"He can use his Chi-Lungs?!" the ringleader blurts out, stunned.
How? Since when? Did he just awaken them now? Or was he always able to use them and kept it secret? Then why only now? Why at this moment of all times?
Wait.
It could be a fluke.
He might not be able to do it again.
The thoughts spiral rapidly through his mind as the shock builds, pressing against his skull.
He looks around — and his surprise deepens.
Why is everyone making that face? he thinks. Are they as shocked as I am?
But then he realises something is off.
Their expressions aren't just shocked.
They're disgusted.
Slowly, the ringleader realises they aren't looking at Gadeon.
They're looking at him.
Bits of saliva still cling to his face.
His stomach turns.
He wipes it off with his hand… then instinctively smells it.
"…This is just your spit," he mutters solemnly.
His voice is calm — but his face is utterly mortified.
Gadeon still wears a cheeky, smug grin.
Though beneath it, sweat trickles down his temple.
"Should we make it even?"
The sudden voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
The ringleader and his lackeys stiffen instantly. Recognition flashes across their faces — irritation following close behind.
Gadeon, on the other hand, exhales sharply in relief, finally catching his breath.
A new group of boys approaches — all around the same age.
They wear the same blue-and-white gi uniforms, but each of them has an underwater mask covering their mouth and nose, clearly designed to help them breathe. The boy leading them wears a jacket-style version of the gi — black and blue — with a shark skull helmet resting over his head, paired with an underwater mask beneath it.
His hair is short, spiked, and rough, with both sides shaved clean. His eyes are a dark grey-black, sharp and unreadable. His hands remain tucked casually into his pockets as he strolls forward — relaxed, yet exuding pressure.
"Isn't it unfair to gang up on one person, Gage?" the shark-skulled boy asks calmly.
"There's no such thing as unfair in a gang war," Gage replies without hesitation.
"True," the boy nods. "After all, these parts of Thalassar are your home turf — your territory. While we have to breathe through these masks…"
His voice hardens.
"…let's see how fair it feels if we fight above water."
"Haha! You'd still lose!" one of Gage's lackeys scoffs. "Underwater or above — it doesn't matter! If you can't use your Chi-Lungs, you'll still get your ass kicked!"
"Oh really?" the shark-skulled boy taunts.
The lackeys bristle, fists clenching, tempers flaring — but Gage raises an arm sharply, signalling them to stop.
"Chill out," Gage says, eyes locked onto the newcomer.
The shark-skulled boy meets his gaze without blinking.
"You do know none of you can flex at all, right?" Gage says coolly. "You'd be fools to fight us."
"Then fight us," the boy replies simply.
Gage's grin widens.
"Take out the trash around Glace," he shouts. "But leave Glace to me!"
Glace's group immediately shifts into position, bodies tensing, ready to engage—
—when suddenly—
An older man in long gi robes appeared between them in a blur of motion.
He landed firmly, standing tall, cutting straight through the brewing clash before it could begin.
A wild grey moustache curled from his upper lip in deliberate, theatrical spirals, its wisps moving as though alive. The sides of his head were closely shaved, while long hair spilled freely from the top, a heavy fringe slanting across his face and veiling one of his tiger-pupilled, hot-orange eyes.
Despite the faint stubble along his jaw and the chaotic tattoos creeping up his neck, he carried himself like a gentleman — composed, confident, untouchable.
No one moved.
The fight was over before it began.
"Shit! It's Alfred!" one of the lackeys screamed out in panic as they froze in place.
"Mister Alfred!" Alfreds tuts as he continues "This generation lacks soo much manners, you think it's cool to indulge in this gang beef? Fighting over turfs that none of you kids even own? Hmph, you don't even know a single thing about the economy of where you live?"
In that instant, everyone scattered — including Gadeon, worry flashing across his face.
"Don't move."
The words were cold and calm.
Mister Alfred's voice alone paralysed every child in the area, freezing them in place.
These gang fights between the children have been intensifying lately, haven't they? Mister Alfred thought as his gaze swept across the scene — a cluster of ten-year-olds frozen where they stood.
His eyes finally settled on Gadeon.
It's sad. They're all far too young to be indulging in violence like this.
