard,” Master Caldwell murmured to the others, leaning slightly toward Master Frederick. “We must find out what it is.”

  Master Frederick nodded, lips pressed tight. “I agree. That blow… it wasn’t human. There’s a strength there that shouldn’t exist. I need to know its source, its nature.”

  Harry, oblivious to the conversation, felt a chill creep down his spine. He returned to his quarters, dragging his eyes from the floor to the door, expecting the normal quiet of solitude. Instead, Master Kangfu was already there, waiting. His expression was tight, a mix of anger and fear, his gaze locking onto Harry like a vice.

  “I told you not to show your strength,” Kangfu said, his voice low, dangerous. Harry froze, then frowned. “Master, how was I supposed to win the combat without using my power? Andy, he was going to kill me.”

  Kangfu’s jaw tightened. “You do not understand what you have done. You have drawn attention. Eyes that should never have been on you are now watching. You were supposed to rely on your natural abilities, not the God Hand.”

  Harry’s stomach sank. “Attention? What attention? From who?”

  “The seven supreme masters,” Kangfu said sharply. He turned and began pacing, the robes brushing the floor. “They noticed. They saw the strike. The strike that should not be possible. The God Hand cannot remain visible in the open. Not yet. Not until you are ready to face the world.”

  Harry looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. The rubber hand Kangfu had fitted still covered the glowing artifact, hiding it from everyone else. Yet he could feel it, humming just beneath the surface. A quiet pulse that whispered power.