BROOM! BROOM!
The thunderous roar of bike engines echoed across the university gates.
Dozens of bikes lined up at the entrance, each carrying a boy with a steel rod, bat, or chain in hand. The sight was straight out of a movie.
Shams stood frozen, eyes wide. "W-What the hell…?"
It was his first time seeing such a terrifying sight. Dozens of guys with ruthless eyes, rolling up in formation. But unlike Shams, Johir and Shahin didn't look surprised.
Their faces turned grim.
Shahin muttered, "Shams… move aside. Quickly."
"Why? And who are these people?!"
Shams' voice trembled with confusion. He had always lived inside books and classrooms. The darker side of the world—the gangs, the street rules—was foreign to him.
Shahin replied, "They're GxU. A gang. Those thugs we beat up in the morning? They were part of it."
Shams' face turned serious. "Then Johir should be the one hiding. He's the weakest of us."
Johir stayed silent, lips pressed into a flat line.
Shahin leaned in and whispered something into Shams' ear. Whatever it was—it made Shams flinch, eyes widened in shock.
Even so, Shams stepped forward. "I'm not a pushover. Let me show you my talent."
Before anything more could be said, the swarm of bikes circled them like predators closing in on prey. Over fifty gang members stepped off, each armed and glaring.
One of the thugs from earlier pointed toward Shahin.
"Big bro, that's the guy!"
The gang leader, a tall, lean guy with a scar across his eyebrow, stepped forward. Without warning, SLAP!—he smacked the thug across the face.
"Six of you got beaten by a single first-year? And now you're crying to me?"
The thug looked down, ashamed.
Another gang member pointed at Shahin and growled, "Hey, pretty boy. Kneel before my junior and clean his shoes. Maybe then—"
CRACK!
Before the sentence finished, a fist came flying.
The gang member hit the ground like a sack of bricks, knocked out cold.
Everyone turned.
It was Shams.
He stood there, fixing the collar of his shirt as he slowly unbuttoned the top, revealing a bruised chest and a deathly glare.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't hear what you were saying," he said calmly.
For a moment, Shams looked more thug than the actual gang members. Even Johir and Shahin stared at him, stunned.
Then chaos exploded.
Gang members lunged forward—but Shams moved like lightning.
He ducked under a swing, drove his knee into a guy's stomach, then spun and punched another in the jaw. One grabbed him from behind—he headbutted him. Another came swinging a bat—Shams kicked him straight in the chest.
Blood, dust, and roars filled the air.
He was fast—but not flawless. Hits landed. His arms bled. But he didn't fall.
Watching from behind, the leader narrowed his eyes. "This guy… he's not bad. But still not worth me stepping in."
Then his gaze shifted—to Shahin.
And there, he saw a storm.
Shahin fought like a trained beast. A punch to the ribs, a kick to the knee, a jab straight to the throat—each move clinical and powerful.
Boys dropped one after another like dominos.
He wasn't a street brawler—he was a boxer. Years of discipline hidden behind that casual grin.
Jab. Right hook. Uppercut.
Each strike knocked someone out cold.
Even Johir was fighting. Though he lacked the force of the other two, he held his ground, using street smarts and clever dodges.
But then—
As Shahin took down another attacker with a heavy punch, a metal rod clanged against his fists.
Someone had blocked it.
The air turned still.
Standing before Shahin now was the vice leader of GxU. Towering, muscular, and wielding a thick iron rod, he grinned with cold menace.
"You're good, kid. But not that good."
Without warning—SWOOSH!—the rod came swinging.
Shahin dodged and countered with a jab to the ribs. The man didn't flinch. The rod came back around, smacking Shahin's shoulder.
"Ugh!" he grunted but stayed standing.
They clashed. Rod versus fists. Muscle versus training.
It was brutal.
Blood spilled. Shahin's knuckles cracked against steel. But he refused to fall.
With a roar, he charged, dodged a heavy swing, and landed a punch to the man's chin. Another to the temple.
CRACK!
The vice leader's knees gave out. He collapsed.
But just as Shahin turned to breathe—
WHACK!
A metal rod came flying from behind, slamming into his back.
"SHAHIN!" both Johir and Shams shouted.
Shahin collapsed to the ground, blood trickling down his lips—but his hand clenched into a fist even as he fell.
"I'm not done yet…" he muttered, gritting his teeth.
But, Shahin's body gave in.
He collapsed, unconscious. Blood dripped from his mouth, mixing with the dust beneath him.
Most of the gang was already down.
Only a few boys remained—and they weren't exactly eager to keep fighting.
Shams, bruised and panting, cleared his side in a flurry of punches and kicks. But his eyes stayed locked on Shahin.
He saw the gang leader walking calmly toward Shahin's limp body. The leader bent down, picked up the same iron rod used to strike Shahin earlier, and stared at it for a moment like it was a toy.
"No…" Shams gritted his teeth. "I won't let him—"
But before he could reach, something stopped him in his tracks.
A roar. Not a sound—but a presence.
He turned to see Johir—his quiet, laid-back friend—now charging forward like a demon unleashed.
Johir's eyes had changed. Bloodshot. Wild.
The way he moved—fast, unhinged, powerful—it didn't feel human.
It felt like a dragon had awakened.
Shams' eyes widened.
And then he remembered what Shahin had told him earlier.
> "Shams… never mess with Johir. He doesn't know it himself, but when his emotions get hurt—he loses control. He becomes like a beast
Shams gulped, frozen for a second.
Only four or five gang members stood between him and Johir, but they didn't matter anymore. Shams knocked them aside, eyes locked on what was happening next.
The gang leader raised his foot and kicked unconscious Shahin again.
"WORTHLESS," he muttered.
Then—WHOOSH!
A body flew at him from the side.
Johir.
A flying kick, full of rage, came hurtling toward the gang leader's head.
But—
CLANG!
With one hand, the leader stopped it.
"...Not bad," the leader said, gripping Johir's leg midair. His expression barely shifted.
"Not bad, kid."
He tossed Johir aside like he weighed nothing.
But Johir flipped in the air and landed on his feet—snarling.
He cracked his knuckles. "I'm going to break your jaw."
The real fight was about to begin.