Kayden took a short breath and replied briefly, steadying his tone.
"That's right."
The man studied his features for a long moment, then tilted his head in confusion.
"Strange… why do you want to fight?" He hesitated, then frowned in surprise.
"I feel like I've seen you before."
Suddenly, a half-smile crept onto his face, as if an old memory had surfaced.
"You look a bit younger than the last time I saw you. Damn it—do you still like messing with your appearance and hair? You trickster."
Kayden's expression stiffened internally as darkness thickened in his chest.
He's mistaken me for someone else!
The man didn't give him time to think. His fist shot forward suddenly. Kayden couldn't dodge completely—the blow slammed into his cheek, sending him a step backward. In the stands, Roger pretended not to know him, whistling along with the crowd.
Kayden wiped his mouth and found a thin trace of blood on his fingers. He returned to his stance quickly, his heart pounding wildly, something strange boiling in his veins. He could no longer think about surrender… he had to respond.
He took blow after blow, struggling to endure, until a short, involuntary laugh escaped him.
His opponent laughed as well, as if infected by it.
"Yeah… you really do resemble him. But I've noticed now—you don't have the mole on your cheek. What's your name, exhausted one?"
Kayden breathed slowly, his voice hoarse as he replied,
"My name is Kayden."
The man smiled fiercely. "I'm Maverick… and I won't be merciful."
Then he turned his head toward the stands and waved casually.
"That idiot is sitting there watching, isn't he?"
The referee raised his arm and signaled for them to continue.
Kayden stepped back slightly, exhaling deeply as he tried to steady his footing on the sandy floor.
Maverick burst into loud laughter, then lunged forward with another punch—this time infused with a portion of his spiritual power. It slammed into Kayden's shoulder, driving him backward, but he swayed and regained his balance in a surprising display.
The crowd erupted with excitement. As for Kayden, he felt heat surge through his body, overwhelmed by a mixture of pain and stubborn resolve.
Suddenly, Kayden dropped low, surged forward from underneath, and struck Maverick with a swift fist straight to the chin.
Maverick's head snapped back, and he staggered two heavy steps.
"Injury!" the referee shouted, then shrugged indifferently, as if reminding the crowd that the match was still ongoing—and that the fighter was still just a beginner.
Maverick charged forward in furious momentum, his fist swinging like a hammer. Kayden raised his arm to block, but felt his bones shudder. He stumbled back four steps, nearly losing his balance.
Driven by sheer stubborn instinct, he retaliated with a left hook to Maverick's stomach, followed immediately by a fast right to his chin. Maverick swayed slightly… then smiled, like someone enjoying the game even more.
Suddenly, he lunged forward with a powerful punch aimed at Kayden's chest.
Kayden's body was thrown backward, his breath knocked out of him for a moment—but he forced his feet to stay planted.
'No… I won't stop!' he growled inwardly, then charged at Maverick, unleashing a barrage of punches: left to the ribs, right to the shoulder, another left to the jaw.
Maverick raised his arms to protect his face, clearly starting to feel irritated. Then, without warning, he thrust his foot forward in a sharp side kick that slammed into Kayden's ribs. Kayden lifted his arm to block, but cried out in pain.
"Ah!"
Maverick didn't give him a chance to recover. He jumped and slammed him to the ground with force. Kayden tried to wriggle free, twisting like a fish caught in a net, but Maverick sat on top of him, pinning him down with his full weight.
"Don't move, rookie. It's over."
The referee raised his hand, announcing, "The match is over!"
Applause erupted from the crowd—some of it encouraging, some merely enjoying the spectacle. As Kayden lay there, gasping on the ground, he felt a strange sense of gratitude for that applause, despite his defeat.
He returned to his seat with heavy steps and sat beside Roger. A few spectators approached with friendly smiles.
"You're a beginner, it's fine."
"You're still young, don't worry."
"You'll get stronger!"
A small, tired smile formed on his lips. For the first time in a long while, he felt something close to genuine happiness.
"You're famous now. You'll get better," Roger muttered as he looked at Kayden.
Maverick approached them, his footsteps loud, then laughed and pointed at Roger.
"Look who we have here… Roger the fraud."
He leaned slightly toward Kayden, his eyes gleaming with a strange sharpness.
"You need physical training… and spiritual training. Tell me—is this man your mentor?"
Kayden hesitated for a moment, then answered in a low voice, "He's… my supervisor."
Maverick sat beside him and spoke quietly.
"You have a corrupt mentor. Be careful around him—he's insane. He used to sneak in here without his family knowing, training as if he were chasing something he'd never reach."
"He's my brother," Kayden clarified.
Maverick laughed lightly, then added with a sarcastic smile,
"True, he has experience. But his ideas are dangerous… One day he might tell you to jump off a mountain."
At that moment, a hidden spark flashed in Roger's eyes, as if a sudden inspiration had struck his mind and given birth to even more ideas.
Maverick leaned closer and whispered,
"Look at him carefully… You're nothing but a lab mouse in his dark experiment. He's probably thinking of throwing you off a mountain."
But Kayden, contrary to what Maverick expected, felt a strange wave of gratitude toward his brother. Those "crazy ideas" Maverick warned him about—despite their cruelty—seemed to work, in a way he couldn't quite explain.
Later, when they went out for drinks, the aftermath of the fight lingered in Kayden's chest like a new opening—a light breeze he hadn't anticipated. Roger stood to the side, pulled out a cigarette, shadows swallowing half his face.
"Got a lighter?" Roger asked calmly, his tone closer to an order than a request.
Kayden handed it to him without thinking, lit the cigarette, then slowly gave the lighter back.
Roger raised an eyebrow, watching him.
"You smoke?"
