A new week begins, and Celeritas is as lively as ever. In Class 1-A everyone watches the teacher writing on the board—everyone except a blonde by the window, staring outside and thinking, I can't believe it… Master said we're not to go near training or do anything at all.
People can't help but be dazzled by the girl's beauty. Even if no one in class talks to her for various reasons, none would deny how striking she is. Everyone (except her) startles when the teacher calls, "All right—turn in your work!" After handing in her exercises, the blonde leaves the room to a chorus of envy from her classmates and praise from the teacher. The halls are packed, but she doesn't care; she heads to her locker for her gym clothes—she plans to use the free time to refine what her master taught her by blending it with her sport.
Something vibrates in her blazer pocket.
Francesca: (checking her phone)
Group — "Training."
Emily: (sends a photo)
Francesca: (faint smile) "What a dork lol."
Tyron: "Hey, I only sent it to cheer Emi up!"
Alexa: "ok enough, delete that."
She hears someone behind her and quickly hides her phone. It's her best friend.
Gregorio: "Fran!"
Francesca: "Hi, Greg—"
Gregorio: (covering her mouth) "Shh! I just ditched my fangirls."
She shoots a murderous look at the handsome, light-brown-haired athlete. He yanks his hands back and chuckles awkwardly. Francesca returns to her calm, serious face. "They won't find you if you're the only one—besides the teachers—who talks to me." She heads for the tennis courts behind the academy.
Gregorio: (following) "I know, I know. Honestly, they're too scared of you to come close. Heh."
Francesca: "Right…"
Gregorio: "Though rumor has it I'm not your only friend." (teasing grin)
Francesca: (waiting for him to open the door) "What are you talking about?"
Gregorio: (holds the door like a gentleman) "That boy you were cheering for at the fight last week."
Francesca: (deadpan) "No idea what you're talking about."
Gregorio: (shows a video on his phone) "Please. That's you. You even jumped in to save him. I'm proud of you, pal."
Francesca: (turning away) "He's not my friend!"
Gregorio: (impish) "Wait… don't tell me he's your boyfriend."
Francesca: (scarlet) "What are you saying?! That idiot should be so lucky!"
Gregorio: (still grinning, replaying the clip) "I don't know… the way you leapt to protect him was more than friendly."
Francesca: (punches his abs) "Quit the nonsense."
Gregorio: (rubbing his stomach) "Hahaha—worth it."
Francesca changes in the locker room. When she comes out, Gregorio's gone. Brows raised, she heads to the equipment room, grabs a racket and a bucket full of balls. Outside, Gregorio—now in sportswear—waves. "I've got fifteen free minutes. How about a match?" She answers with a confident smile.
After school, on their day off from training, she doesn't know what to do. The only fun part was crushing Gregorio in straight sets. She's been jogging around Central Park for three hours. Stretching her legs afterward, she suddenly feels a strange buried sensation. She whirls, scanning for the source—and relaxes when Emily approaches. The feeling disappears at once, which puts the blonde on alert.
Emily: (coming closer) "Hi, Francesca. Sorry to drop by unannounced, it's just—"
Francesca: (eyeing her) "Do you have anything in your backpack or pockets?"
Emily: (puzzled, then worried) "No… Wait—are you saying I have something on me? Please don't say it's a spider."
Francesca: (huffs) "Forget it. What do you need?"
Emily: "Well, see…"
— FLASHBACK —
The three of them are at Kiryoku, silent. After so long training with the warrior, a day off has left them aimless. Each sips an iced tea.
Tyron: "Hey… what if…?" (lets the question hang)
Alexa: "What if what?!"
Tyron: "I dunno. Right now we'd be getting yelled at by an old man in the middle of a forest."
Alexa: (grabbing her bag) "If you've got nothing, I'll go help at a charity."
Emily: "We could spar."
Tyron: "Just the three of us?"
Alexa: "Better. The blonde's mood means she won't train with us anyway."
Emily: "Oh, come on—we can. How about we split up and each pair finds a secluded spot to practice?"
