After that singular, electrifying spar, Nana, Arthur, and Catherine bid their goodbyes. Nana, still buzzing from the encounter, promised to tell all her friends about the "silent monster" in the dusty dojo. Master Thorne, with a rare, almost gentle sigh, even conceded that Nana was "hardworking, even if she's still too loud. Running around sparring her former classmates all summer, indeed." With a final wave from Nana that Alexander returned with a subtle nod, they were gone.
The dojo returned to its familiar quiet, punctuated only by Thorne's grumbling and the sounds of Alexander's relentless training. "This damn super summer feels like it could last ten months," Thorne grumbled one afternoon, watching Alexander train. "Only two more to go before you finally get some peace and that damn school starts." The summer continued its relentless heat, but Alexander's focus never wavered. He plunged back into the "inhuman training," refining his Still Point until it felt less like a strike and more like a thought made manifest, and sharpening his Unseen Current until he could truly manipulate the flow of an opponent's balance with the barest whisper of motion. His Calm Mirror deepened into an unshakeable core of stillness, and his Instinct Engine hummed with preternatural anticipation. He felt his body transform further, becoming a coiled spring of terrifying precision, a blade being forged in silence.
It was a late afternoon, deep into the last two months of summer. The air in the dojo was thick with dust motes dancing in the last rays of sunlight, and the faint scent of old iron and even older turnips. Alexander was deep in a series of shadow drills, his movements so fluid and quiet that he seemed to phase in and out of existence. Master Thorne was, predictably, slumped against a wall, gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like a petrified turnip.
Suddenly, the dojo door burst open, not with Thorne's usual creak, but with a forceful thwack that echoed through the quiet space.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure filled the doorway, momentarily blocking out the sun. He stood a commanding 6'2", his physique powerful and lean, hinting at incredible strength. His face was ruggedly handsome, framed by dark, tousled hair, and his eyes, though sharp and intelligent, held a surprising warmth. He wore simple, durable work clothes, already dusted with what looked like sawdust, suggesting he'd come straight from a job.
"Alright, Old Man Van!" a rich, booming voice, full of good-natured cheer, rang out, momentarily deafening in the usually silent dojo. "Finally! The inevitable dojo cleanup! Hope you haven't let the place get too dusty, you old recluse!"
The man stepped fully inside, a broom and a bucket already in hand. He swept his gaze around the familiar, dusty space, a wide, confident grin on his face. Then his eyes landed on Alexander, standing perfectly still in the middle of the room.
The grin faltered. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, quickly followed by a spark of pure, unadulterated curiosity.
"Woah," the man breathed, his voice dropping from a boisterous shout to a genuine murmur of awe. "Well, well, well. What have we here? You finally took on another student, Old Man?" He took a step closer, his eyes scanning Alexander's quiet, powerful form. "And quite a quiet one too, huh?"
Master Thorne, who had frozen mid-gnaw, slowly lowered his petrified turnip. A flicker of his usual grumpy irritation crossed his face, quickly replaced by something else – a grudging fondness.
"Bennick," Thorne grumbled, a low rumble from his chest, "you're late. And still too loud. This is Alexander. Alexander, this... is Bennick. My most frustrating, dust-stirring, good-for-nothing former student. He used to train here for months, years ago, but his parents eventually found out. They disagreed greatly with my methods, thought I was a huge waste of time for his potential, and instead hired other people for him. He still drops by though, to remind me what a proper mess looks like."
Bennick laughed, a hearty, booming sound that filled the dojo. He walked straight over to Alexander, holding out a large, calloused hand. His smile was genuine.
"So this is the Alexander I've heard so much about!" Bennick exclaimed, his eyes full of friendly interest. "Through the phone, of course! The 'Quiet Storm' the Old Man occasionally grumbles about between bites of his... whatever that is. I'm Bennick. Great to finally meet you, man."
Alexander, after a moment's pause, extended his own hand. His grip was firm, surprisingly strong for his lean frame. Bennick felt a subtle, almost imperceptible surge of power in Alexander's grip. His eyebrows rose slightly. This kid was definitely something else.
"Good to meet you," Alexander's voice was quiet, steady, carrying a rare hint of curiosity.
"Alright, alright, enough pleasantries, you two!" Thorne barked, already picking up his turnip. "Bennick, get to work. And Alexander, don't just stand there. Learn something from this brute. He may be loud, but he knows a thing or two about breaking things... and putting them back together. Mostly."
