Chapter 30

  ? Ice and Fire ?

  The rain slackened to a silver veil. Now and then the sun slipped through, striking the puddles like coins tossed on stone. For a breath, the plaza held still—eyes pulled to the same point:

  Leo in stance. Jax and Vito circling around him.

  Everyone is anticipating the first punch.

  Dante felt the air change. Heads turned. Guards dropped. Backs offered.

  Everyone’s staring at them.

  The Red corner kids whispered to each other.

  "He is underestimating them way too much."

  "Vito barely lost to Mira, and Jax gave Zack hell. No way he takes this."

  "Does he have some special move or something ?"

  He slid a step, then another—quiet. A Red Corner shoulder loomed before him, broad and unguarded.

  "Now!"

  His fist burst forward, striking with brutal force. The boy folded instinctively, hands flying to his face as cartilage jolted under the impact.

  The spell broke. The Wolves surged. Tonno and Lino set themselves shoulder to shoulder, driving bodies back; Mira drew a long breath, steadied, and lifted her guard.

  Alex, halfway through a tackle, wrenched free and cut his gaze across the whirl—left, right, low, high. Not him. Not there. Where—

  “Dante! Be careful of Zack! He recovered and must be hiding somewhere!”

  Dante, wrestling a Red Corner kid: “What?! The lunatic is hiding? No way! He thrives for the fight!”

  "He couldn't have just left! Keep your eyes open!”

  Alex looks over and over, “I have a very bad feeling about this… I don’t see him in the chaos…”

  “After what I did to him… what is he planning?”

  Not far off, the scarred and the old constables no longer smirked, their eyes tracing the fight in fragments—big moves, heavy blows, but little else.

  Together with the younger one, their faces emptied of expression, eyes fixed on where the fight twisted. Stone-faced. Silent.

  The older one’s lips finally moved, low and puzzled.

  “What in blazes is goin’ on over there?”

  The younger one stayed mute, eyes wide open.

  The scarred one hesitated, then muttered, “I reckoned the boy might win when I saw him step in. Even if those two he is fighting are so tough."

  "He is also a boxer, a'right... "

  "But this—this is too damned one-sided.”

  Jax spat blood into the dirt, confusion written where calm used to be. Vito was on one knee, cheek swollen, jaw tight with fury.

  Across from them, their opponent hadn’t shifted a step.

  Jax crept around, trying to find an angle, while Vito surged straight on.

  Leo’s front foot dug into the ground. His gaze split the pair.

  A left jab hammered Vito’s nose, snapping his head back.

  Jax thought he had the blind side, but the same jab lashed sideways—didn’t strike, only cut the air before his face, forcing him back into the open.

  Vito tried circling opposite, but Leo slid a few steps with him, silent as a warning: stay where I can see you.

  Jax barked, frantic, “Separating won’t work! Together, Vito!”

  Vito snarled, “Let’s stomp this back-alley cur!”

  They charged. Leo lifted both fists high, guard sealed tight.

  His jabs came like nails from a hammer—sharp, stabbing, each one biting flesh or rattling bone.

  Not wild swings. Not wasted effort. Every strike the same length, same snap, the same ugly sting driving them back, again and again.

  A spike in the ribs, a spear to the cheek, another piston to the brow.

  They couldn’t breathe without running into it.

  Vito and Jax were kept out of reach.

  Just the steady left jab holding them back, no matter how they pressed.

  "You can’t be serious!" Vito’s thoughts burned. "I dealt with Mira’s damned left jabs the other day. Now I’m with Jax, and I still can’t get close!"

  Jax grit his teeth. "One blink—his fist’s just there, like it skipped the whole damn motion. And damn it—he’s not opening up at all."

  Still, they shoved forward, teeth clenched, forearms raised.

  Leo’s fists flickered—head, chest, reset—again and again, relentless.

  Then, at last, the gap closed.

  Vito’s lip curled into a smirk, Jax breathed out in relief.

  A storm of punches poured from them—swings at the head, hooks, wild force.

  Leo gave ground, heels scraping across the stone.

  Finally, they were pushing him.

  However—

  “They still ain’t landing a thing…”, The scarred constable’s mouth opened wide.

