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Chapter 8 - chapter 8 calm before the bite

Alright-bet

THE KING OF ONE HIGHSOOL HERO

Chapter 8: Calm Before the Bite

The black car idled across the street from Choi High.

Inside, Gator leaned back, one metal-toothed grin carved into his face. His single good eye stayed locked on the school gates. Students laughed. Teachers talked. Normal life. Too normal.

"Feels wrong not tearing it down," he muttered.

His phone vibrated.

Gator answered without looking.

"…Yeah?"

A distorted voice came through. Calm. Controlled.

"Stand down."

Gator's smile twitched. "You sure? I'm already here."

"We have a new plan," the voice said. "You'll get your fun. Just not today."

Silence.

Gator clicked his tongue, then laughed softly.

"Alright. Your call."

He hung up, rolled the window up, and the car pulled away—leaving the school untouched.

For now.

Normal Days, Normal Lies

Ryan lived like nothing was wrong.

Classes. Homework. Training after school.

Laughing with friends like the city wasn't crawling with gangs.

That afternoon, he walked through the mall with Nia, her arm wrapped around his. She dragged him store to store, trying on jackets, sunglasses, laughing when he pretended to hate everything.

"Admit it," she teased. "You're having fun."

Ryan smirked. "I tolerate it."

They shared fries, leaned against the rail on the second floor, watched people pass below. For a moment, the world felt simple. Peaceful. Almost fake.

Nia looked up at him. "You're thinking again."

"Am I that obvious?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Ryan kissed her forehead. "I'm good. Promise."

And for once—he meant it.

Elsewhere — The Union's Playground

An underground gym buzzed with noise. Ten MMA fighters stood inside the cage—muscle, sweat, scars. Pros. Hungry.

Across from them, Sung-Jay adjusted his glasses and rolled his shoulders.

"Rules?" one fighter asked, cracking his neck.

Sung-Jay smiled. "No."

The bell rang.

The first fighter rushed—

Sung-Jay stepped in and dropped him with a single body shot.

Second and third attacked together—

Sung-Jay slipped between them, elbows snapping, knees cracking ribs. Both went down.

A high kick came from behind—

Sung-Jay caught it, twisted, broke the leg, and shoved the fighter into the cage.

The rest hesitated.

Bad idea.

Sung-Jay moved.

He flowed through them—short punches, precise kicks, bone-breaking timing. No wasted motion. No anger. Just efficiency.

One by one, they fell.

Ten fighters.

All down.

Sung-Jay stood alone in the cage, barely breathing hard. He wiped blood from his knuckle, straightened his glasses, and looked at the cameras.

"Ryan's strong," he said calmly. "But strength isn't the only power."

He turned and walked out as medics rushed in.

Nightfall

Ryan and Nia sat on a bench outside her place, sharing earbuds, city lights flickering around them. Laughter drifted down the street.

Somewhere far away, plans were moving.

Pieces were being placed.

But tonight—

Ryan lived like a normal seventeen-year-old.

And that was exactly what the Union was counting on.

End of Chapter 8

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