Tyron: "Okay, but who's going to get Francesca?"
— END FLASHBACK —
Emily: "…and that's what happened."
Francesca: "Okay. I'm in. Follow me—we'll use the court."
They head to the Sejuk estate tennis courts. Meanwhile, the dark-haired girl and the brown-skinned boy search for a private place to spar.
Tyron: "Still think it's wild that you live in a mansion and don't have a place where no one can see us."
Alexa: "Sorry. We'd have to send the whole staff away. Imagine how it looks if I ask for a private spot with a boy."
Tyron: "Fair."
They're tailed by a man on a motorcycle. He stops, makes a call: "Get the guys ready. I'll herd the punk who broke my knuckles to the vacant lot." He eases toward the kids. Alexa notices, taps Tyron's shoulder. "That guy's been behind us for a while." Tyron starts to turn—she cups his cheeks to stop him. "What are you doing? You'll tip him off."
Tyron: "So what do we do?"
Alexa: "On three, we run."
Tyron: (pulls out his phone) "If he's really following us, I'm pinging Emily—backup."
The man guns the bike when they bolt, chasing them down the sidewalk. The teens vault trash cans and fencing, throwing obstacles in his way; he's annoyingly skilled and keeps up.
On the Sejuk courts, Francesca has tossed Emily for the seventh time.
Francesca: (offering a hand) "Come on, Emi—you should know that takedown by now."
Emily: (accepting it) "I know, it's just hard."
Francesca: "Break. Let's catch our breath."
They sit by the tennis shed. The blonde hands over a sports drink. Emily checks her phone—Tyron has messaged the group: "Emily, Francesca, we need help!" Both girls spring up to change into their vigilante gear. As they reach the gate, another message: "Bring the wooden swords and call Officer Matías!" They trade a look—worst-case scenario.
Alexa and Tyron are trading blows with four adults using their wooden swords. They drop two and sprint away from the larger crowd, ducking into a derelict vacant lot and hiding behind a rusted car.
Alexa: (gasping) "What did you do?"
Tyron: (winded) "Why assume I did anything?!"
Alexa: (peeking out) "I don't remember annoying a whole gang."
Tyron: "Me neither!"
About fifty adults pour in, led by the dark-helmeted biker who blocks the only exit. He removes the helmet—Kiev's older brother. He shouts, "Elkin! You'll pay for what you did to me—and for putting my little brother and his friends in the hospital!"
Alexa: (flat look at Tyron) "Didn't know them, huh? Liar."
Tyron: (panicked) "We jump—roof of that old shop and we're out!"
Alexa: "And tell the city we're the vigilantes? No. Hush."
Tyron: (stepping out) "Víctor! I'm the one you want—let my friend go!"
Víctor: (drawing a metal bar) "Funny. After you sent my brother to the hospital, you think I'll spare your whore friend?"
Alexa's eyes go black. She snatches up a rock. "Whore, huh?!"
She beans one thug unconscious. The rest pull clubs, knives, wrenches—anything—and advance. Alexa and Tyron raise their wooden blades.
Two rush ahead—only to be dropped by Plata and her partner.
Emily: "Back off. No need to get hurt."
Víctor: "Oh, there is. You and your sidekick can scram. These brats are getting what they deserve."
Emily considers grabbing the other two and escaping over a roof, but the mob surges and the fight erupts. The kids move beautifully—but there are too many. Alexa drops several with clean shots, but the earlier chase and brawling wear her down; someone slaps a plank across her mouth. On the ground, boots rain down. She covers up—There has to be a way out— She jabs her sword up between a man's legs, creating space, then cracks skulls to drop four more. She gulps air—then more hands seize her hair and hurl her into a wall. Fists follow.
Emily's defensive style lets her disarm attacker after attacker—until Tyron is hurled into her by Víctor. She tries to pull him up; a blade slices her shoulder, and Víctor clubs both of them, dumping them where Alexa's being stomped.
Francesca is holding her own, dropping many. Seeing her friends being beaten, she vaults in, scattering the assailants with savage precision. They've cut the fifty down to about thirty—but that's still too many for one who's the only one still fresh. The men, smug with impending victory, close in to finish the last one standing.
