The first ray of sunlight pierced through the single window of Jovi's modest room, painting a bright stripe across his face. Unlike most mornings, where he would grumble and bury his head under his thin pillow, today his eyes snapped open with immediate clarity. A current of excitement buzzed beneath his skin. Today was the day. After weeks of preparation and restless anticipation, he was finally going to set out on his journey. The world beyond his small, familiar town was a vast canvas of unknowns, and he was eager to make his first mark upon it.
He dressed quickly, his movements efficient and filled with a purpose that had been absent for too long. After a swift breakfast of bread and cheese, he strode out into the waking streets, the morning air crisp and filled with promise. His destination was clear: find Woop and give him the news. He didn't have to look for long. He spotted the older man's familiar, lanky frame already walking down the main street, his hands tucked into his pockets as if he had been expecting him.
"Woop!" Jovi called out, falling into step beside him. "I've decided. I'm leaving today. Right now, in fact."
Woop didn't break his stride, but he offered Jovi a sidelong glance. "Impatient, are we?" he mused, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "The road isn't going to vanish. First, you'll follow me. A proper send-off requires a proper drink."
Before Jovi could protest, Woop had already veered towards the entrance of Makino's Bar. Jovi stifled a groan. A drink? At this hour? he thought, his internal monologue a mix of disbelief and irritation. Who in the world drinks beer for breakfast? He had imagined a quick, heartfelt farewell, not a morning tipple. But Woop had been a savior to him, and respect, however begrudging, won out over impatience. With a resigned sigh, Jovi followed him inside, the excitement of his journey momentarily put on hold.
The moment they pushed through the door, the cheerful morning Jovi had left outside was replaced by a thick, tense atmosphere. The usual warm glow of the bar's lanterns was stifled by the shadow of fear. A dozen patrons were frozen in their seats, eyes wide and fixed on the center of the room. The source of the tension was immediately clear: three rough-looking men, their postures aggressive and their clothes stained with travel. Their leader, a broad-shouldered brute with a scar running down his cheek, was leaning heavily on the bar, his face inches from Makino's.
"We're not asking, woman," the bandit leader snarled, his voice a low growl. "The Crimson Vipers take their tribute every month. Twenty kegs. You will provide them."
Makino, a stout and usually jovial woman, stood hers ground, though a fine sheen of sweat glistened on her brow. "This is a small bar," she said, her voice strained but steady. "I don't have twenty kegs to spare. You'll bankrupt me."
Woop let out a long, weary sigh, as if he had walked in on a recurring and tiresome play. "Not again," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Jovi. "It's the same story every few weeks. Different name, same thugs." He turned his gaze from the scene to Jovi, his eyes doing a quick, appraising sweep of the young man's well-proportioned physique—the broad shoulders, the defined muscles of his arms, the confident stance he hadn't lost even in the face of danger.
"Jovi," Woop said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have a proposition that could settle my tab. Tell me, can you fight?"
Jovi met his gaze, his own excitement from earlier now channeled into a cool, focused calm. He gave a single, sharp nod. "I can."
A wide, almost mischievous smile spread across Woop's face. "Excellent." Without another word of explanation, he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "I'm afraid you'll have to find your morning drink elsewhere, gentlemen. Makino's stock is spoken for."
The bandit leader spun around, his face contorted with rage at the interruption. "This doesn't concern you, grandfather!" he spat, and without warning, he swung a meaty fist straight at Woop's head.
He started a fight without my consent! Jovi's mind flashed with a spike of pure, unadulterated anger at Woop's reckless provocation. But his body moved on instinct, honed by training. He stepped forward in a blur of motion, his forearm snapping up to block the blow before it could connect. The impact was solid, jarring, but Jovi didn't flinch.
"Get lost, kid, before you get hurt!" the bandit roared, his pride wounded. He drew a rusty, but serviceable, sword from his belt, the steel scraping ominously. The other patrons gasped and shrank back further.
Jovi's initial anger cooled into a mask of detached amusement. He didn't even assume a formal fighting stance. "Injure an old man who can't even throw a proper punch?" Jovi said, his tone deceptively light. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that."
Enraged by the insult, the bandit leader let out a bellow and lunged, his sword slashing in a wide, clumsy arc. Jovi didn't retreat; he simply shifted his weight, his body flowing to the side with an almost casual grace, the blade whistling harmlessly past his chest. The bandit's momentum left him overextended and unbalanced. It was the only opening Jovi needed.
His fist, a tightly coiled projectile of muscle and bone, shot forward. It was so fast it was barely a flicker of movement. The bandit's eyes had just enough time to widen in shock before the punch connected squarely with his nose. There was a sickening crunch, and the man was thrown backward as if launched from a catapult. He crashed into a nearby table, sending chairs splintering and clattering to the floor, before slumping into a groaning heap.
"The captain!" one of the two subordinates yelled. Their fear was now overridden by a need for revenge, and they charged Jovi in unison, armed with wooden clubs.
The fight was over in seconds. Jovi moved between them like a whirlwind. A swift, disabling kick to the first one's knee sent him to the ground with a cry of pain. The second received a sharp, open-handed strike to the wrist, forcing him to drop his club, followed by a precise tap to the temple that dropped him into unconsciousness.
The bar was left in a stunned silence, broken only by the pained moans of the defeated bandits. The leader, clutching his swollen, bleeding face, struggled to his feet. His bravado had evaporated, replaced by pure, humiliated fury. He pointed a trembling finger at Jovi, his voice thick with pain and rage.
"This shame… I will not forget this!" he swore, spitting a glob of blood onto the clean floor. "The Crimson Vipers will have vengeance! You've made an enemy for life, boy!"
With that empty threat hanging in the air, he and his limping subordinates scrambled for the door, stumbling over each other in their haste to escape. As the door swung shut behind them, the tension in Makino's Bar finally broke, replaced by a collective, relieved exhale. Jovi stood amidst the wreckage, his journey once again delayed, but for a far more interesting reason.