Nhlangano wasn't clean.
It didn't have skyscrapers or bright lights like Mbabane, but the gangs here moved like ghosts. Quieter. Hungrier. No flashy gold chains—just boots, scars, and cold eyes.
Muzi knew the game. He didn't need to ask where the streets were hot.
He just followed the scent of blood and power.
---
His first move was survival. His second: reputation.
He started with a rundown boxing gym hidden behind a liquor store. The kind of place where gang muscle trained for war.
Muzi stepped inside. Dim lights. Sweat. Blood on the mats.
A group of guys looked up, frowning.
"Who's this?" one of them barked. Big guy. Scar under the left eye.
His crew wore red headwraps. Not Tibo's gang. A rival.
Muzi spoke calmly.
"I need work. I fight."
Laughter.
"You fight, huh? You from Mbabane?"
Danger flashed in the guy's voice.
Muzi didn't flinch. "I'm from nowhere."
Scarface smirked. "Then let's see what nowhere taught you."
---
They gave him gloves. He didn't need them.
His first opponent was taller, heavier—but Muzi had Shadow Pulse.
> [Ability Activated: Shadow Pulse – Lvl 1]
Speed +15% for 3 seconds. Enhanced perception.
The guy swung. Muzi ducked, saw the angle before it happened, countered with a brutal left hook.
The whole gym went quiet as his opponent collapsed.
Scarface blinked. Then laughed.
"You got smoke in you, stranger."
---
They gave him food that night. Let him sleep behind the gym.
They didn't ask for his name.
He didn't give it.
But someone called him over the next morning.
A guy in clean jeans. Confident. Dangerous smile.
"I'm Banele," he said. "I run this end of town."
Muzi stared him down.
"I'm just here to earn."
Banele nodded slowly. "You fight like someone who lost everything."
Muzi didn't respond.
> "Then maybe we can help each other."
---