Some people are born with strength in their blood.
Bloodlines that go back generations. Inherited martial arts. Combat instincts that can't be taught.
Some are born with skills so godly they're feared. Others, so useless they're tossed aside.
But one skill stands right in the middle—
Only as strong or as trash as the person who wields it.
A skill neglected by the weak.
A skill feared by the strong.
Because those who cultivate it?
They become monsters.
Jay Leno watched the boy in front of him—barely standing, lips bleeding, one eye bruised, legs shaking—but still in his stance. Still staring with that sharp look in his eye.
"Maybe his bloodline's made of beasts... Whatever it is, it's a great skill."
Jay crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes.
"Will you teach me now?" Daniel asked.
Jay clicked his tongue. "I can't teach someone like you."
Daniel's expression didn't change. He waited.
"You've got the Copy Skill," Jay continued.
"The only way you learn is by getting hit. Watching. Feeling. Then mimicking.
It's not about me teaching you moves.
It's about me beating the shit out of you until you steal every one of mine."
Jay leaned forward, cracking his knuckles.
"So, your choices: You get beat—over and over—or you give up. Choose."
Daniel's lips slowly curled into a grin. His voice calm. But his words? Venom.
"I'd rather get beaten bloody than be looked down on again.
My ego won't allow it. I'll trample everyone who once dared to face me—"
His smile widened, blood trickling from the side of his mouth—
"And I'll love every second of it."
A sadist's smile. One born from humiliation. Not fear.
Jay paused. Then smiled back—not warmly. Like a devil accepting a deal.
"Alright. Let's begin your beating."
The next month was hell.
Daniel showed up every single day.
Jay didn't go easy.
Taekwondo, Old Taekkyeon, Boxing, Capoeira, Karate—
Every time Daniel got kicked, punched, or swept, he absorbed it.
Not just the technique—but the rhythm. The footwork. The angles.
It was like watching a sponge turn into steel.
The Copy Skill wasn't flashy.
It didn't light up.
But it worked—too well.
By the third week, Jay stopped holding back.
By the fourth, he was using moves he hadn't touched in years.
And by the end of the month?
Daniel had everything.
His form was tighter. His movements sharper.
There were still gaps—natural weaknesses—but the difference was night and day.
He's not the same kid that walked in five weeks ago." Jay thought
"He's turning into something dangerous."