⋆౨ৎ˚ Chapter 1 ˚⟡˖
⊹ ₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆₊⋆☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆₊ ⊹
“That’s a Faris.”
The words drifted across the training hall, followed by a quiet laugh.
“I know. His sister is Inaya Faris, right?”
“Yeah. Inaya Faris. She’s incredible.”
“She’s twenty-seven now, isn’t she?”
“Twenty-seven and already carrying the entire family legacy. Her parents would be proud.”
“And her brother too. Kareem.”
“Kareem Faris? He’s almost as good as Inaya.”
“Almost?”
A few people laughed.
“Kareem is terrifying. I’ve seen him train before.”
The voices continued while wooden weapons struck against one another throughout the large training hall.
Thwack
Thwack
Thwack
The sound echoed between the walls.
“The Faris family really is something.”
“Generations of skill.”
“Apparently their parents were incredible too.”
“It must run in the blood.”
“That’s why Rayyan is so good.”
A younger voice joined the conversation.
“Rayyan? He’s the little brother, right?”
“Yeah. Thirteen.”
“Thirteen?”
“He’s already the strongest person here.”
There was a pause.
Then someone let out a low whistle.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. You should see him.”
“He’s only thirteen and he’s already beating people twice his age.”
“I heard he’s been training since he could walk.”
“Of course he has. He’s a Faris.”
“That family is just naturally talented.”
The conversation continued.
But the boy standing only a few metres away from them had heard every word.
Rayyan Faris tightened his grip around his wooden practice weapon.
‘Born talented.’
His eyes remained fixed on the opponent standing in front of him.
‘Naturally talented.’
His opponent shifted his feet.
Rayyan didn’t move.
‘Must be nice.’
The other boy rushed forward.
Rayyan stepped aside.
The wooden weapon swung past his shoulder.
He caught the boy’s wrist, twisted, and used the momentum of the attack to send him stumbling forward.
Before the boy could recover, Rayyan tapped the wooden weapon against his back.
Rayyan - “You’re done.”
The boy froze.
A few people around them reacted immediately.
“See?”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“He’s ridiculously good.”
Rayyan lowered his weapon.
‘Ridiculously good.’
He almost laughed.
People loved saying things like that.
They never saw what happened before he stepped onto the training floor.
They never saw the mornings when his muscles hurt so badly that getting out of bed felt like a chore.
They never saw him staying behind after everyone else left.
They never saw the countless mistakes.
The bruises.
The failures.
The times he had been thrown onto the floor again and again.
They only saw the result.
And somehow, the result always became the same explanation.
‘He’s a Faris.’
Rayyan walked toward the edge of the training area.
Someone called out to him.
“That was amazing, Rayyan!”
He glanced over.
Rayyan - “Thanks.”
“You make it look so easy.”
Rayyan gave a small shrug.
Rayyan - “Maybe you should try harder.”
The boy laughed awkwardly.
Rayyan walked away.
He wasn’t trying to be rude.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
But he had heard that sort of comment so many times that sometimes he couldn’t help answering with the same attitude.
He dropped his practice weapon onto the rack and reached for a towel.
Across the room, another group had started talking again.
“Imagine being born into that family.”
“I know.”
“You’d have everything.”
“Skill, reputation, connections...”
“And Inaya and Kareem as your siblings.”
“Exactly.”
Rayyan stopped wiping his forehead.
His eyes lowered.
‘As if that’s all it takes.’
He looked at his hands.
There were small marks across his knuckles from years of training.
‘You think I got here because of them?’
He knew what everyone thought.
Inaya Faris.
Twenty-seven.
The eldest.
The strongest.
The one who had taken responsibility for the family after their parents died.
She was respected everywhere she went.
People knew her name.
They knew what she could do.
They knew the legacy she carried.
Then there was Kareem Faris.
Twenty-five.
Almost at Inaya’s level.
Competitive.
Confident.
Always looking for someone to challenge.
Especially Rayyan.
And then there was him.
Rayyan Faris.
Thirteen.
The youngest.
The little brother.
The one everyone assumed had inherited the same talent.
‘That’s all I am to them.’
The little brother of Inaya and Kareem.
Rayyan exhaled through his nose.
‘I worked for this.’
He had spent years learning from Inaya.
She taught him the rules first.
Discipline.
Control.
Technique.
Patience.
