Chapter 2: Rhythm and Routine
The Community Center in Aresia's Residential Sector 7 was a monument to structured joy. Its walls, painted with murals of Earth landscapes, specifically Africa no child living there had ever seen except me i suppoed as im the only humanin the past 2 generations that was bornon earth and breathed its air touched its soil. But i dont remember since when I was rescued I was 1yrs old or so I was told , the centre echoed with the controlled chaos of after-school programs.
Avenger slipped through the doors with two minutes to spare, his sprint from the quad downgraded to a fast walk that still made his breath catch.Nne nne(Mrs). Aloguja, the women in her in her late 50s who ran the arts & history programs with the strategic mind of a general, didn't look up from her clipboard as he passed her post.
"Cutting it close, Nwa-m," she said, her voice a dry rustle.
"Had to reroute.Delays on the quad line," he replied smoothly, the lie effortless. Some truths just complicated the mission. The mission here was joy, simple and clean.
"Mmhm.Your cadets are mustered in Studio B. They've been practicing the step-ball-change you taught them on Tuesday. Loudly."
A genuine smile broke through on Avenger's face."That's the point, Ms. Elara."
"Then go be a point of order before they vibrate through the floor."
Studio B was a riot of energy. A dozen children between six and ten were scattered across the mats, some practicing moves with intense concentration, others spinning in place until they fell over dizzy. The air hummed with their chatter and the tinny beat from a smart-speaker.
"Avenger!" A small missile named Kofi detached from the group and latched onto his leg. "I got it! I got the spin!"
"Ohh really then, Prove it,"Avenger said, gently prying him off and walking to the speaker while carrying kofi. He synced his advanced smart watch turn on the speakers, and a rich, complex Afrobeat rhythm filled the room—layers of percussion, a bubbling bassline, a call to move. The kids instantly stilled, drawn to the sound like iron to a magnet.
Avenger turns around claps his hands together all the kids makes a big circle surrounding Avenger
"Okay Kofi, come forward show us the spin your completed."
Kofi steps forward with a big smile with bit of nervousness in his eyes.
Avenger looks kofi in the eye with smile" come on now you getting scared are we" Avenger says teasingly
Kofi with a massive pout on his face say with determination and anger" NNNNOO IM NOT SCARED, I CAN DO ANYTHING!"
Avenger with a smile say " GOOD , if you do it right ill get you all a chocolate bar ok!"
All the kids jump up and down screaming
One ask "are your for real"
Another say" you better not be lying"
Another say" I want one with raisins in it"
Don't worry Avenger says pridefully "a man's worth is determined by his word!"
Kofi stand ready Avenger looks at him "ok you will be doing the Michael Jackson spin must be clean and fast and you don't fall on your ass, got it!"
Kofi with all the infinite energy of a child say "YES!"
and the other kids cheer him on.
Avenger calms down the kids
" ok im for the spin you go after me"
The kids nod their heads ready to see Avenger perform for them
Avenger stands center stage, feet close together. He shifts his weight subtly, preparing his foundation. His right foot steps back just slightly behind the left, ready to generate the initial torque.
Avenger shifts his weight onto his left foot, becoming his axis. His right foot pushes off the floor with explosive force, driving his hips to rotate. His arms draws inward across his chest, creating centrifugal momentum.
As he initiated the spin , he rises onto the ball of his left foot, his entire body becoming a tight, vertical column. His right leg lifts and wraps, knee bent, maintaining the rotation's speed. One full revolution—his core locked, shoulders level, head whipping around to spot his landing position.
The second rotation flows seamlessly from the first,then the 3rd to the 4th ,and again to the 5 rotaion . His arms extend slightly outward for a flash of drama before pulling back in. The stage blurs around him as he spins faster, defying the expected deceleration.
Then—stop.
Avenger plants both his feet simultaneously in a wide power stance, knees bent low. His right arm shoots out to the side, finger pointed at the audience. His left hand snaps to his chest. His chin tilts up, eyes blazing with intensity.
The stage lights catch him frozen in this warrior pose. Not a tremor. Not a breath out of place.
Pure excitement.
The children roar with excitement
Kofi looking at Avenger with pure ahhh!
Avenger looks at kofi " that how you do,okay. Now your turn."
Kofi gets ready and get in position. He bend his need to spin but he's balance is off and he falls.
He gets back up trying again.this time he puts to much force on his spin and falls agian
Avanger looks at kofi with a smile
Kofi slams his fist on the floor
Avenger sees a small tier on his face ,and moves forward
"Kofi , dont worry you just nerves i know you can do , I know you didn't lie to me! I believe in you buddy, get up ill lead you."
Avenger gets on his knees and puck up kofi off his feet up in the air and gives him a hug and wipes off the tears.
Avenger say to kofi if he is ok
Kofi responds with a nod
Avenger puts him down
" im guide you on how to do it,im move your body step by step and then you will do it your self ok."
Kofi nods
Avenger moves kofi body step by step to do the spin move properly 3 times ,then lets go and tell kofi to do it.
Kofi gets ready he takes a deep breath and proceeds to the Michael Jackson spin.
He does one spin then another and lands the 3rd with a little imbalance
Avenger roars for kofi
And the kids follow
Kofi face flashed with pride and joy and start to pose triumphantly.
For the next ninety minutes, Avenger wasn't a student, an orphan, or a fighter. He was a teacherand brother to many kids . He broke down the rhythm with clapping hands, showing how their feet were another drum. He moved among them, gently straightening a back here, adjusting a wrist there. He praised Kofi's spin until the boy beamed. He patiently guided shy Lina through a simple side-step until she performed it alone, her face lighting with a triumph that felt like a physical warmth in Avenger's chest.