  A punch from Vito swept in—Leo slipped a hair’s breadth aside.

  Jax’s swing crashed down, only to be caught on Leo’s forearm, brushed away.

  A sudden swing met a clean parry.

  A wild hook thrown as Leo weaved under it.

  Every motion met before it even lived.

  Vito grunted, snapped his leg up.

  Too much into fists. Let’s see how you like a kick!

  Leo’s eyes caught the hip movement.

  A shift, and with one short whip of his own foot, he knocked the leg back mid-swing.

  Vito stumbled, and Leo’s left hand cracked into his face as he reeled.

  Jax adjusted, feinted with his right hand.

  Leo's guard rose toward the left.

  Jax's eyes lit up. A left uppercut flew— "I’ve got him!"

  Wide. Slow.

  Leo's right hand—silent all this time—fired. Landed before Jax's fist reached.

  Compact. Straight. No wind-up. The punch carved the air, tore Jax’s head sideways like it was wrenched on a chain.

  Vito, half-staggering, threw himself in again, eyes lighting at the sight—Leo’s right side hung open. “There! His guard’s down!”

  The fist cracked toward Leo’s cheek—landed—

  Or so he thought.

  The shoulder rolled just enough.

  Leo’s left hand tucked behind it, absorbing whatever force managed to get past the shoulder.

  Leo reset, calm as a tide pulling back, weight on lead foot, right arm drawn just far enough.

  The shortest line between Leo’s fist and Vito’s temple stretched taut.

  Leo’s right hand shot forward.

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  Air cracked as it passed.

  Vito’s eyes widened in horror. His instincts screamed.

  He wrenched his head aside, staggered back, breath tearing out of him.

  For a heartbeat, the kid imagined that hit could’ve torn his head clean off.

  The Wolves pressed the attack against the Red corner kids, each step sharp, fists snapping.

  Tonno hunched for a heartbeat, chest heaving, knees screaming—but the fire in his eyes flared as he slammed into his opponent. “Come on! Don’t just stand there! Show me something worth hitting!”

  Each smack and slam rattled the air, raw strength tearing through the fight.

  Lino, usually the crafty strategist, ducked, swung, stumbled, then surged forward again.

  His fists flew with untrained ferocity, his voice cutting through the chaos: “Keep moving! Don’t stop! We’ve got this!”

  Mira leapt, spun, struck, and flowed from one opponent to the next, light and unburdened.

  No hesitation, no smirk—just the sum of every lesson she’d learned, every motion a disciplined strike that left attackers reeling.

  Muscles still burned but every hit landed sharper, every pivot steadier.

  Fatigue lost its edge. Timing clicked. Focus sharpened.

  They moved as if the fight had been slowed, and their strikes carried a weight they hadn’t felt before.

  Dante’s jaw dropped. “Wow… they’re completely different now!”

  Alex felt it too. Every motion of the Wolves seemed to hum in perfect rhythm.

  Mira's eyes, locked on her opponents, flicked a glance across Leo's fight.

  Jax and Vito were her enemies — She never liked them — but even so, her stomach twisted. She knew that look.

  "You fools feel it too, don’t you?" she thought.

  "The collapse that hits before the pain. The shame that settles deep in the bones."

  "No flashy moves. No trash talk. Not a trace of emotion."

  "Just clean, merciless efficiency."

  "He is not even fighting you. He is moving through you—"

  "Sorting you like trash."

  "After today, even your own fists will feel like strangers."

  Meanwhile, the leader of the Wolves stood unshaken—no bruise, no scratch, guard still up.

  Like a carved statue, stoic.

  His gaze didn’t flash anger, or cool detachment, or boredom.

  It simply observed, unblinking, taking in every movement, every twitch.

  The aura around him pressed without sound, every eye drawn to the precision of his presence.

  Vito’s mind raced. "He’s… not fast like Mira, not brutal like Zack… So why? Why does it feel like we lose the moment we try something!?"

  Jax thought, "Nothing’s working. This is not just skill or technique... he sees us way too clearly."

  Then, mid-thought—

  Jax’s knees wobbled.

  The damage from the earlier right counter punch was catching up.

  Leo’s eyes flicked between him and Vito, calculating.

  Time to finish this.

