G.R.O.W.T.H

~ Ethan's Pov, the next day ~

.

.

.

I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at the floor.

I needed to stop reacting and start acting.

Last night proved something important—I wasn't safe. Someone was watching me. Someone who clearly expected Ethan Vaughn to be a certain way. And now that I had tipped my hand, there was no telling when—or if—he'd come back.

And if he did?

I had no idea how to defend myself.

I flexed my fingers, frowning. This body wasn't that weak—Ethan seemed to be in decent shape, not really—but muscle didn't really translate to skill. Regardless, I had no memory of fighting, no muscle memory of throwing a punch or dodging an attack. If something happened, I'd have nothing to rely on but instinct. And instincts?

Right now, mine were next to garbage.

I exhaled sharply, 'Alright. Priorities.'

Step One: Learn how to fight or defend myself;

I definitely wasn't about to sign up for some underground street brawl, but I needed something. here Self-defense, basic combat skills—anything that could keep me from getting folded like a cheap lawn chair if things went south.

I grabbed my phone and started searching... Heck, it didn't even take long either. There were a few nearby gyms compared to where I lived, some with self-defense classes with high ratings. That could work just fine. I just had to make it look normal—like something Ethan Vaughn would do.

Step Two: Learn about the actual world itself;

Last night had been my first real deep-dive into how this world functioned. It looked like my world. It felt like my world. But there were differences—big ones.

Heroes had existed here. Not just as as concepts, but as real, living figures who operated publicly. Some worked with the government. Some were independent. Some were even corporate-sponsored, meaning companies like Vance Industries were directly involved in the whole system.

And I worked for them.

I needed to understand this world as fast as possible. History, politics, laws—anything that could help me blend in. The less I stood out, the safer I'd be.

I switched gears, pulling up news sites and government databases. I skimmed through articles about hero licensing laws, anti-vigilante policies, and even things like corporate hero sponsorships.

The deeper I went, the more uneasy I felt about it all. I was practically screwed here. I didn't have any abilities, I wasn't exceptionally smart in really anything either. I was just a plain old generic guy you'd find anywhere on the street...

Either way... Heroes weren't just symbols of justice here. They looked as if they were essentially assets, in a weird sense and potentially living resources. Tools to be controlled, regulated, and—if necessary—removed too.

'How far does this loop-hole even go?' I sighed, tired of everything so far. It's only been a day.

Some heroes were allowed to operate freely, while others had contracts binding them to corporations or government agencies. The ones who played by the rules got protection. The ones who didn't?

They seemingly, just disappeared. There are articles all over the net that talks about this stuff, even through unrelated searches...

And Vance Industries? They weren't likely just making tech to help heroes. It's as if they were making tech to kind of monitor them... Maybe I worked for some kind of weirdly perverted company...?

'Oh~ Boy...' I sat back a little; unconsciously rubbing a hand over my face...

Right now, I needed to deal with my job effectively, and I didn't necessarily have the funds to go to a gym and learn anything much.

Money.

It always came down to that, didn't it?

Even in a world where super-powered individuals existed, where corporations funded heroes and technology advanced beyond what I ever knew—some things never changed.

I sighed, glancing at my phone screen. My banking app loaded with an annoying slowness, finally flashing my account balance in bold numbers.

$312.4

'Fantastic.'

That wasn't nothing, but it definitely wasn't "sign up for self-defense classes" money. Hell, I wasn't even sure it was "buy a decent meal for the rest of the month," kind of money.

I closed the app, rubbing my temple.

If I wanted to learn how to fight, I had to get creative. I could try free online tutorials, but watching some guy on the internet wasn't going to magically make me competent in a fight... I could do it to give me more knowledge... Yeah, that could work out. Maybe I could even find a gym that offered a free trial. Or—

Wait.

Ryan.

He was a little too comfortable dealing with weird situations. He confronted that guy last night way too casually. And if I wasn't mistaken, he moved like someone who knew how to handle himself.

Had he trained before? Fought before? I didn't actually know.

But if he did… Maybe I wouldn't really even need a gym.

While the idea lasted, I grabbed my phone and quickly typed out a message.

