By mid-afternoon, the school courtyard had emptied. Most students avoided the path between the senior and main buildings, rumors of the earlier cafeteria confrontation spreading quickly.
Yan Heitu waited, pacing in circles, fists clenching and unclenching. His entourage lingered at a safe distance, hesitant. His pride had been wounded, and now he sought a stage to reclaim it.
Fang Ze appeared at the far end of the courtyard, walking slowly, hands in pockets. He didn't hurry, didn't show urgency. Yet every step carried weight. The air around him was heavier, as if the space itself acknowledged his presence.
"You…" Yan Heitu spat, stopping abruptly. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone. This ends today."
Fang Ze's eyes remained calm, unflinching. "You think so," he said, tone even, almost indifferent.
Yan Heitu lunged first, fists swinging aggressively, but this time he moved faster, angrier, more desperate. His punches cut through the air with raw force, aimed to overwhelm.
Fang Ze didn't dodge—he simply shifted slightly, minimal movements, letting Yan Heitu's momentum carry him past. Each swing met no resistance, yet each left Yan Heitu increasingly off balance.
A tray of fallen food from the cafeteria earlier became an obstacle. Yan Heitu stumbled over it, crashing into a bench, sending a loud bang through the courtyard. Fang Ze remained unaffected, calm as ever.
"You… you're unreal!" Yan Heitu growled, panting. His movements became reckless, overcompensating with wild kicks and punches, trying to corner Fang Ze.
Fang Ze finally stepped forward, the faint ripple of Qi around him now visible to those paying close attention. With a subtle pivot, he intercepted a kick—not with force, but with perfect timing—redirecting Yan Heitu's energy just enough to send him skidding across the concrete, narrowly missing a trash can.
The followers gasped. Even Yan Heitu froze, his chest heaving, face pale from frustration and fear.
"You rely on power without precision," Fang Ze said softly, voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Strength is nothing without control."
Yan Heitu shook his head violently, refusing to accept it. He charged again, faster this time, using every ounce of aggression he had. The courtyard became a blur of motion: Yan Heitu swinging wildly, Fang Ze shifting calmly, sidestepping, guiding, redirecting. Each misstep Yan Heitu made, each stumble, only reinforced the invisible boundary Fang Ze had set.
A gust of wind whipped through the courtyard as if the universe itself responded to Fang Ze's calm energy. Loose papers swirled, a nearby bicycle tipped over slightly, yet not a hair on Fang Ze's head moved.
Finally, Yan Heitu collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, pride shattered. Fang Ze approached slowly, deliberately, standing over him—not threatening, but inevitable.
"This," Fang Ze said quietly, "is where your path ends… for now."
He didn't strike again. He didn't need to. The lesson was clear: arrogance alone would not win. Precision, calm, and control—those were the real weapons.
The courtyard was silent, save for Yan Heitu's heavy breathing. The fight had escalated, the first real test of skill had occurred, and everyone who witnessed it—even at a distance—knew one thing: Fang Ze was no ordinary student.
The currents had shifted.
And the next encounter? That one would not be merciful.