Anticipation

For the rest of the month, Maro threw himself into training with a near-obsessive intensity.

He signed up for every combat club the school had to offer—wrestling, judo, karate, taekwondo. The sign-up sheets that were all tacked to the gym's bulletin board now bore his messy handwriting. He had even signed up for gymnastics.

He knew sticking to just one discipline wouldn't be enough.

He needed to be well-rounded, to absorb a wide array of techniques.

His System tracked and streamlined his progress, but it couldn't compensate for the gaps in his knowledge.

And those gaps could cost him dearly.

Growing physically meant nothing if he wasn't adept at using the strength he would eventually possess.

Wrestling would teach him grappling, Judo how to leverage his opponent's weight.

Karate and taekwondo sharpened his strikes and footwork while boxing honed his raw punching power.

Together, they'd form an arsenal of techniques for his fighting style—one that kept him unpredictable.

And in time, less likely to be caught off guard due to his familiarity with styles his opponents may favor.

Until now, he'd only faced untrained opponents, and while that had been enough, he knew he'd be in trouble against someone more skilled.

Sure, his Valor skill boosted his stats, but that wouldn't cut it against someone with real experience.

Without the necessary training, they'd put him down easily.

Maro's paranoia now had deep roots, stretching back from that day in the alley, to overhearing the thugs' conversation.

The man who had nearly killed him was out, and Maro knew he was looking for payback.

With a sharp inhale, Maro refocused on the heavy bag in front of him.

His fists pummeled it rhythmically, each punch landing with increasing ferocity.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Sweat dripped down his brow, stinging his eyes, but he didn't care.

Every day was a race against time.

Ted Grant showed up at the gym more often too, like clockwork.

It had been weeks since Ted first taught him how to punch, and now, his presence was almost... too convenient.

Thud.

A particularly hard strike sent the bag swinging wildly, but before Maro could follow it up, Ted's voice cut through his focus.

"You're leaving yourself wide open, kid. Drop your right shoulder when you jab, or you're inviting a punch to the face."

Maro froze mid-punch, his body still humming with tension.

He turned to see Ted leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with a sharp eye.

"And your stance," Ted added, strolling over. "You're leaning forward like you're gonna kiss the floor! One good counter, and you're down."

Maro clenched his jaw but didn't argue.

He adjusted his stance, shifting his weight like Ted had instructed. The next punch he threw felt smoother, more controlled.

Ted nodded approvingly. "Better. You've been at it pretty hard, huh? What are you training for? That's not just boxing too, you've been experimenting."

Maro shrugged, not wanting to give too much away. "I'm just seeing what sticks."

"S'that so?", Ted's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Sure. Let's see what you've got, then."

He slipped on a pair of mitts and raised them, challenging Maro without saying another word.

Without hesitation, Maro launched into a flurry of punches—jabs, hooks, uppercuts, even kicks—all landing with solid thwacks against the leather.

Ted absorbed each one with ease, occasionally barking out corrections.

"Don't be a coward and follow through! Commit!"

"Footwork! Stay on the balls of your feet! The moment you plant them, the moment your face plants the canvas!"

"Good! But keep your guard up, or I'll sock you just to make it stick."

Maro didn't stop, didn't let up, but as he continued to punch, a thought nagged at the back of his mind.

Ted was investing a lot of time in him, and Maro couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just out of kindness.

Still, he couldn't deny the results.

His progress was faster than he'd ever expected.

Within days, his boxing skills had shot up to Amateur Level 5.

His punches were crisper, his movements more fluid. He wasn't just learning—he was evolving.

At a rapid pace.

At school, things were changing too.

Caleb passed him in the hallway one day, his usual sneer gone, replaced by a quick, uneasy glance before he hurried past.

"Not so tough when you're alone, huh," Maro muttered under his breath.

At school, Caleb and his crew had backed off completely.

They didn't want to test Maro anymore.

Not after what he did to them, and especially not after he started attending the fighting clubs.

Word had spread.

The same kids who used to whisper behind his back now gave him lingering stares, but not for the reasons they used to.

They'd heard about his fight with Caleb, but the rumors had grown bigger than the actual event.

Suddenly, Maro wasn't just a kid to be ignored—he was someone with a name and face that could be pointed out. He was being touted as that weird kid who's not too bad at fighting.

But despite the attention, he still kept mostly to himself.

That was until she found him.

A girl named Elaine had begun hounding him non-stop. Escorting him to classes, or eating with him during lunch. Frankly, Maro was getting annoyed.

"Hey, Maro!" Her voice rang out halfway across the cafeteria, sweet and deliberate.

Maro stopped mid-bite, turning to see her approaching.

Brunette, pretty, a year older. She smiled at him, blue eyes bright with interest.

He didn't trust it for a second. He remembered the thug's words all too well.