========

Me:

[Yo, random question... You ever done any kind of fighting?]

The dots appeared almost immediately.

Ryan:

[👀

bro why?

u tryna fight me??]

This absolute... I sighed.

Me:

[No, dumbass. Just wondering if you've done anything before.

There was a pause. Then:

Ryan:

[A little. Why?

You planning to enter the underground fight scene? Cuz I got connections.]

I could feel my own eyes instinctively rolling at the remark.

Me:

[(¬_¬)

No dude. I'm not trying to get my ass kicked in a basement, thanks. Just… thinking about learning a few things.]

Another pause for a while. Then:

Ryan:

[Meet me at the park in an hour.

Wear something u don't mind getting wrecked in.]

========

I stared at the message, something uneasy settling in my gut... Was this a mistake? Did I really need to fight?

The answer came almost immediately.

Yes.

Because, if last night proved anything, it was the fact that I had no idea what I was really up against. And right now, I couldn't really afford to be weak either way... In the mean time of waiting, I could try to find out more about coding. My job practically revolves around it, and I only knew the basics right now... Plus, learning about it costs me nothing. So, cheers to knowledge I guess.

Since I couldn't afford a gym, It's best I stick to body weight exercises in the mean time. Learning about my body and building it should be better than jumping into pumping iron, right? I don't even know, I feel like I'm just convincing myself at this point...

Anyway, time to read about codes... Yay...

_________________________________________________

~ 9:57 AM – Riverside Park ~

.

.

.

The morning air was nice and crisp, the kind that felt refreshing, but not cold. The park wasn't overly crowded either—just a few joggers around, a couple of parents watching their kids and babies, and an old man feeding pigeons like he was some kind of urban sage...

And then, there was Ryan...

He was waiting near an open grassy area, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Damn, you actually showed up, huh." he said, smirking as I approached. "I half expected you to flake."

I shrugged it off playfully; "And miss out on the opportunity to get punched in the face? No way."

Ryan grinned, "Atta boy."

He was dressed for this—loose athletic joggers, a sleeveless hoodie, and gloves that looked suspiciously like they were meant for fighting. Meanwhile, I was wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants I had hoped wouldn't get completely destroyed... Though, now that I looked at him a little carefully, the guy's got a sleeper build, pretty athletic looking to boot.

"Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles. "So, what's this about? You suddenly develop an urge to learn how to kick ass, or did last night freak you out that bad?"

I hesitated. "I just… realized I should probably know how to defend myself."

Ryan's smirk faded slightly. "That guy really got under your skin, huh?"

I didn't answer right away, not did I have to... He was spot on to be honest, "I don't know who he was, or why he was watching me. But if something like that happens again, I don't want to just stand there like an idiot."*

Ryan nodded, rubbing his chin, "Alright. Solid reason. But just so we're clear—self-defense isn't just about throwing punches. You gotta know when to fight, when to run, and when to shut the hell up and not make yourself a walking target."

"Sounds easy enough." I muttered.

"Oh, it's not." Ryan grinned. "But you'll learn quick once you get hit a few times."*

"Great."*

He clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's start simple. What do you know?"

I blinked. "About what? Fighting?"

"Yeah."

I hesitated. "Uh… I've seen a lot of movies?"

Ryan groaned. "Oh, gosh..."

"Hey, wise ass! In my defense, I've never needed to fight anyone before." I said, throwing up my hands. "I thought I was just some random tech guy!"

"Okay, first of all," Ryan said, "You are some random tech guy. Second of all, that means we're starting from absolute zero. Which is fine, but you're gonna hate me by the end of this."

I sighed, "Duly noted."

Ryan stepped back, rolling his shoulders. "Alright. Rule number one—stance. If your stance is garbage, you're gonna get knocked over faster than a drunk guy in a hurricane."*

I adjusted my footing slightly. "Uh? Like this?"

"Nope." He kicked my foot. "Move this one back. Good. Now bend your knees. Relax your shoulders. If you're stiff, you're slow."*

I adjusted again, feeling awkward as hell.

"Better." he said. "Now, hands up. Protect your face. No, higher. Oh~ There ya go."

"I feel stupid..."

