Sunlight spilled through the wide dojo windows like warm breath, catching dust in the air and turning it into drifting constellations. The Genesis family dojo had seen decades of footsteps, falls, and quiet victories—its wooden mats worn smooth, its walls lined with staffs and bokutō that carried more memory than shine.
For once, there was no urgency in the room.
Kenji dropped onto a mat with exaggerated drama, arms stretched overhead like he'd just survived a war instead of another school week.
"Finally," he groaned. "Summer's almost here. No school. No rules."
His grin gave him away. He was already planning something stupid.
Nikki leaned against the wall nearby, boot tapping lightly against the wood. Her skull hairclip caught the light as she tilted her head.
"Yeah," she said, amused, "but you better have a plan. Summer doesn't wait—and it definitely doesn't babysit."
Kenji shot her a look, offended on principle. "Wow. No faith."
Miylen didn't bother joining the argument. She was already in motion.
Her bo staff spun in a tight arc, the tip whistling as it skimmed the floor. With a short laugh, she vaulted onto a mat, landing in a crouch before popping back to her feet like gravity was optional.
"No rules, no limits," she said brightly. "We should hit the streets. Test ourselves."
The grin she wore was wild and infectious—untamed in a way that made still air feel restless.
Vincent, leaning against the far wall, didn't move. Hands in his pockets. Hood low. Watching everything.
"Chaos without preparation gets people hurt," he said calmly. "Think before acting."
It wasn't a scold. Just a fact. One that cut through the room without raising its voice.
Akira sat cross-legged near the center, hoodie loose, ripped jeans dusted from the mat. He fiddled with a small gadget in his hands—something half-built, half-broken. His eyes weren't on it, though. They were somewhere farther out.
"Summer's coming," he said quietly. "Everything we do matters. Every move counts."
The room settled, just a little.
Onori moved through them barefoot, humming softly as she practiced small, precise bokutō swings. Her movements were gentle, controlled—each step balanced, deliberate.
"Prepare," she said without stopping, "but don't lose yourselves. Summer isn't just action. It's knowing how to handle what comes at you."
Her voice grounded the space, pulling the edges of chaos inward without extinguishing it.
Kenji sat up just in time to bump into Miylen's spinning staff.
"Oops."
She laughed instantly. "Watch it, chaos lord."
Akira's lips twitched. "Still as clumsy as ever."
Nikki reached out and poked Kenji in the side. "Careful, edge lord. Don't ruin your sneakers before summer even starts."
Kenji glared, but the grin never left his face.
Miylen vaulted again—staff a blur, body moving like wind through leaves. She landed smoothly, barely making a sound.
"I could do this all day!"
Vincent watched her closely, then reached out and nudged Kenji with two fingers when Kenji got too close to her path—subtle, protective, automatic.
Onori slowed her movements, demonstrating a small balance correction with her bokutō. The chaos bent around her calm without breaking.
Akira stood and moved toward the window, arms crossing as he looked out at the setting sun. The light painted the dojo gold, then amber, then something deeper.
Summer's almost here, he thought. A chance to decide what we want.
Below the calm, something stirred.
Some fires didn't wait for the sun.
Behind him, the others sprawled across the mats—talking, laughing, arguing half-seriously about what summer should look like.
Kenji suggested street races like they were inevitable.
Miylen proposed training challenges that sounded more like survival trials.
Nikki teased everyone's fears and "hidden weaknesses," laughing hardest when they protested.
Vincent listened, weighing every idea like it was a piece on a board.
Onori offered calm adjustments, shaping the noise into something workable without killing the fun.
Akira watched them all in fragments.
Kenji's reckless grin.
Miylen's endless motion.
Nikki's sharp sparkle.
Vincent's calculating stillness.
Onori's steady, observant calm.
Pieces. Different shapes. Different edges.
The sun dipped lower.
Dust floated. Laughter echoed softly off old wood.
Miylen spun her staff one last time, the whistle clean and bright. Kenji collapsed onto a mat like he'd run a marathon. Nikki laughed at him. Vincent stayed quiet. Akira kept his eyes on the horizon. Onori hummed, barely audible.
Summer's almost here, Akira thought again. Time to decide.
Some fires only burned brighter when you let them wait.
And somewhere beneath the calm, the heat was already building.