Elaine wasn't here by coincidence. This was a trap, plain and simple.

But Maro played along.

"Hey, Elaine." He gave her a brief nod, then went back to eating his lunch, shoveling food into his mouth faster than was probably safe. "What'd you want?"

Elaine wasn't deterred.

She took a step closer, and leaned onto his table, her smile widening. "Do I need a reason to say hello to you? Anyway, I heard about what you did to Caleb and his friends. That was… impressive."

Maro raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. "They had it coming, and besides it was days ago. Why're you bringing it up now?"

She laughed softly, stepping even closer. "Yeah, they did. I was just talking to my friends about you, they think you're strange. But I know the real you, you're different. You're strong, smart, and such a hero. I love it."

Maro felt his stomach twist.

He knew exactly what she was doing—feeding his ego, trying to worm her way in.

But he wasn't falling for it. 

Still, it was better to let her think she had the upper hand.

"Thanks," Maro said, offering her a small smile. "But, did you want something? I've got class in five."

Elaine's eyes gleamed, triumphant. "Yeah, I was wondering if we could hang out after school sometime? I've seen you around more, and… I think we'd get along."

Maro nodded, pretending to consider it. "Sure. I'll let you know when I'm free."

Her smile widened, but Maro kept his expression neutral.

She thought she had him, but he was already two steps ahead.

He'd stick close, figure out what her brother's next move was, and then… well, then he'd deal with it. Lest he keep popping up, disturbing his livelihood.

As she walked away, casting one last flirty glance over her shoulder, Maro's jaw tightened.

The trap was set, but it wouldn't catch him. He knew however sweet that honey was, it was poisoned.

At home, Maro's father had started to notice the changes.

"You're not coming home banged up anymore," Mr Dumont remarked one evening at dinner. His tone was casual, but there was intrigue in his expression. "I'm glad you're staying out of trouble, son."

It helped that he had only been going to his clubs, and gym, then straight home. The only times he went out were during the weekends when he would dedicate his entire morning to completing the easier missions.

Nothing combat-related, he was getting enough experience at school for that. He stuck to missions with the directive of cleaning, retrieving, or snitching. 

Maro glanced up, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah… just trying to stay out of trouble. Sorry about before."

Mr Dumont nodded, leaning back in his chair. "I was worried, but you've turned things around. Haven't seen you sneaking out either. Maybe I overreacted."

Maro didn't respond, not wanting to dive too deep into why his behavior had changed.

He wasn't sneaking out as often—mostly to avoid being spotted by the criminal with a vendetta.

But that wasn't something he wanted to share with his father.

Back at the gym, Ted continued to appear.

Every time Maro was there, Ted was there, watching, correcting, pushing him harder.

At first, Maro didn't question it—he was grateful for the guidance.

But eventually, curiosity got the better of him.

"Why are you helping me so much?" Maro asked after a particularly brutal session.

Ted smirked, his eyes sharp as ever. "You remind me of someone. Someone who had a lot on their plate, who needed help but wouldn't ask for it. And I think you're fighting for more than just yourself."

Maro felt a chill run down his spine.

Ted knew more than he was letting on.

But for now, Maro didn't press further. There were bigger things to worry about.

Two weeks passed, and Maro's progress was undeniable.

His stats gew, his muscles thickened, and his sparring sessions intensified.

-

[Lvl 4]

Maro Dumont (Valor) 

Race: Human 

Class: Hero

Strength: 12 

Agility: 13

Endurance: 15

Vitality: 13

Intelligence: 16

Luck: 1

[Available Stat Points: 12]

[Renown: 28]

-

The hours spent getting slammed onto mats and kicked in the ribs were paying off.

[Amateur Boxing, Lvl 9]

[Amateur Wrestling, Lvl 3]

[Amateur Judo, Lvl 2]

[Amateur Taekwondo, Lvl 2]

[Amateur Karate, Lvl 1]

[Amateur Gymnastics, Lvl 3]

His reflection in the mirror startled him.

"Woah..."

Gone were the stick-thin arms and ribs poking through his skin.

He looked lean, muscular, even taller.

He wasn't a beast by any means, but his physique resembled that of the athletes at his school now.

Still, under the layers of his baggy blazer and school uniform, no one could tell.

Some things were harder to grow out of—his hair was still messily occluding his features, and he still walked around slightly hunched in on himself like he didn't want to be seen.

Suddenly, his phone pinged.

It was a text from Elaine, she was waiting for him.

Maro quickly threw on a T-shirt and jeans, his mind already racing.

Despite all his training, he wasn't ready for a brawl. For all he knew, this could be the night they made their move against him. Maro had no allusions of grandeur, he was not bulletproof.

He pulled out his phone and called the police. 

It connected with a crackle, and a gruff voice answered.

"Gotham City Police Department, what's your emergency?"