This was the antithesis of the cold, clinical focus in the quad. This was creation, Connection. He wasn't undoing evil ; he was building up good . For a precious, gilded stretch of time, the silent, static-filled chamber of his own mind was quiet, filled only with the rhythm and their laughter.
As the session ended and parents began to trickle in, Lina's mother, a weary-looking woman in a nurse uniform, stopped him. "She talks about this all week," she said, her voice thick with an emotion Avenger couldn't quite name. "Thank you. For giving her this... this joy."
He nodded with a smile, avanger say with pride this is how we build community and a future throw action and purpose" avengers looks at Lina"She's a fast learner, be proud of what you have made here maam " he managed. The joy was his, too. It was the fuel.
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The Iron Chimera Gym existed in a different Aresia. Located in the Lower Sector, where the dome's artificial light seemed harsher and the recycled air carried a metallic bite, it was a temple of grit. The walls were scuffed from thrown medicine balls, the mats worn thin in the places where feet pivoted and bodies fell. It smelled of sweat, leather, and antiseptic—a holy trinity to Avenger.
Coach Isaac was a slab of man of marble with eyes that missed nothing. He watched Avenger wrap his hands from across the room, not saying a word until he approached.
"You're late." Issac say with a neutral tone
Avenger with a care free additued still high from the joys of the kids having fun " i was at the Community Center, the bus broke down so I had to ran over here from 10km away."Avenger said, finishing the wrap.
"Kids can wait.The tournament bracket won't." Isaac voice was gruff, but there was no real heat in it. He'd been the one to sponsor Avenger's membership when the orphanage funds couldn't cover it. He saw the discipline, and the deep, controlled fire beneath it. "Two days. You're in Cruiserweight with a Mesomorph physique standing 5.11ft
I was able to get you in the advanced juniour league i knwo your only 16yrs but because of your build i was able to put you in with those in the age bracket in the 18-24yrs with the advance juniors division, prize money is 10million credits( equal to 100million dollars). Your first match is against Viktor Chen. Know him?"
"Pressure fighter.Strong clinch. Loves body shots."
"Loves to brawl,"Rourke corrected. "His technique is a suggestion. His power is not. He'll try to make it ugly, to get you angry, to turn it into a slugfest where his weight advantage wins. What do you do?"
"Keep it beautiful,Coach," Avenger said, a familiar focus settling over him. "Use the whole ring. Stick, move, frustrate. Let him tire himself swinging."
Rourke gave a single,satisfied nod. "Show me. Spar with Davis. No headshots. I want to see footwork and distance management. Make the ring a dance floor."
Davis was heavier, stronger, a kickboxer with a judo background—a classic powerhouse. Avenger's style was a different language altogether: the flowing, deceptive rhythm of Capoeira, the punishing bone-on-bone economy of Muay Thai, and the brutal, pragmatic geometry of Krav Maga. It wasn't a brawl; it was a beautiful, dangerous calculus.
The bell sounded. Davis came forward, cutting off the ring. Avenger didn't meet him. He flowed.
He used Capoeira's ginga—a constant, swaying base step—making his movement unpredictable. As Davis threw a testing jab, Avenger didn't block. He evaded, letting the fist slip past his cheek as he pivoted on the ball of his foot, ending up at Davis's flank.
Stick.
Avenger's retaliation wasn't a power shot.It was a short, sharp Muay Thai low kick that cracked against Davis's outer thigh. A punctuation mark of pain. Davis grunted, turning to face him, but Avenger was already gone, circling back to center ring.
Move.
Davis charged,aiming for a clinch to use his judo. This time, Avenger stepped into the charge, but not to grapple. He intercepted with a Krav Maga pluck, slapping Davis's gripping hands down and away, destroying his structure. In the opening, Avenger drove a stiff forearm into Davis's chest, creating space, and immediately disengaged with a backstep.
Frustrate.
For the rest of the round,Avenger was a phantom. He used Capoeira's low, sweeping kicks to disrupt Davis's footwork. He used Muay Thai's long guard to paw away punches without committing. When Davis finally cornered him, Avenger exploded into a brief, blinding flurry—a Krav Maga elbow deflected into a Capoeira spin that carried him out of the trap—a move designed to confuse and escape, not to damage.
By the end of the third round, Davis's breaths were ragged, angry gasps. He was sweating from exertion and frustration. Avenger, meanwhile, controlled his breathing in a steady rhythm. His sweat was from heat, not desperation. He had made the ring his dance floor, and Davis had spent the whole song trying to catch him.
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"Good," Rourke grunted after calling time. "That's the brain. Now, we remind your body what it's for. Circuit training. Go."
Avanger approach Davis with a hug and he responds hugs avanger back
Avenger say" you did good brother, you just gave me my victory and for that I thank you!"
Davis responds " No problem thats what brothers are for. I expect you to win , I didn't just get my ass beat by you just to lose."
The next hour was a symphony of controlled suffering: burpees onto a riser, kettlebell swings that burned his core, sprawls on the mat until his thighs screamed. It was a different kind of rhythm—punishing, repetitive, purifying. With each burn, he felt the last remnants of the day's tension—the confrontation, the complexity of human interaction—burn away, leaving only the pure, simple ache of effort.
As he finished, gulping water, Leo's face from earlier flashed in his mind—that split-second of fear. He pushed it aside. He had a tournament to win. He had a birthday party to go to. The rhythm held.
Showered and changed, he stepped back out into the Martian evening. The dome's projection cycle was shifting to a deep, star-flecked indigo. He looked up at the false stars, his body humming with pleasant fatigue, his mind peaceful in its exhausted clarity.
The schedule had held. The rhythm was intact. Everything was where it should be.
He was already thinking about the playlist for Leo's party, and the precise angle he'd need to deflect Viktor Chen's first, predictable hook.