  A barrage of fists: left, left, right.

  Then again.

  Jax shrank, turtle-like, guarding desperately, fists tight, teeth gritted.

  Vito circled, searching for a blind spot, but froze under Leo’s gaze. That single look pinned him in place.

  "Wait—after two lefts and a right, he pauses for a beat," Jax thought. "he uses it to look at Vito! That’s my chance!"

  "I can use it… this one pause is my moment!"

  Leo’s fists struck:

  Left.

  Left.

  Right.

  Then the pause—

  Jax dropped his guard... and swung with everything he had.

  His fist sliced through the space where Leo... had been.

  Too late — he’d taken the bait. The trap snapped shut in silence as Leo pulled his head back an inch to dodge.

  Jax's is now open. Just like planned.

  His mouth fell open in disbelief.

  "A trap?"

  "Before, he met every motion as it came; now, he invited one?"

  Before he could think further, Leo’s right hand smashed into his face, immediately followed by a left to the ribs.

  Jax went down. Leo met him with his body and arms just enough to slow the fall, then released him, letting him hit the ground safely.

  Vito lunged at Leo’s side—his final attempt.

  "Maybe a tackle… if I drop him, He can't throw any punches!"

  Leo shifted his weight, twisting his torso a fraction as he stepped back.

  The movement was invisible to all but the keenest eye, setting the angle perfectly.

  His loaded right hand came down—precise, timed and unstoppable, connecting with Vito’s temple midair. His head snapped violently to the side, body twisting with the momentum. Breath ripped out, legs flailed, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to tilt.

  The Red corner best two fighters are down.

  And Leo stood, a light sheen of sweat on his brow

  —yet not a mark on him, not a single clean hit landed.

  Pinch jumped, fists pumping. “YAAY! Serves you right, Jax! Vito too!” His voice squeaked with glee, bouncing on his heels.

  Noor stood beside him, silent. A flicker of recognition passed across her features, subtle, like she was quietly pleased he’d come through. Nothing more.

  Leo lingered for a heartbeat, eyes sweeping over Vito and Jax to make sure neither stirred.

  Then, he stepped forward, moving into the fray to aid Tonno, the most outnumbered one and the most hurt in the chaos.

  He gritted his teeth, forcing out a strained grin. “Alright, Leo, I need your help here after all!”

  “Coming, Tonno!” Leo called back, quickening his pace.

  One of Tonno’s attackers looked, shocked at the sight of Vito and Jax sprawled unconscious on the ground, motionless. Uncertainty and confusion began to sink into the hearts of the Red Corner bullies as they watched Leo advancing in a hurry.

  The younger constable, watching Leo’s victory, noticed the older man and the scarred one, turning to leave under the rain, suddenly without a care in the world after staring at the brawl the whole time.

  “Hey… the brawl ain’t done yet.”

  “It’s done the moment that lad showed up,” the older man said. “Let’s just get ourselves some lunch.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself worrying bout’ it,” the scarred one added. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

  The younger hesitated, his boots rooted to the wet stone. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally muttered.

  “I’ll stay and keep watch. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Suit yourself,” the other two answered at once, waving him off with their backs already turned.

  Alex’s lungs burned.

  The last of the Red Corner kids sprawled across the dirt, groaning, defeated. Finally.

  But he didn’t pause. His eyes flicked, over and over, scanning the chaos.

  Searching. Always searching.

  His gaze swept the crowd again, sharper this time, pulse spiking with every shadow, every shift. Still no Zack.

  A flicker of movement—nothing.

  Something felt wrong.

  Mira was gone.

  Then—

  A scream.

  “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, ZACK?!”

  It was Lino. His voice cracked, raw, ragged, a child losing all faith in the world.

  Alex and Dante turned.

  And the world shifted.

  Mira lay sprawled on the ground.

  Unmoving.

  Her side glinted crimson through the folds of her shirt.

  Fresh, warm, alive.

  She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t moved.

  Lino dropped beside her, trembling, eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief.

  And there, standing over them both, Zack.

  Tears streaked his face, lips trembling, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

  A knife dangled from his hand.

  Dante’s breath hitched, shallow, ghostly. “He… he…?”