Where did they even learn this mentality?
"First and foremost," Mister Alfred said calmly, "you in the black gi — return to your dojo school."
His gaze locked onto Glace.
"I'll be having a word with your sensei about this."
Glace stared at him for a moment. Alfred raised a single eyebrow.
That was enough.
Glace said nothing. He simply turned and strolled away.
Mister Alfred later returned to the Blue Current Dojo — a traditional martial arts complex built entirely from stone. The structure rose in layered levels, each floor connected by long hallways that climbed higher the deeper one travelled into the academy. Doors lined the corridors, each leading to a classroom where students studied theory, discipline, and form.
At the heart of the dojo lay the open training hall — its pillars, sparring floor, and wide space instantly recognisable despite the ocean pressing in beyond its walls.
One feature stood above all else.
A massive statue of a woman stood at the centre of the hall, frozen in a crane-style stance. Beneath it, engraved into the stone, were the words:
BLUE CURRENT DOJO
Alfred entered the administrative wing — a sealed office hall untouched by ocean currents, filled with breathable air instead of water. A long table dominated the room, scattered with cups of tea and coffee.
Seated around it were the Senior Leadership Teachers.
Five were elderly, including the headmaster. The rest were younger — sharp-eyed, composed. All wore blue robes, layered with fur-lined jackets tailored to perfection, giving them an unmistakable air of authority.
"Were you able to control your year group?" asked Judah, Head of Behaviour & Safeguarding.
"Or do you need me to step in again and set them straight?"
"Cut him some slack," Levi, Head of Staff Management, interjected, adjusting her glasses.
"It's not like he can physically force them to behave."
"How bad is it?" asked Issachar, Head of Curriculum Oversight.
"Severe," Alfred replied evenly.
"Multiple instances of destruction. Public disturbance. Stolen vehicles. Several homes damaged."
As he spoke, heads lowered around the table. Quiet clicks of the tongue echoed — tension rising with every report.
"And that's everything," Alfred finished.
"Shit," Judah muttered. "Why are we covering the damages? Didn't you say a student from Deep Current Dojo was involved?"
"Yes," Alfred said. "But he didn't participate in the gang conflict itself. He arrived near the end. According to witness reports, he caused no damage."
"Who cares!" Judah slammed his fist onto the table.
"He showed up in the end — that means he's involved. Ain't that right, Reuben?"
Judah's glare snapped toward the headmaster.
Reuben sat with his eyes closed, fingers steepled, posture calm — deep in thought as he weighed the situation.
Silence followed.
Even Judah, usually quick to erupt again, restrained himself, though his clenched jaw made it clear he had more to say.
Finally, someone spoke; it was Deputy Headmaster Simeon.
"We'll cover all damages," she said evenly. "The majority of the students involved are ours. However—"
She opened her eyes.
"Contact Deep Current Dojo immediately. Make them aware of their student's involvement."
"Yes, ma'am," Levi replied promptly, turning toward Deputy Headmaster Simeon.
"Heh… you read my mind like a book, Headmaster Simeon," Rebeun added with a faint smile.
Simeon chuckled.
"Deputy Headmaster. You're the Headmaster here, Rebeun."
"If that's settled," Judah cut in, leaning forward, "what are we doing to protect our students?"
Levi frowned.
"Huh? Aren't you in charge of Behaviour and Safeguarding?"
"Oh, scram it!" Judah snapped. "The whole point of a meeting is to share ideas, isn't it? Must I do everything myself?"
"I'm with Judah on this one," Manasseh, Head of Year Seven, said.
"This has gone beyond internal discipline. If students are fighting other schools, shouldn't we contact their Behaviour and Safeguarding department too?"
"That may not be the full picture," Alfred interjected calmly.
Manasseh turned to him.
"What do you mean?"
"The Deep Current student — Glace — appears to be leading one of our student groups in these gang conflicts."
"WHAT?!" Judah roared. He wasn't alone. Several teachers stiffened, eyes widening around the table.
"So what you're saying," Judah continued, voice low and dangerous now,
"Is that this 'Glace' is acting as a gang leader over our students?"
He leaned back slowly.