The things their parents had once taught her.
Then Kareem took over whenever Rayyan needed someone to test him.
Fight him.
Challenge him.
Push him.
And beat him.
Usually very easily.
Rayyan hated remembering how many times Kareem had knocked him onto the floor.
And every time, Kareem would hold out a hand and say the same thing.
“Not good enough.”
Rayyan had hated those words.
So he had worked harder.
And harder.
Until eventually, everyone at the training centre started calling him the strongest.
And still...
He’s a Faris.
Rayyan clicked his tongue.
Rayyan - “Annoying.”
“What is?”
Rayyan looked up.
One of the other students was standing beside him.
Rayyan - “What?”
“You said something.”
Rayyan - “I didn’t.”
The boy stared at him.
Rayyan stared back.
“...Okay.”
The boy walked away.
Rayyan smiled faintly.
He couldn’t help it.
Sometimes people were too easy to mess with.
He grabbed his water bottle and took a drink.
Then the doors to the training hall opened.
The conversation around him slowly died down.
A man entered with someone Rayyan had never seen before.
The newcomer looked around the room, taking in the training hall with a quiet, observant expression.
He was older than Rayyan.
Sixteen, maybe.
He carried himself with the confidence of someone who had already spent years training, but there was something unfamiliar about him that made Rayyan pause.
“Who’s that?” someone whispered.
“New student.”
“From where?”
“Another training centre.”
“He’s transferring here?”
“Apparently.”
Rayyan barely paid attention.
New students came and went.
It wasn’t his problem.
Until someone spoke again.
“I heard he’s good.”
“How good?”
“Good enough that he was one of the strongest at his old centre.”
Rayyan glanced over.
The newcomer was still looking around.
Someone nearby grinned.
“Then he should fight Rayyan.”
A few people laughed.
Rayyan sighed.
Rayyan - “Of course.”
The newcomer finally looked in his direction.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then someone called out.
“Rayyan!”
He looked over.
“Why don’t you show our new student what this place is like?”
Rayyan raised an eyebrow.
Rayyan - “Already?”
The newcomer stepped forward.
“Kian.”
Rayyan looked at him.
Rayyan - “Kian what?”
Kian - “Kian Zahir.”
Rayyan nodded once.
Rayyan - “Rayyan Faris.”
Kian - “I know.”
Rayyan’s eyebrow lifted.
Rayyan - “Everyone does.”
Kian shrugged.
Kian - “I heard.”
That answer irritated him for some reason.
Rayyan picked up his wooden weapon.
Rayyan - “Fine.”
Kian reached for one too.
The surrounding students immediately began moving away from the training area.
A small crowd formed.
Whispers travelled through the room.
“He’s really fighting Rayyan?”
“This is going to be good.”
“Rayyan’s going to destroy him.”
Kian stood opposite him.
Calm.
At sixteen, he was noticeably older than Rayyan, but he didn’t carry himself like someone who thought the age difference gave him an automatic advantage.
Rayyan rolled his shoulders.
He could already tell Kian had experience.
His stance wasn’t perfect, but it was comfortable. Natural. The kind of stance that came from years of practice rather than something memorised from a lesson.
‘He’s been doing this for a while.’
Rayyan’s eyes narrowed.
Good.
At least this wouldn’t be boring.
Rayyan lowered himself slightly.
Rayyan - “Ready?”
Kian nodded.
Kian - “Yeah.”
Rayyan smiled.
Rayyan - “Try not to regret it.”
The signal was given.
They moved.
Rayyan’s first strike came fast.
Kian blocked.
The impact echoed through the room.
Rayyan immediately followed with another attack.
Kian stepped back.
Rayyan pressed forward.
Strike.
Block.
Step.
Counter.
Kian was older, stronger and had several more years of experience behind him, but Rayyan’s technique was sharp enough to keep him from simply overpowering him.
Rayyan twisted away from Kian’s next attack and struck toward his side.
Kian barely blocked it.
The crowd reacted.
“Whoa.”
Rayyan’s eyes narrowed.
‘He’s keeping up.’
He attacked again.
Kian moved.
Rayyan followed.
Their wooden weapons collided again and again.
For the first time that day, Rayyan wasn’t thinking about what everyone else was saying.
He wasn’t thinking about his family.
He wasn’t thinking about being a Faris.
He was simply fighting.
