The sun dipped low, stretching shadows across the street as Riley walked faster, not quite caring. He wanted to watch how the teacher taught; he wasn’t there to participate.

In the near distance, he saw them. It looked like the lesson hadn’t even started. Rowan was laughing and talking to her friend, the teacher. All Riley could see was her back—she wore an orange-gray sweatshirt and a long black ponytail slipping out from under a cap.

Riley quickened his pace. He was almost there, and since he knew he was late, he wanted to announce himself.

“Hey, girls!” he called out.

In the next moment, he started sweating. His throat went dry; his body froze.

The figure spun, arm striking out fast. Before Riley could process what was happening, the end of a fighting stick was at his throat.

Those eyes. The person’s black eyes raked over him before locking onto his. Riley’s heart thundered in his chest.

The teacher. It was he.

“Fuck, you’re not a girl,” Riley blurted, his voice breaking somewhere between a shout and a mumble.

Laughter erupted. “Ha-ha! Hi Riley, whoa, Taj do not kill him! He is only five minutes late; he doesn’t deserve to die,” Rowan exclaimed, laughing even harder.

A second later, it was she who was sweating. The teacher, Taj, moved lightly and attacked her with the same fighting stick Riley had seen at his throat earlier. Instantly, Rowan hit the ground with a loud bang.

“Oh, why? We haven’t even started practice yet,” she complained.

“No one announces their intent in a street fight,” Taj answered. The voice, low and measured, sank deeply into Riley’s heart.

Rowan climbed to her feet and started asking questions. ‘What’s next? What about this? What about that?’ Riley barely registered her words. He remained rooted in the same place, unable to move. He was watching the teacher, somehow struck by something, but by what, Riley didn’t truly understand.

Taj showed no signs of having overpowered two people moments earlier. His body was smooth yet strong and tough. It was evident that he trained. Was he Crystaler? Probably? Riley was unsure; he was not good with these matters.

As Taj explained techniques to Rowan, Riley’s attention drifted. He caught only some fragments—dirty moves, targets, improvised weapons, eyes, or mouth. Something that was riskier, but depending on this or that. The words slid past him, their meaning blurred. Riley listened to the melody of them until something caught his attention.

They talked about tools. Teacher Taj suggested using anything as a weapon—a chair, a broom, or even a hard water bottle to strike or splash. But then…

“You could use your femininity to your advantage. You could use it to distract. Tease.” Taj’s tone was clinical, though there was something else beneath it. Riley could feel it.

Rowan sounded curious, so Taj added that he could demonstrate the technique, but he needed someone for it.

“Oh, we have Riley. He can be our mannequin!” Rowan exclaimed. “Right, Riley? You wanted to see methods, didn’t you?” she asked, laughing.

“Yyy, sure, why the fucking not?” Riley answered, not sure what to expect. But teacher Taj had already started. 

He caught Riley’s eyes, and from that moment on, he couldn’t take his eyes off that face. Beautiful, almost feminine, but fuck! No! Dangerous. 

Riley felt pinned. He could only watch how Taj began to move slowly, calmly, walking toward him as if impressed by his beauty or something—that was how Riley felt. The intensity of it made his throat tighten.

“Hide your killing intent,” Taj murmured to Rowan, though his eyes never left Riley. “Bury your purpose. Seduce.”

Riley swallowed hard. Taj was a step away from him, stretched out his hand, and smoothly took the missing half-step. Another half-step, and his face was very close, his black eyes piercing to the bottom of Riley’s soul. Then, Taj touched Riley’s face with his hand. The touch was so soft but also hot—too hot—burning through his skin.

“At this point you can say… what a beautiful body you have,” Taj continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper, and Riley started sweating for the second time in fifteen minutes.

“And then,” Taj leaned closer, his lips hovering near Riley’s ear. “Then you make this gesture. A man will know what it means.” He slowly began to slide down to his knees in front of Riley; the motion was agonizingly slow.

Riley’s knees buckled, as he knew exactly what it meant. A wave of heat surged through him. He stumbled and fell to the ground.

“Whoa, Taj, did you hit him?” Rowan asked, laughing nervously.

“No need,” Taj replied, his voice calm and neutral already. He turned back to Rowan and added, “As you can see, it works well.”

Riley sat where he had fallen. He never thought a man could touch him like this and still live. What was worse, he wanted more. He wanted teacher Taj to teach him more.