His voice was dark, his eyes scrutinizing Kayden with the severity of a judge delivering a verdict.
"I don't really mind drinking—drink whatever you want, even the strongest stuff. But you were vomiting blood. Are you trying to destroy yourself?" Roger said, rubbing his forehead, his expression betraying a heavy headache.
Kayden replied quickly, like someone defending himself in court. "It's not mine."
Roger narrowed his eyes, turning the lighter between his fingers as if testing a buried secret.
"This design… I've seen it before. Somewhere…"
Then he handed Kayden a new cigarette and asked slowly, "Where did you get it?"
Kayden hesitated as he took it. "Didn't you say it's harmful? And that I'm vomiting blood?"
Roger lit it himself and offered it to him with a sideways smile—mischief mixed with strange warmth.
"You look better now. It's fine if we ruin each other a little." Then he added quietly, "Just remember… whatever we do stays a secret. Even if you one day become a god. But we need to agree—don't tell our father. And don't tell Henry either. I know you're an idiot—you'll run straight to him."
Kayden inhaled the smoke. It slid into his chest like knocking on a door that had been closed for a long time. He leaned back slightly and coughed—not weak, but definitely unfamiliar with this world.
Roger stepped closer and began teaching him how to smoke. He lifted the cigarette between his fingers as if holding an ancient secret, then said softly,
"I'm teaching you this not because it's necessary—but because it's part of the world of men. But don't you dare do it in front of your father."
He took another drag, his eyes watching the smoke as it faded into the air.
"Smoking isn't the foundation. It won't make you stronger, and it won't solve your problems. But it's… a small outlet. A hole in the wall—one you can release your anger through… the darkness eating you from the inside."
He held the cigarette out to Kayden, more like a test than an invitation.
"Learn how to let it out—before it burns you alive from within."
As the smoke rose between them like a curtain, Kayden felt that moment—despite its simplicity—was a kind of secret ritual, a dark pact that needed no words.
Kayden pulled another cigarette pack from his pocket—the one he had kept from Adam days ago.
He lit one… but it wasn't like the others. The taste was different, the smell heavier, as if something within it was intoxicating beyond measure, seeping into his chest like poison coated in honey.
He held the cigarette out toward Roger.
"Try it."
Roger took a drag, then froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the pack. His expression shifted from relaxation to sharp seriousness.
"Are you trying to take advantage of my poor memory? Where did you get this?"
Kayden answered simply, "I met someone by coincidence."
Roger handed the cigarette back slowly, his voice weighed down.
"This isn't ordinary. The drug content is high. Whoever gave you this wants nothing but to destroy you. Your spiritual core can't handle it easily—be careful. He's a powerful person… that's why he can endure this kind of thing."
Kayden expected him to snatch it from his hand, or scold him—but Roger didn't. He simply left it between Kayden's fingers, as if granting him the freedom to choose… or testing him.
Kayden thought with a faint smile,
'He's the classic bad influence.'
'I've always loved parties, drinking, doing whatever I please… but I never had enough time for that. Now… maybe I've found someone who understands me,' Kayden thought with a trace of gratitude.
He looked at his brother and decided silently,
'This is the best friend I've ever had in my life.'
Roger broke his thoughts in a low voice.
"Whenever you want to have fun… come with me. Just don't tell anyone at home."
"I won't tell anyone. Just don't forget your promise," Kayden said with a sideways smile.
Later, with little time left, they headed together toward the nearby beach. They walked over the damp sand as the sea sent a cold breeze that scattered their hair. They spoke about nothing—but the silence between them weighed heavier than words.
Then Roger answered a question Kayden had asked earlier, his voice worn.
"In truth… because I work all the time, then go out and have fun, I feel like there's no real time to rest."
Kayden raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"That's the only reason?"
Roger shook his head, his eyes fixed on the dark sky as if it were a mirror to his burdened soul.
He said softly,
"Time… is like a curse. It passes without mercy… and devours everything."
He paused, as if the words were choking him, then added in a sharper tone,
"But the reason is much deeper than that. There are things that can't be explained… things that attract eyes if spoken of. So… stop asking. Don't open a door you can't close—so they don't notice you."
A faint shiver ran through Kayden's body. He didn't know whether it came from the cold sea—or from his brother's warning.
Roger suddenly stopped and grabbed Kayden's shoulder.
"You may think my words are nonsense, but our father… listens to every word I say. My words don't break."
"That's true," Kayden replied simply.
"Then why do you ask?" Roger smiled faintly.
Kayden covered his face with his hand.
"Because I don't sleep well… time feels like it's disappearing."
Roger laughed.
"Really? How simple. But I'll come back and ask you again."
Then he tapped him lightly on the back, and they returned to the hotel.
Kayden spent a strange week—unnatural by every standard.
A week of running through dark alleys, fighting in underground arenas, meditating on deserted shores, brutal blows that became a daily ritual, loud parties that ended in mad laughter, sneaking through backstreets like a criminal—then returning with a body full of bruises and a soul saturated with noise.
When he finally returned home, the sudden calm greeted him like an invisible strike.
No music. No crowd screams. No clashing metal sounds… only the silence of old walls, and the clinking of spoons against plates.
Kayden sat in his room after dinner, surrounded by heavy stillness, feeling as though his head were about to explode.
The silence wasn't relief…
It was a headache.
As if the noise of the week was still echoing inside him, searching for a way out.
It hadn't been long when Kayden heard a knock while he was changing his clothes. He didn't answer. The visitor entered without permission.
Henry looked at Kayden and saw the bruises covering his brother's body. His expression darkened slightly.
"Clearly, you got beaten up."
Kayden laughed, raising his arms proudly as if showing off spoils of war. "It's part of the training!!! Every hit is a lesson, and every bruise is a certificate of success!"