Ethan Cole - The Unlimited System

Jordan slid the glass door open and stepped into the backyard.

The night was cool and quiet, the moonlight casting a pale shimmer across the small lawn.

The air smelled faintly of trimmed grass and damp soil, and somewhere nearby, a cicada buzzed lazily.

He stretched his arms overhead and let out a long sigh, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Man… it feels good to kick some ass every now and then," he muttered to himself, cracking his neck.

The memory of the hotdog stall still pulsed in his veins. The way he ducked that first punch, the sound of his fist connecting with someone's jaw, the chaotic surprise on their faces, it had all felt… alive.

Not as good as the time when he was training in Simaland.

Much better than most of the days he spent lately stuck behind a desk or acting civil for Ethan's sake.

With a shrug, Jordan pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it over the back of a patio chair. The fabric landed with a soft thump.

His body, lean and sculpted, was the product of years of sports and consistent training. It was not bulky like a gym rat's, but tight, functional, and coiled with energy.

His abs were well-defined, his shoulders broad, arms veined and strong from countless push-ups, drills, and old-school sparring matches.

A faint scar cut across his left rib, barely visible under the moonlight. It was one of the few things he brought back from his last deadly encounter.

He walked across the lawn barefoot, his steps light on the cool grass. The breeze hit his skin like a balm, refreshing and clean, and for a second, he just stood there with his eyes closed.

Not everything had gone wrong today.

They'd made it out alive. He'd finally gotten to throw a punch. And most of all, Ethan… Ethan wasn't the fragile boy he used to protect back in school. That thought alone made something in Jordan's chest loosen.

"I wonder what really happened to him," he murmured, flashing a grin to no one in particular. "Well, everyone has their little secret, right?"

As if he was trying to get rid of the thoughts, he shadowboxed a few steps—jab, jab, duck, uppercut—letting the motion carry away the leftover adrenaline.

His muscles moved with precision, each strike sharp and measured. It wasn't about proving anything. It was just… release.

While he was still lost in the rhythm of his movements, a figure emerged silently from the side of the house.

Jordan sensed it, not from sound, but from the subtle shift in pressure like the air itself had noticed someone dangerous arriving.

A punch came from the shadows, fast and sharp.

"Whoa!" Jordan's eyes widened.

His body reacted on instinct, raising his forearm just in time to block it with a heavy smack.

He stumbled back a step, but his grin returned.

"What was that for?" he said breathlessly.

Mark stepped into the moonlight, hands lowered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"I didn't think you'd notice that one," he said. "You're pretty good, Jordan."

Jordan rolled his shoulder, recovering quickly. "Please. That was not even your one percent. I could feel you pulling your punch from a mile away."

Mark chuckled softly. "Well, I'm sorry for boasting a bit but I'm a bit different. If I don't hold back… well…"

He didn't finish the sentence, but the weight behind the words was clear.

Jordan laughed. "No worries. I get it. I've seen monsters out there too. You'd be surprised how much you learn from getting your face kicked in."

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Mark nodded, amusement still in his eyes. "Care for a quick spar? Just to shake off the dust."

Jordan's eyes lit up. "Hell yes."

They squared off without another word.

The first few seconds were a blur. Jordan surged forward, fists moving. He launched a barrage of precise jabs and low kicks, his body moving with the ease of experience.

Every strike was deliberate, aimed to test Mark's defenses.

But Mark was calm and he seemed effortless.

"Good but this is nothing. You need to try harder."

He deflected with minimal movement, not even changing his stance. When he countered, it was sharp but never cruel. A push here, a palm tap there, redirecting Jordan's momentum without punishing him.

"Yeah. Thanks for the pointer. I'm trying harder."

Jordan kept pushing. Sweat dripped down his temples as he darted, spun, and feinted, trying to break through.

But Mark never flinched.

Even when Jordan landed a solid kick to his ribs, Mark barely reacted.

"Got you!" Jordan was excited to be able to do that.

But Mark just stepped back and gave a small nod, as if to say, 'Nice try.'

They kept on going like that. Back and forth but most of the time, Jordan was the one attacking.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

By the fifteen-minute mark, Jordan was breathing hard, soaked in sweat.

"You're not a normal bodyguard, aren't you?" Jordan questioned.

