We find ourselves in a quiet mountain town nestled in a valley, initially established as temporary residences for the employees of a mine and quarry owned by a single family. Over time, the town grew, nearly reaching the status of a small city, though it still falls slightly short.

In this town, there are only two high schools, more than enough to accommodate all students who haven’t moved to bigger cities for their education. These larger cities attract hopeful and desperate souls alike, much like the gnawing center of a black hole swallowing planets through its sheer gravitational pull.

At one of these high schools, a group of students sits at a picnic table in the center of campus, having lunch under the shade of a tree. Among them is Charlie Dahann, a new student eating a ham and cheese sandwich, blending in with his classmates.

Starting at a new school and making new friends is commonplace for Charlie. His parents have been moving around since he was just a child, and he hasn’t stayed in the same place for more than a year at a time. He has just started his new semester at a new school, and so far, he has been meshing well with his classmates. He spends his days engaging in idle chatter, knowing that he would never know any of them as deeply or as intimately as he would like.

“A transient life.” The words escaped his mouth, just a faint whisper.

“What did you say?” one of the girls in the group asked, sitting across from him.

“Eh… nothing, sorry, just thinking out loud,” Charlie replied, struggling to remember her name among the many new names of his classmates.

Thankfully, before he could make an ass of himself, a rowdy bunch of students entered the main yard, dressed in a different uniform than the one from the school.

“Wait, who are they?” Charlie asked his classmates, noticing the black outfits they were wearing in contrast to their school’s polo shirts and tweed pants.

The faces of the people surrounding them told the story without words; their concern and fear were almost palpable, exuding from them much like the cold sweat dripping down the sides of their faces.

“They are students from Pine Hill Technical School. They tend to come around for trouble,” one of the boys explained to Charlie, as the group as a whole began putting away their lunches, ready to move away.

The students from the neighboring school approached them, as they were the largest group in the yard. The one up front, a tall and lanky guy with a buzz cut and a patchy mustache, making him look both older and younger at the same time, glared at the group with his beady eyes.

“Yo, asshole! You wouldn’t know where Shishioh is, would you?” he asked, trying to sound tough, but the most intimidating factor was the fact that he was flanked by six other guys with equally aggressive intentions.

Charlie was so confused, he didn’t even realize his newfound friends had deserted him, leaving the table as soon as they saw the hoodlums from the Technical School approaching.

“Sorry, who are you talking about? I’m pretty ne-” The exchange student weakly replied, only to be interrupted by the gang’s leader, who slammed his hand against the table and leaned in, glaring at him as if he was trying to burn a hole through his head.

“DON’T FUCK WITH ME! GET SHISHIOH OUT HERE RIGHT NOW OR I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT YOUR GLASS-” The hoodlum shouted, spit flying from his mouth as he slapped the table trying to emphasize his words, but it was his turn to be interrupted, as a fist suddenly collided with his cheek.

There was a momentary hangtime, like a delicate balance of action and reaction, as if time stood still for a second.

Charlie could appreciate the full impact of the fist against the hoodlum’s face: his contorted rictus, his undulating skin, his bulging eyes, and the shower of spit, blood, and broken teeth coming out of his open mouth as his whole body slowly leaned to the side, following the force of the punch.

Then this momentary stasis broke like glass being smashed by a sledgehammer, and the hoodlum’s body was sent flying across the yard, bouncing twice on the grass until he began to roll and finally stopped when he hit the base of a tree.

Standing right where the hoodlum was seconds ago was another student from Charlie’s school. He was wearing the uniform, but he had rolled up the sleeves of his polo shirt and was wearing an orange undershirt underneath.

He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was athletic, with toned muscles on his arms and particularly noticeable hands, covered in calluses and scrapes. His skin also had a rough texture, partly from piled scars and partly from a deep tan, the kind of tan you get from extensive outdoor activities rather than from a sunbed.

He ignored Charlie and turned around to face the remaining students of the rival school.

“What did I fuckin’ tell ya guys?” he said with a weird accent, shortening some words and sounding extremely informal. “If ya come to my turf, I’m gonna whoop yer asses. Didn’t I say that?” He asked them, glaring at the bunch, his fists already clenched, ready for a fight.

The group seemed to be taken aback by his threats, much like Charlie’s classmates were scared by the students from the Technical School. They, in turn, seemed to be afraid of this guy, who Charlie supposed was the aforementioned Gen Shishioh.

There is always a bigger fish; that was the thought going through the exchange student’s head, not really taking in the dangerous position he was in, as at any moment, a big fight could break out.

“Ya either leave now walkin’ or ya leave later crawlin’. Yer choice.” Gen gave them an ultimatum, and most of the hoodlums began to shift backwards, already intimidated by his crazed grin and shining eyes, which clearly and evidently were spoiling for a fight.

And anybody who has ever been in an actual street fight can tell, if one guy who is about to fight six others is smiling, he is either crazy, confident, or worse, a combination of both, and they didn’t want to stay to find out.

Yet, life has other plans.