Bennick just chuckled, giving Alexander a knowing wink. He seemed entirely unfazed by Thorne's insults. He was here to clean, yes, but perhaps also to see this legendary "First User" of Thorne's new style up close.
As Bennick began to sweep, stirring up clouds of dust that made Master Thorne cough theatrically, Alexander found himself watching the older man with renewed interest. Bennick moved with a practiced ease that suggested immense power, yet he carried himself with a casual, almost approachable air. It was a stark contrast to the grim intensity of Alexander's own training.
Later that evening, after the dojo was as "clean" as Bennick could make it (which mostly meant the dust had been relocated), the three of them sat on the worn floor, sharing a simple meal. Alexander, still deep in his quiet contemplation, finally spoke.
"Master," Alexander began, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence. "Bennick... he's different. His movements... I felt a different kind of strength."
Thorne grunted, taking a long sip from a chipped mug. "Naturally, you little dust bunny. You think everyone just flails around like a drowned rat? The world is full of brutes. But some brutes are more brutish than others. And some... some are something more."
He set down his mug, his eyes fixing on Alexander with an intensity that always demanded full attention.
"You've been training like a madman, boy. Pushing your body, honing your senses beyond what any normal human could comprehend. You started, like every fool who steps into this dojo, as a Trainee. Stronger and faster than the weaklings out there, but still a wet-behind-the-ears novice in the grand scheme of things."
Alexander listened, his expression unwavering. This was new information, a structure he hadn't known existed.
"Then you hit Initiate," Thorne continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "That's when you started bending reality with your Calm Mirror and the Instinct Engine began to hum. You could see the world differently, react faster than anyone thought possible. For Initiates, the increase in strength, speed, durability, stamina, endurance, senses, and even lifespan is undeniable. But most martial artists, even the average ones you see around here, never get past being a glorified Initiate."
Thorne paused, taking another sip. "But you, Alexander... you pushed. You embraced the stillness. You found the core of the Still Point, and learned to ride the Unseen Current. You broke the bead without moving the thread. You tripped me without touching me. Those are not the abilities of an Initiate."
He jabbed a finger at Alexander. "You, Alexander, are now an Elite. You're a force of nature in the making. A regional legend in the making, if anyone outside this dusty hovel knew what you were capable of. You're miles beyond Nana and her little school friends. While they've been busy going around sparring their former classmates all summer, trying to relive old glories, you've been grinding here."
Alexander processed this. Elite. It was just a word, but it gave context to the vast ocean of power he felt growing within him.
Thorne then gestured a gnarled thumb towards Bennick, who was cleaning his fingernails with a piece of straw, looking utterly unconcerned.
"And this oaf here," Thorne grumbled, "Bennick isn't just an Elite. He's one of the most talented students I've ever had, with a natural aptitude that let him climb the ranks far faster than any normal person could dream. He's honed his own brutal style to near perfection. He's already transcended the Elite level, Alexander."
Bennick finally looked up, a wry grin on his face. "Thanks for the glowing review, Old Man."
Thorne ignored him. "Bennick is a Low Tier Apex Predator," Thorne declared, his voice low and serious. "He's one of the 'Beasts' the world fears. He can level small buildings with a punch, move faster than sound in bursts, and take hits that would vaporize an army. He's capable of destruction you can barely imagine."
Alexander's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. An Apex Predator. This was the first time he'd heard these terms directly, tied to such terrifying capabilities. Bennick, the friendly, easy-going guy who just cleaned the dojo, was a "Beast.
With the ranks laid bare, a new layer was added to Alexander's training. Bennick, despite his loud demeanor and casual approach, was a whirlwind of disciplined power. He didn't just train; he pushed, challenged, and prodded Alexander in ways Thorne never did. Thorne taught stillness and precision, the unseen. Bennick, it turned out, taught the application of that stillness against overwhelming force.
For the next two months, the dojo, already Alexander's world, expanded to include the booming presence of Bennick. Spars became less about Alexander perfecting his moves in solitude and more about applying them against a living, breathing, unyielding storm. This period was almost exclusively dedicated to Alexander sparring Bennick nearly every day.
