Several weeks had passed since John had completely restructured his daily routines.
Despite being only seven years old, his days were divided between studying in the mornings and training mixed martial arts in the afternoons, with a discipline that seemed far beyond his age. He did it not out of excitement or passion; he simply executed what he considered useful. For him, everything was a logical sequence of actions.
During those first weeks, Romeo had kept the training sessions a secret so that Camila Xentras, his mother, wouldn't find out. However, the "secret" lasted only two weeks. John's schedule was too structured not to draw attention.
One afternoon, Camila finally snapped.
"So… you put John in those classes without asking me?" Her voice trembled with anger as she pointed at Romeo, who seemed small in his own home.
"Me? How could you think that? They told me John was good at sports, so I asked him if he wanted to go, and he said yes…" Romeo stammered, staring at the floor as if the tiles could save him.
John, sitting on the sofa, interrupted in his flat, direct tone.
"I never agreed in the way he says. I only mentioned that I could try it."
The room fell silent for a second.
"ROMEO!" Camila exclaimed, grabbing his hair and dragging him across the floor as he protested, offering excuses no one heard.
John observed the scene without expression. He did not attempt to intervene. To him, it was just another event in the day.
————
The gym where John trained was one of the most complete in the city.
Classes were scheduled to accommodate students according to their own needs. Mixed techniques, self-defense, judo, striking… there was something for everyone. John attended most of them.
That day, the head trainer—a man 1.97 meters tall with imposing musculature—arrived accompanied by a visiting instructor from another renowned gym.
"You have good students. And this place… I'd say it's the best in the area, maybe even in the entire city," the visiting instructor said, observing the facilities with genuine interest.
"Thank you, but none of this would work without the students. They're the ones who bring the gym to life," the head trainer replied with a proud smile.
As they spoke, they approached the sparring area, where two students were about to face off. One was considerably taller and stronger; the other, small, with a firm stance and neutral gaze.
"Oh, I see. You put the small ones against the big ones. A good way to teach them to deal with disadvantages in weight and reach," the visiting instructor commented.
"Correct… but in this case, it's not exactly a disadvantage," the head trainer said, crossing his arms.
Just seconds later, the match began. The smaller boy took a precise lateral step, grabbed his opponent's arm, and executed a perfect harai goshi. Using his opponent's momentum, he destabilized his center of gravity and threw him cleanly to the mat. The impact echoed across the tatami.
"…My God," whispered the visiting instructor, astonished by the child's flawless technique.
"That's John Xentras. He's only seven. He's been here two months, and yet… he's the most efficient student I've seen in years. He learns silently and replicates techniques as if he had practiced them for months," said the head trainer, a mix of pride and astonishment in his voice.
John returned to his starting position, without celebration, without emotion. He simply awaited the next instruction.
⸻
After finishing the day's training, John sat down to wait for his father, who arrived shortly afterward, as usual.
During the drive home, John recounted every detail of the training with precision. He did so because Romeo had asked, not on his own initiative.
"Heh… if you keep this up, you could go professional," Romeo said proudly, smiling from ear to ear.
John did not respond. He simply observed the road.
Upon arriving home, Romeo gave him a gentle pat on the back.
"Your mother will be here in two hours. I'll prepare dinner, so go take a shower, little fighter."
John nodded and went to the bathroom.
After showering, he dried off and stood in front of the mirror. He stayed there for two full minutes, staring at himself. He wasn't evaluating his appearance. He wasn't thinking about his progress. He was simply… observing himself, without emotion, without expression, without a defined thought.
Just observing, as if trying to understand something that still had no name.