Maro hesitated for just a second before blurting out, "Someone's after me. He's working for Carmine Falcone—one of his men almost killed me nearly two months ago."

The line went silent for a beat. Where Maro could once hear the faint sound of typing in the background, now dissolved into subtle static.

He thought he had accidentally hung up, but then the officer's voice blurted through his phone's speaker, and the man's tone shifted slightly when he responded.

"Falcone, huh?" The words came out slower, more cautious now. "Alright, kid, calm down. What's your location?"

Maro rattled off the movie theatre's address, despite not being there. He could sense the cop's unenthusiasm, but desperation forced him to push harder.

"Please, I think they're coming for me tonight, I'm sure of it! I'm too scared to leave the theatre! You see, some time ago I overheard—"

The officer let out a heavy sigh, cutting Maro's tirade. "Okay, okay, kid. We'll send someone over to check it out."

Maro's breath hitched, a sliver of relief creeping in. "Thank you. Please hurry—"

Click.

The line went dead.

Across town, the officer hung up the phone and leaned back in his creaky chair.

Beside him, Lieutenant James Gordon narrowed his eyes, his posture stiffening as he took in the officer's body language.

"What was that about?" Gordon asked, his voice steady but probing.

The officer shrugged dismissively, a smirk blossoming at the corners of his lips. "Just some kid. Said Falcone's after him. Nothing serious."

Gordon's brows knitted together, his voice tightening. "Falcone? Nothing serious?"

The officer's hands gripped the edge of his desk. "Yeah. That's way above my pay grade, Jim. I'm not pokin' around there. You wanna step in? Be my guest."

Gordon's jaw clenched, a flash of anger in his eyes. "So you're just not going to send anyone? It's a kid we're talking about here."

The officer's face twisted into frustration, his voice rising. "Look, we both know the deal. I'm not sticking my neck out for some punk who thinks he's mixed up with Falcone. That's not my problem."

Gordon didn't say another word, his gaze hard and unblinking as he turned on his heel and stormed out of the station.

As he pushed through the double doors and into the night, he could only feel disgust and disappointment.

This was where he was going to raise his daughter?

'This city is rotting from the inside. Cops are too scared to do their jobs—too scared of Falcone. We need more than just badges. That's lost its meaning now. We need a change.'

Sliding into his car, he took a deep breath, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

He drove through the dark, grey streets of Gotham.

A familiar alley came into view, not due to any distinct features, but because it had been where he had last met... him.

He parked, and stepped out into the shadows, waiting.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the distant hum of traffic. He had nearly finished his cigarette, and still no sign of him.

Gordon sighed, about to give up when a low rasp broke the quiet.

"I see you've agreed to trust me."

Gordon whirled around.

Batman stood in the darkness, his figure barely visible against the mute colors of the night and Gotham's architecture. 

His cape fluttered slightly, his presence unsettling, but for once, welcome.

"I don't trust you," Gordon shot back, his voice tight with frustration. "But right now, you're all I've got. Something came up—Carmine Falcone. You've been going around scaring the mobsters, right? A kid called in, says he's being hunted by Falcone's men, and guess what? The officer wouldn't even lift a finger."

Batman's eyes narrowed beneath his cowl, he concluded pretty easily why that was the case, but he didn't say anything.

Gordon continued, his voice lowering, almost like he was confessing to a crime. "The entire department is in his pocket. If there's any chance to bring him down, it's going to be you. This is a lead if ever I have seen one."

Gordon glanced around, hoping for some kind of response.

But when he turned back to Batman, he was already gone, disappearing into the night as swiftly as he had arrived.

Gordon scowled, slamming his car door. "That's the second time he's done that," he muttered, shaking his head as he drove off.

Meanwhile, Maro crouched behind a dense row of bushes outside the theatre, his eyes fixed on Elaine.

She stood alone by the entrance, right next to an alleyway, looking around every so often, she looked restless.

He watched her from a distance, his mind on edge, every instinct screaming at him to stay hidden. He felt his phone buzz, a text from her asking where he was. 

He silenced it immediately, returning to the fold of silence and what could be construed as stalking. 

Suddenly, a notification from the System flashed in his vision.

[New Skill Unlocked: Stealth, Lvl 1]

He instinctively sat deeper into the bushes, adopting a quieter, lower stance.

He pushed down his excitement at having acquired the skill as a sharp yell pierced the setting sky.

"Ahh!"

"What is that?!"

Maro's heart raced as the sound of fighting emerged from the alley beside the theatre.

Muffled voices, fists connecting with flesh, then a crack—gunshots.

He peered out from behind the bushes, just in time to see Elaine scream, stumbling backward as she broke into a run, her face contorted with fear.

His first instinct was to peek his head out of the bush, but Maro remained hidden, his body coiled like a spring as he tried to process what was happening.