Bennick held back. His punches, when they connected, felt like being hit by a freight train, but he always managed to pull just enough, to teach a lesson without breaking bone. Alexander, in turn, learned to not just evade, but to redirect; to not just withstand, but to absorb and counter. His Calm Mirror solidified, becoming less a mental state and more an active defense that shimmered around him, deflecting Bennick's colossal power with subtle shifts. His Unseen Current, once a gentle nudge, evolved into a silent torrent that could throw Bennick off balance, forcing the much larger man to grunt in surprise and readjust mid-strike.
"Still moving like a ghost, kid!" Bennick would shout, wiping sweat from his brow after Alexander slipped past a devastating blow that could have shattered stone. "But a ghost needs to hit back harder! Don't just make me miss; make me pay!"
Alexander, pushing his Instinct Engine to its limits, found himself anticipating Bennick's movements with increasing accuracy. He could see the micro-shifts in Bennick's muscles, the subtle tells in his eyes, before the punch even fully formed. His Still Point, when he managed to land it on Bennick, was a brutal shockwave that visibly winded the larger man, momentarily stiffening his limbs and stealing his breath. Even an Apex Predator like Bennick felt the disruptive force of such a precise strike.
"Damn it, Alexander!" Bennick would cough, taking a surprised step back from a Still Point Alexander landed on his solar plexus, his broad chest heaving slightly. "You hit like a brick made of void! What kind of black magic is this? Felt like my insides tried to swap places!"
Thorne would watch, perched on his stool, a rare, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. "He's learning to bite, Bennick. You always complained my students didn't bite enough. Now you get to feel it."
As the weeks turned into the second month, the nature of their spars shifted. Bennick began to experiment, using his raw power to create new challenges. He'd unleash rapid barrages of heavy blows, forcing Alexander to use his Calm Mirror as a constant, shimmering shield, deflecting impacts that would send lesser fighters flying. He'd stomp, sending vibrations through the dusty floor, attempting to disrupt Alexander's footing and Unseen Current.
Alexander, in response, adapted with startling speed. He learned to "ride" Bennick's power, allowing strikes to graze him, then using the redirected force to propel himself into an advantageous position, or to flow into a counter. He found himself not just reacting, but initiating, setting subtle traps with his movements, drawing Bennick into positions where a Still Point could land with devastating precision. There was one session where Alexander, after a dizzying series of dodges and deflections, slipped past Bennick's guard and struck him squarely in the diaphragm with a Still Point. The impact was profound. Bennick actually doubled over, gasping for air, clutching his chest, his face contorted in a momentary grimace of genuine discomfort.
"He's getting too quiet, Old Man!" Bennick wheezed, straightening up slowly, a newfound respect dawning in his eyes as he looked at Alexander. "This kid's going to give me an ulcer just from hitting me!"
Thorne merely grunted, a flicker of pride in his usually stern gaze. "That's the point, isn't it? Sharpening the quiet blade."
Through these two months, Alexander's understanding of the Beyonider style deepened exponentially. He didn't just understand the techniques; he began to understand the philosophy behind them, the profound difference between simply being strong and being beyond. Bennick, with his raw, unadulterated strength and speed, was the perfect living, breathing textbook. Alexander witnessed firsthand the power of an Apex Predator, and in turn, learned how to stand against it, how to find the cracks in its overwhelming might. The gap between Elite and Apex Predator was still immense, a chasm of power Alexander could only begin to comprehend, but now, he was at least learning how to navigate its edges. He was no longer just a talented student; he was a silent, rapidly evolving force, sharpening his edge against a true Beast.
Later that evening, after a particularly grueling sparring session that left Alexander heavily breathing and quietly recovering, Alexander approached Thorne. Bennick, meanwhile, stood by, his breathing normal, seemingly unfazed.
"Master," Alexander began, his voice calm, "You said I am an Elite. But are there tiers within Elite, like with Apex Predators? Low tier, Middle tier, High tier, Peak tier?"
Thorne grunted, taking a long sip from his chipped mug, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Sharp, aren't you? Most novices just bask in the glory of a new title. Yes, you little dust bunny, there are indeed tiers within Elite, just as there are within Apex Predator. It's a ladder that never truly ends."
He leaned forward, setting his mug down with a soft clink. "A Low Tier Elite has just broken through, gaining that initial profound understanding of the Calm Mirror and the Unseen Current. They're strong, faster, more durable than any Initiate, but still getting a feel for their new capabilities."
