The following days brought something new to the training grounds.
Mateo was no longer the same angry and reckless boy. His attacks, once impulsive, now had rhythm. His dodges were no longer instinctive, but calculated through reading his opponent’s movements. And his Ki… though still unstable, pulsed more often — like a muscle finally beginning to respond to its master’s command.

From a distance, Salda watched with crossed arms, the corner of her mouth curved in a subtle smile.
— He’s still rough. But he’s starting to think like a warrior… — she murmured to herself.

Nai, on the other hand, felt increasingly torn. She could see how much Mateo was hurting — inside and out. And yet, he never stopped. There was something in his gaze — a silent weight she couldn’t quite reach.

— Why are you pushing yourself so far…? — she asked one night, finding him training alone under the moonlight.

Mateo stopped, soaked in sweat, breath heavy.
— Because if I’m not strong enough… I’ll lose you. I’ll lose everything.

Nai felt her heart tighten.
— I’m here, Mateo. You don’t have to carry this alone.

But he simply looked away, as if he no longer knew how to accept comfort.

Mateo still couldn’t defeat Salda. She would bring him down with ease, always with a sarcastic comment or an indifferent glance. But for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel useless.

His body ached — but his chest felt light. He was growing stronger. And that was enough.

One quiet night, as he washed the dried blood from his hands, something shifted inside him. A jolt. A dark pulse rising from the pit of his stomach. A longing.

He wanted… to hurt someone. To beat them down. To feel the enemy’s flesh breaking beneath his fists. Just like last time — before being taken in by Nai’s family — when he crushed that animal’s skull. But now… he wanted more.

It was a calling — from the darkness within.
And he would not deny it.

In the weeks that followed, Mateo began to vanish during the early hours of the morning.

He moved silently, hooded, following instincts and whispers through the city. He wasn’t hunting criminals for revenge — he was hunting worthy targets: kidnappers, abusers, rapists, traffickers — anyone who, in his eyes, deserved to fall.

And when he found them… he made them fall.

Punches. Kicks. Elbows. No mercy. He didn’t kill — not yet — but he left deep scars. In the flesh. In the soul.

He’d return home with sore fists and calm eyes.

At first, it felt like he was cleansing the world.

But soon… he started to enjoy it. The feeling of control. Of seeing someone on the ground, helpless, and knowing he held the power. Not a god. Not Salda. Not his past.

Him.

Mateo caught himself smiling, alone, after fights. A small smile. Subtle — but real.
And that’s when he realized:

It wasn’t just justice.
It was pleasure.