The blonde feels that sensation again—like with the brunette before, but this time like a fire. In an instant everyone looks at the lot's entrance: a dark-skinned man with black hair, blue hoodie, black pants, and a yellow backpack, hands full of grocery bags. Francesca smiles, recognizing the warrior. In a blink, he's in front of the kids; the mob recoils.
Jayden: (hand on Emily's shoulder) "Seriously? You can't go a single damn day without getting into a mess."
Tyron: "Sorry. I've never been so happy to see you, though."
Jayden: (hand on Alexa's forehead) "I just went out for groceries. You're a pain even when I'm not with you."
Emily: (steadier) "This is what you did to Tyron after his fight, isn't it?"
Jayden: (palm to Tyron's chest, sighs) "Mm. Come to think of it—who set off that trail?"
The mob stares, stunned. Victor takes a step, then flinches when the stranger half-turns and glares over his shoulder.
Jayden faces the gang, sets his bags and backpack down.
Jayden: (aside to his students) "Looks like your idiot friend needs a lesson in respect. Before I give them what they deserve," (thumbs at the crowd) "know this: there's a limit to how many times I'll step into your fights. But take this as a quick class on fighting multiple opponents."
One thug charges, metal pipe raised for Jayden's temple. Jayden waits until he's almost in range and plants a single punch in his face, launching him into his buddies. They dive aside; he skids onto the sidewalk, nose shattered.
Jayden: (both hands up at chest level) "Your first strike should be very strong."
Emily: "Why?"
Ten of the men bolt, terrified by what might happen if they stay.
Jayden: "That first move scares off the ones who aren't truly violent—leaving only those eager for a beating."
The bolder ones rush him from different angles. Jayden snatches two wrenches from men on his flanks and lets them smash each other's faces. Two more charge head-on—he sweeps them with a roundhouse, then finishes the last with a side kick to the jaw, teeth spraying.
Jayden: (weighing the wrenches) "Second: make as few movements as possible—prioritize speed."
Armed now, he walks toward the toughs. The nearest eat lightning-fast wrench shots to the head; those going for his back are sent flying by single kicks. Surrounded, he never loses sight of anyone. In minutes fourteen are down—huge bruises, cuts, blood and teeth dotting the grass.
Jayden: (eyeing the freckled leader) "Always leave the leader for last, so…"
Víctor: (shaking, furious) "Son of a—now you're dead!"
He draws a gun. Jayden closes the distance before he can aim at the kids, cracks his gun hand with a wrench, sweeps his leg, and knocks him out with a twin-wrench smash to the face, a couple more molars flying.
Jayden: (dropping the tools) "…so when he's lost all his goons, he shows how pathetic he is."
The students stare, awestruck. Tyron's awe turns to curiosity when he notices something.
Tyron: (pointing at the bags) "You… go grocery shopping?"
Jayden: (slinging on the backpack, grabbing the bags) "Of course. What, you think I live off the land because I'm in a forest? Ha!"
The four exchange looks of disbelief as the warrior strolls off. Once he's gone, they carefully pick their way through the unconscious bodies and head back toward civilization, discussing why they were attacked.
Francesca: (serious) "You beat the little brother and that other guy. Revenge against you makes sense—but the 'hospital' part doesn't."
Tyron: "Right. And they haven't looked for a fight since then."
Alexa: "Maybe Nick showed up after and finished what you started."
Tyron: "No. After our fight Nick stopped coming to school. And those three were still showing up through last Thursday."
Emily: "That doesn't rule out them going to find Nick Thursday afternoon—and getting wrecked."
Francesca: "That tracks. If I hadn't stepped in, Tyron might not be with us."
Tyron: (bristling) "Hey! Next time I'll show Nick who's boss."
The girls laugh at his bravado, still mulling what really happened to the trio.
That night, on a small rooftop terrace, a youth in a heavy suit, metal knuckle dusters, and a steel mask climbs up and begins his patrol.