Absolutely! Here's the revised vers
Riven woke up with a groan, blinking blearily at the light seeping through the curtains. His entire body ached—not from the beatdown in the alley, but from the late night he spent hunched over the old book.
He rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up, mind still foggy. The Path of Precision and Power sat beside his bed, slightly open, its yellowing pages filled with neat notes, hand-drawn diagrams, and even small scribbles that looked like old versions of his own moves. The book felt like a time capsule from a version of himself he'd tried to forget.
He stared at it, frowning.
The night before had been a blur. Page after page, technique after technique—he couldn't help but remember. Every mark in that book was a piece of his past. A time when he used to believe in control, discipline, and progress.
Before… everything changed.
Riven's eyes darkened as thoughts he didn't want returned anyway. He saw flashes of a face, twisted in pain, eyes wide with betrayal. The sound of bones cracking. The wheezing breath. The blood.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Why did I do that…?
He dragged himself out of bed, slowly, his legs heavy as if weighed down by more than sleep. He went through the motions of getting ready like a machine. Cold water. Shirt. Bag. Headphones—though no music played. Just static in his head.
By the time he reached school, the second bell had already rung. He slipped into the hallway, ignored the looks, the whispers. The blood from yesterday was gone, but the memory of it lingered on the students' faces.
"Yo, you ready for tomorrow?" a boy muttered to his friend as they passed.
"Hell yeah. Two whole months of freedom."
Riven paused mid-step.
Vacation starts tomorrow?
He blinked. How had he forgotten? Maybe because his life didn't exactly have "breaks." But now that they mentioned it, he remembered: teachers had been dropping reminders all week. Two months off. A full break from school.
He started walking again, more slowly this time.
The thought lingered—vacation. A chance to vanish for a while. Maybe even…
Train.
He turned the corner and bumped—again—into the one person who always seemed to appear at the right time.
"Mr. Joo," Riven muttered.
The literature teacher smiled. "Still running on Riven Time, I see."
"Sorry," he replied, awkwardly. Then, after a second, "Thanks… for yesterday. You didn't have to step in."
Mr. Joo raised an eyebrow, pretending to adjust his glasses. "You kidding? You think I'd just let a bunch of punks beat up my best student?"
Riven snorted. "Best student? I barely show up."
"Still better than the ones who do and don't think," he said with a grin. Then he added, "You held your own pretty well too."
"For a literature teacher," Riven said, eyeing him, "you swing like a trained fighter."
Mr. Joo hesitated for a beat. His expression softened, became more thoughtful. "I used to be… someone else. Long ago. But that was a different chapter in my life."
He didn't elaborate. And Riven didn't push.
They stood in silence for a moment, a quiet understanding passing between them.
"Vacation starts tomorrow," Mr. Joo finally said, as if gently reminding him. "Two months. Use your time wisely, Riven."
Riven nodded, though his chest still felt heavy.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of disconnected moments. People talked about class, break plans, parties, trips. But Riven was stuck somewhere between the past and the pages of that old book.
When he got home, he dropped his bag and stood silently in the middle of his room. The quiet was loud. The ache in his chest refused to leave.
He glanced at The Path of Precision and Power again, then walked to it, opening it this time—not just to glance, but to truly study.
He needed to move forward.
But first, he had to face what he'd run from for too long.