"A Middle Tier Elite has refined those foundational skills. Their Calm Mirror is steadier, their Unseen Current flows more naturally, and their Still Point carries more weight. They've integrated the 'beyond' into their basic movements."
"A High Tier Elite truly embodies the art. Their Calm Mirror is near-impenetrable against most attacks, their Unseen Current can subtly disrupt even highly skilled opponents, and their Still Point can momentarily incapacitate lesser foes. They are masters of their domain, capable of feats that seem impossible to anyone below their level."
"And then there's Peak Tier Elite," Thorne continued, his voice dropping slightly, "the precipice. These are individuals who have pushed their Elite abilities to their absolute zenith. Their Calm Mirror is a passive, unconscious defense. Their Unseen Current can manipulate the very flow of a battlefield. Their Still Point, delivered with precision, can momentarily halt the movements of even a Low Tier Apex Predator, causing significant internal disruption, though not lasting damage to someone of Bennick's caliber. A Peak Tier Elite stands at the very edge of transcending to Apex Predator, a hair's breadth from true monstrous power."
Alexander blinked. "But... I'm the first user of this style."
Thorne just grunted. "Doesn't matter. Every great blade, even if it's the first of its kind, still has to be measured. The ladder doesn't care who climbs it. It just tells you how far you've come—and how far there is left."
Thorne paused, his gaze fixed on Alexander. "You, Alexander... considering your progress in these last two months, your instincts, your precision, and the way you've managed to land those disrupting Still Points on even Bennick... you are now a Middle Tier Elite. You're climbing that ladder at an absurd pace, boy. Don't get cocky, but acknowledge your own strength."
Alexander absorbed the information, his mind already categorizing and processing. Middle Tier Elite. It gave him a clearer target, a new understanding of the path ahead. The chasm between him and Bennick still existed, but he now had a map, a clearer understanding of the steps to cross it. As the last rays of sunlight faded from the dojo, Thorne stood up, stretching with a groan. "Well, that's it for the damn super summer," he grumbled, looking at Alexander. "Tonight's your last free evening before that miserable high school starts. And speaking of tonight, Bennick," he turned to the taller man, "your little brawl with that 'Butcher' fellow is on, isn't it? We'll be there to watch you make a mess. It'll be a nice distraction before school starts, Alexander." Bennick nodded, a serious look on his face.
Alexander, typically quiet, felt a rare spark of outright curiosity. "The Butcher?" he asked, his voice low. "What kind of name is that?"
Bennick chuckled, a sound that held no humor, just a rough edge. He ran a hand through his dark, tousled hair. "He's called that for a reason, kid. There's nothing subtle about him. He's a Mid Tier Apex Predator, pure brute force, but with a nasty streak as wide as his shoulders. He doesn't just beat opponents; he tries to dismantle them. Breaks bones, tears muscle, aims for crippling blows. He's notorious in the underground circuits for leaving a trail of broken bodies. Cruel, merciless, and strong enough to back it up."
Thorne grunted from his stool, picking at a loose thread on his worn gi. "He's right. The Butcher earned his reputation by not holding back, ever. He delights in suffering. He's what happens when raw power is wielded by a twisted mind. Bennick's dealt with brutes before, but this one... this one enjoys his work. It makes him unpredictable in his brutality, even if his actual technique is crude."
"So, it's not just a fight," Alexander observed, the pieces clicking into place. This wasn't some casual sparring match for glory.
"No, Alexander, it's not," Bennick confirmed, his gaze hardening. "It's a statement. He's been trying to move into my territory, challenging my reputation. He thinks I'm soft. Tonight, I show him he's dead wrong." Bennick balled his fists, a faint tremor running through his powerful forearms. "These are no-rules fights, kid. Anything goes. No bells, no rounds, no mercy. The crowd loves it when blood spills, especially when it's from an Apex Predator. It's primal. It's ugly. And it's exactly why you need to see it, Alexander. You've been forging a quiet blade. Tonight, you'll see a blunt instrument that just smashes, and you'll see how a true fighter fights to overcome it."
The air in the dojo, usually quiet, seemed to hum with a different kind of tension, a premonition of the twin events awaiting them with the coming night and the new dawn. Bennick stretched, a series of pops echoing from his joints. "Alright, Old Man. Let's not be late for the show. Butcher doesn't like to be kept waiting, and neither do his fans."