  Alex’s stomach pitched. His voice, a whisper, swallowed by the horror around them.

  “It can’t be…”

  "What happened ?!"

  ...

  Few moments earlier.

  Clink.

  The last tap rang out, swallowed by the rain.

  Zack’s breathing had leveled, steady as a machine.

  "I have rested enough."

  The bruises—swollen eye, split lip, blood streaked across his cheek—meant nothing against the blank mask on his face.

  “I can barely hear anything…” His voice scraped low, almost to himself. “There was noise… shouting earlier… but it’s all been fuzzy.”

  The knife twitched in his hands.

  “All I could... feel, see, or hear... was... this.”

  His thumb slid along the blade’s edge. Then a cold glare towards Alex, full of bloodlust.

  “And that lucky charm…” His tone curdled into venom. “…gutter-born wretch.”

  From behind the far lip of the fountain, unseen until now, Zack pushed himself upright.

  The rain washed over him, but his movements were patient, deliberate, a shadow shaking the water from its skin.

  Knife clutched in both hands, he slipped along the chaos.

  Circling. Stalking. Every step was soundless but burning, until he found Alex—battered, scanning left and right, never behind.

  "You will pay for what you did... and said."

  Zack picked the blind spot.

  And ran.

  The world collapsed to a tunnel. No gang. No rain. No faces. Just Alex. Just the knife.

  Then—

  The blade sank shallow, stopped by resistance.

  “MOVE!” Zack snapped, eyes wild, shoving against the body in his way.

  “...Zack.”

  The voice cut him in half. His focus blinked back.

  Mira.

  Her face pressed against his shoulder, eyes down, her arms clenching his wrist. The knife sat partly in her side, shallow, the blood only beginning to bloom through her shirt.

  His rage cracked.

  “Mira?!” His voice shattered into disbelief. “No— I wasn’t—”

  She lifted her head, weak but glowing with something he couldn’t grasp. Her smile was faint, her words a whisper carried on ragged breath. “Leo is home, Zack.”

  The boy froze.

  His swollen eye twitched.

  “What…?”

  “Didn’t you see him? Didn’t you hear him? He is here in the brawl.” She coughed, smiled again, as if her pain was nothing. “Doesn’t matter… It’s over now. Things can go back… the three of us, like before.”

  Her words struck like hammer blows. Zack’s shoulders locked, the knife trembling in his grip. The rain drowned the silence between them.

  And then—

  It all caved in.

  Noor’s slap, humiliating him in front of his crew.

  Mira shielding an outsider and declaring she is stopping him.

  Alex beating him down, not just with fists but with words that stripped him bare.

  And now—Mira. Again.

  Not seeing him. But seeing past him.

  Smiling, even as his blade was in her.

  The tremor in his arms surged.

  “That coward... that traitor… He is back?”

  Mira shook her head weakly. “Zack… he didn’t abandon us… he just went to live with his grandfather.”

  Her voice caught, a trace of her old frustration surfacing.

  “I was angry too, back then. But…” her smile widened, “…now he is—”

  “And you’re happy?!” Zack’s voice ripped out, cracking.

  “After he left us to rot in these filthy streets? After he walked away?”

  Tears blurred his vision, though his face stayed hollow. He shook her by the shoulder, the knife still lodged in place.

  “And I was here. All this time. Beside you. And you—”

  His voice broke. “You never saw me, did you?”

  “Z—Zack—” she tried, breath faltering.

  “Not even now? When I'm driving a knife through you?”

  Alex’s earlier words slithered through him, alive and deliberate, echoing in a tone that wasn’t quite Alex’s anymore.

  "And you... you're already out of her world."

  The knife plunged deeper.

  This time not by accident, but with intent.

  Mira’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened.

  Zack’s face loomed close, horrifying in its emptiness—eyes glassy, pupils dull, his expression slack, as if something had hollowed him out and left only rage to move his body.

  A boy possessed by his own despair.

  Mira’s smile vanished.

  Her lips trembled as she stared into him, betrayal eclipsing all else.

  Her knees buckled.

  She slipped from his grip and crumpled to the stones, blood seeping into the rain.

  And then—stillness.

  What do you think of Zack's actions ? Will he stop or keep going ?

  How will this end ?