And he was enjoying it.
Kian was good.
Really good.
For someone three years older, Rayyan had expected him to have the advantage.
But that didn’t mean Rayyan intended to make it easy for him.
He pushed harder.
Kian matched him.
The fight became faster.
The crowd grew quieter.
Nobody was laughing anymore.
Nobody was talking about how easily Rayyan would win.
They were watching.
Waiting.
Rayyan feinted left.
Kian didn’t fall for it.
Rayyan changed direction.
Kian blocked.
Rayyan stepped forward—
And Kian suddenly moved.
A mistake.
A single opening.
Rayyan realised it a fraction too late.
Kian struck.
Rayyan’s weapon was knocked from his hand.
It hit the floor.
Before Rayyan could recover, Kian’s wooden weapon stopped against his chest.
Silence.
Rayyan stared at it.
Then at Kian.
The room erupted.
“He won!”
“No way!”
“Did Rayyan just lose?”
“He’s sixteen, though!”
“That was still insanely close!”
Rayyan slowly looked down at his empty hand.
Then back at Kian.
Kian lowered his weapon.
Kian - “Good fight.”
Rayyan gave a small smile.
Rayyan - “Yeah.”
He picked up his weapon.
Rayyan - “You got lucky.”
Kian blinked.
Kian - “Maybe.”
Rayyan looked at him.
Rayyan - “I wasn’t really trying.”
Kian nodded.
Kian - “Okay.”
Rayyan’s smile twitched.
Rayyan - “...What?”
Kian - “I said okay.”
Rayyan stared at him.
Kian didn’t argue.
Didn’t brag.
Didn’t even look particularly pleased with himself.
He simply turned and walked away.
That somehow made Rayyan feel worse.
The crowd followed Kian with excited whispers.
Rayyan remained where he was.
His expression was calm.
At least, that’s what everyone thought.
“Rayyan?”
He turned.
Rayyan - “I’m fine.”
He hadn’t even been asked anything.
Rayyan placed the wooden weapon back on the rack.
Rayyan - “I’ll be back.”
Then he walked out.
Nobody followed.
He entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him.
The noise of the training hall disappeared.
Silence.
Rayyan walked toward the sink.
He turned on the tap.
Water ran.
He stared at his reflection.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he gripped the edge of the sink.
His breathing became heavier.
‘I lost.’
His jaw tightened.
‘I lost.’
His fingers curled tighter.
‘To him.’
He bit his lower lip.
Hard.
The pain barely registered.
‘I’m supposed to be the strongest.’
His reflection stared back at him.
‘Everyone thinks I’m talented.’
His teeth pressed harder.
‘Everyone thinks this comes naturally.’
A small drop of blood fell from his lip.
Then another.
Onto the white sink.
Rayyan stared at it.
His eyes burned.
‘I worked so hard.’
His breathing shook.
‘So why wasn’t it enough?’
His mind replayed the fight.
Every movement.
Every mistake.
That one opening.
That one moment.
Kian had seen it.
Kian had taken it.
Rayyan clenched his fists.
Rayyan - “I’m not a failure.”
His voice sounded small in the empty bathroom.
He looked at himself again.
‘Then why did you lose?’
He didn’t have an answer.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Maybe Kareem was right.’
The thought made his stomach twist.
‘Maybe I’m not good enough.’
His eyes dropped toward the blood in the sink.
‘Maybe everyone was right.’
‘Maybe I’m only here because I’m a Faris.’
Rayyan - “No.”
Rayyan shook his head.
Rayyan - “No.”
He wouldn’t accept that.
He had worked too hard.
He had sacrificed too much.
He had spent years building his reputation.
He wasn’t going to let someone walk into this training centre and take it from him.
Rayyan turned off the tap.
He stared at the closed bathroom door.
Kian Zahir.
The new student.
The person who had just beaten him.
A small, bitter smile appeared on Rayyan’s face.
Rayyan - “Fine.”
He wiped the last trace of blood away.
Rayyan - “If that’s how it’s going to be...”
He picked up his bag.
Rayyan - “...then you’re my rival now.”
And for the first time since he had entered the training centre that morning, Rayyan wasn’t thinking about being a Faris.
He was thinking about one person.
Kian Zahir.
He had beaten him once. Rayyan would make sure it never happened again.
⊹ ₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆₊⋆☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆₊ ⊹
