The village square was alive with noise. Lanterns swayed in the evening air, strings of firecrackers waiting to be lit. It should have been a festival — children chasing one another, vendors calling out their wares, drums and flutes filling the air.
But tonight the center of attention wasn't celebration.
It was a ring.
A rough circle had been drawn in the dirt, surrounded by villagers and travelers alike. At its heart stood a man — broad-shouldered, scarred, body wrapped in the lean muscle of someone who had lived his life in battle. His name was Zhao Wei, a former soldier who had once fought in border skirmishes and now traveled as a challenger-for-hire. He carried the confidence of a man who had broken bones, ended lives, and stood his ground against steel.
And across from him stood a boy.
Barefoot. Shirtless. Gray eyes steady as the moon.
Zhang Jie.
At twelve years old, Jie looked nothing like the children huddled at the edge of the circle. His frame was already thick with muscle, his posture predatory. The villagers whispered in awe and fear. Some had heard stories of him — the beast who trained in the monastery, the boy who felled grown men. But most had never seen him. Tonight, they would.
The monk who had accompanied him said nothing. He merely nodded to Jie once and then stepped back, letting the boy face the test alone.
Zhao Wei spat into the dirt, sneering. "This is the beast? A child? You mock me."
Jie said nothing. His fists clenched, his chest rising and falling steadily. The air around him felt charged, as though thunderclouds had gathered unseen above the square.
The crowd murmured. Some pitied the boy. Some were eager to see blood. All waited.
The gong sounded.
Zhao Wei moved first, his years of battle guiding his stride. He lunged with the confidence of a predator, fist driving forward with enough force to knock a grown man cold.
The blow landed squarely on Jie's jaw. His head snapped to the side — but he didn't fall.
The crowd gasped. Jie's gray eyes slid back to Zhao Wei, unblinking. Slowly, he turned his head forward again, a thin line of blood trailing from his lip. And then he smiled.
The soldier's eyes widened.
Before he could react, Jie's fist slammed into his ribs with a sound like a drum breaking. Zhao Wei staggered, coughing, but stayed on his feet. Jie followed with another punch, then another, each strike like a hammer. Zhao Wei blocked one with his forearm — only to feel bone crack under the pressure.
"Monster!" someone in the crowd cried.
Zhao Wei roared, lashing out with a desperate kick that caught Jie in the stomach. For the first time, Jie staggered back a step. The soldier pressed the attack, fists blurring, years of training flooding into his strikes. He aimed for the boy's temple, his throat, his ribs — kill shots.
And Jie absorbed them.
Every punch, every kick, every strike landed with the sound of flesh against flesh — but Jie kept moving forward. His body shook, blood sprayed from his mouth, yet his gray eyes burned brighter.
Then he struck back.
One punch to Zhao Wei's stomach folded him in half. Another slammed into his jaw, lifting him off his feet. Jie seized his opponent by the collar and hurled him across the ring. Zhao Wei hit the dirt, rolled, and barely rose before Jie was on him again.
The boy's fists were relentless. They fell like thunder, each one echoing in the square, until the soldier's guard shattered and blood streamed down his face.
Finally, Jie drove his knee into Zhao Wei's chest with a crack that silenced the crowd. The man collapsed, gasping for breath that wouldn't come.
The fight was over.
For a long moment, the square was silent. The only sound was Jie's breathing — heavy, steady, the rhythm of a beast who had tasted battle and wanted more.
Then, slowly, the whispers began.
"Thunder Beast…"
"Gray-eyed demon…"
"Not human…"
Children hid behind their parents. Men who had once boasted of their own strength now stood pale and silent. The villagers looked not at a boy, but at something else. Something that should not exist.
Jie looked down at Zhao Wei, who lay broken in the dirt. The soldier's eyes flickered open, dazed, bloodied, but still conscious. With what little strength remained, Zhao Wei rasped, "What… are you?"
Jie crouched beside him, gray eyes cold, voice quiet but sharp as lightning.
"Stronger."
He rose to his feet and raised his fists to the sky. The crowd flinched as if thunder itself had answered.
That night, the name of Zhang Jie left the village and traveled down the mountain. It spread across provinces, whispered in marketplaces, murmured in tea houses, carried by travelers and fighters alike.
They spoke of the boy who broke a soldier.
They spoke of the beast with thunder in his veins.
And somewhere, far across the sea, the name of Hanma Yuujirou lingered in Jie's mind like a shadow — a reminder that his path was not yet complete.
For now, though, he was no longer just a rumor.
He was real.
The Thunder Beast had been born.