He felt as if the one he was fighting was even stronger than his masters.

"You're just getting tired. Not me being abnormal," Mark replied with a chuckle.

Jordan's attacks had slowed, his movements less precise. But he hadn't given up.

Mark caught one of Jordan's final punches with his bare hand and gently twisted, guiding him into a harmless fall.

Jordan hit the grass with a grunt, staring up at the sky.

The stars above seemed to mock him with their stillness.

"I'm dead," he groaned, arm flopped over his face. "Can't continue anymore."

Mark sat down beside him, not even winded.

"You did well," he said with a grin.

Jordan peeked at him from under his arm. "You didn't even try."

"I didn't need to," Mark said simply.

Jordan laughed, breathless but satisfied. "You always know how to make a guy feel good about himself."

They sat in the quiet for a while, the night settling around them like a soft blanket.

"You know," Jordan murmured after a pause, "I used to think I was something. Back in school, back in Simaland. But these days... everyone's just on another level."

Mark looked over at him. "So what? That just means we have more to climb."

Jordan smiled, eyes half-closed. "Yeah. Guess you're right."

And in that peaceful backyard, under the moonlight and the weight of unspoken thoughts, two newly met people rested, one still dreaming of catching up, the other quietly watching him try.

Inside the house, the lights were dim, but a soft glow leaked from behind the drawn curtains of the master bedroom.

Jessica stood there silently, eyes fixed on the backyard. Her arms were folded gently, the edge of the curtain pinched between two fingers.

"Jordan..." she muttered slowly.

She had watched nearly the entire exchange between Jordan and Mark. The quick flurry of fists, the calm way Mark deflected every move, and of course, the wild but determined fire in Jordan's strikes.

There was something mesmerizing about it. Something raw. And oddly comforting.

She wondered what was on Jordan's mind actually and what was the reason between the two people fighting. However, after they had finished, she believed everything was just a friendly spar between men.

'Men... They sure are hard to read.'

She hadn't meant to linger. But she couldn't sleep.

Her body was tired, her mind heavier still. So instead of going to her own room, she had quietly tiptoed into her mother's.

Behind her, on the bed, Julie stirred.

"Honey?" her mother's voice was soft but curious. "You've been standing there a while. Got something interesting to see outside?"

Jessica blinked, then quickly let the curtain fall shut.

She turned and smiled faintly. "No. I was just... spacing out."

Julie patted the spot beside her on the bed. "Well, if you're going to space out, you might as well do it lying down."

Jessica chuckled and walked over, settling onto the bed slowly. The room smelled faintly of lavender and old books. It was soothing and familiar.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then, quietly, Jessica asked, "Mom... have you heard from Dad lately?"

Julie's smile lingered, but something in her eyes dimmed. "No. It's been months. Not a call. Not a message."

Jessica hesitated. "Not even when I was away?"

Julie gently shook her head. "Not even then."

A dull ache pressed in Jessica's chest. She lowered her gaze, fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket.

"Do you know where he lives now?"

Julie hesitated a second longer than usual. "He moves a lot. Probably because of work."

Jessica gave a soft, dry laugh. "Yeah. Sure. Work."

She didn't believe that.

Not really.

A silence settled again, deeper this time. Then a new thought crossed her mind.

'Even if I knew where he was… would I go see him?'

The answer didn't come easily. Her jaw clenched, and she swallowed down the old bitterness.

'He left. For another woman. And we… we just had to deal with it.'

Harold had stepped in, not just as a mentor to her and the twins, but as a father figure to all of them.

He filled the space their real father had left behind. He did everything quietly and patiently. Jessica had always believed this thing was actually the reason why her grandfather's health deteriorated.

Jessica let out a long breath. "I guess… it doesn't matter anymore. Dad chose his life. So we should live ours too. As long as we don't trouble each other… that's probably for the best."

Julie nodded with a smile.

Jessica didn't notice it.

But in the dim light, Julie's smile faltered just slightly.

Only for a second.

Then she reached out and gently ran her hand through her daughter's hair.

"Enough with your father," she said softly. "Let's sleep."

Jessica closed her eyes and nodded, unaware that her words had stirred something deeper than she intended.

And outside, under the moonlight, the world kept turning quietly.