"You look stupid too, but that's part of the process."

I sighed. "So~ what now?"

Ryan smirked. "Now? I hit you."

.

.

.

"Wait, what—"

Fwish~

I barely saw it before he tapped the side of my head—lightly, but enough to make me flinch.

"See? You dropped your guard already," he said. "You can't just hold your hands up and expect them to stay there. You gotta be active. Keep moving. Keep adjusting to me."

I reset my stance, already feeling out of my depth.

Ryan circled me slightly, testing me, throwing slow jabs to see how I reacted. I blocked some, missed others, and occasionally got tapped in the ribs when I really wasn't paying attention.

It was frustrating.

But also… weirdly, good.

For the first time since waking up in this life, I wasn't just drowning in questions—I was doing something. Taking control of something, even if it was just in the smallest way possible...

"Alright," Ryan said after a few minutes, nodding in approval. "Not bad. You're slow, but you're definitely learning. Now let's try something harder."

I narrowed my eyes. "Like what?"

Ryan grinned at me.

"Try hitting me."

I stared at Ryan. "You want me to hit you?"

"Unless you wanna go home crying about how unfair the world is, yeah," Ryan said, rolling his shoulders. "Come on. Try it."*

I hesitated.

It wasn't just that I'd never thrown a punch before—it was that I didn't know how. The concept was simple, at least I think so: ball up your fist a bit, swing, and hope for the best. But something about actually doing it felt... unnatural.

Ryan smirked. "Scared?"

I exhaled sharply. "Heck no."

"Then do it dude."

I stepped forward and swung.

Ryan moved before I even realized what was happening. He shifted his head just enough for my fist to miss, like he knew exactly where I was aiming before I did.

"Slow..." he said, dodging another half-hearted attempt. "And pathetically predictable."

I clenched my jaw, refocusing a bit. I tried it again—this time aiming a bit lower, towards his ribs instead of his face.

Ryan shifted his stance slightly, deflecting my arm with his forearm. "Better," he admitted. "Still too obvious, though."

I rolled my shoulders, adjusting my footing a bit more.

Though, I felt something strange was happening to me... The more I moved, the more natural it felt over time. Like my body was kind of, well... figuring it out, that's the best way I could describe it, and not just my body, but my mind too—not instantly, not even remotely perfectly—but each movement felt slightly smoother than the last one.

But, maybe that was me overthinking things...

I tried again, feinting a jab to the side before switching direction.

Ryan actually had to move this time.

His eyebrows shot up. "Huh. Not half bad."

I blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get cocky though." He took a step back, shaking out his arms. "You're still slow as hell, but you're adjusting a little quicker than I thought you would."

I exhaled, flexing my fingers slightly. He wasn't wrong.

At the start of this, I felt like I was moving through wet cement—stiff, uncoordinated, wrong. But now? I was starting to get it, even if it's by a little.

It wasn't just muscle memory. It wasn't just repetition to me. It was like my body was learning faster than it should be. And, it felt weirdly, right, kind of?

And, I had no idea why.

Ryan tilted his head at me. "You good?"

"Yeah… just thinking." Plus, I'm getting a bit tired from doing this already... A testament to how ridiculously unfit I am as an adult...

He smirked. "Don't hurt yourself."

I scoffed, catching my breath, but didn't argue with him.

For the next twenty minutes, we kept going—light sparring, slow movement, nothing remotely serious. Ryan never went full force, never even pushed me past my limits too much. But every time we reset, every time I adjusted my stance, or tried a new angle—

It got just a little bit easier.

I didn't have perfect form. I wasn't suddenly a fighter. But, I was definitely getting the hang of it. And that? That was more than enough for now, or better yet, today.

Eventually, Ryan clapped his hands together. "Alright, that's enough for today."*

I let out a breath, running a hand through my hair. "I did okay?"

"Better than okay really." He stretched, rolling his shoulders. "I expected you to get your ass handed to you, but you actually kept up. For your first time? Not bad at all... In fact, I'm a little impressed."*

I nodded slowly, absorbing his compliment.

First time. And yet, I already knew—next time?

I think I'd be even better. But alas, I'm tired as a working man can be...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

END