{1}Chapter 1

Ethan Cross entered the world on a crisp spring morning, the only child of Daniel and Evelyn Cross. From the very beginning, his parents knew he was special. His father, a retired CIA operative, and his mother, a former FBI agent turned Private Investigator, were both individuals of discipline, intelligence, and deep moral conviction. They were determined to raise their son not only to be strong but also wise, principled, and capable of handling anything life threw his way.

Even in his earliest years, Ethan showed signs of exceptional intelligence. By the time he was two, he had an impressive vocabulary, absorbing words like a sponge. Unlike most toddlers who struggled to form sentences, Ethan spoke in complete thoughts, switching between English and Spanish with remarkable ease. His mother, fluent in multiple languages due to her work travels, made sure he learned Spanish and French as naturally as he did English. At home, conversations often switched between the three languages, ensuring that by the age of four, Ethan could hold fluent discussions in each.

“He’s got an incredible memory,” Evelyn noted one evening as she watched Ethan recite an entire bedtime story back to her after hearing it only once. Daniel, ever the strategist, nodded in agreement. “That memory and his natural curiosity will serve him well. We should challenge him-not just mentally, but physically too.”

That conversation led to one of the most crucial decisions in Ethan’s early development: the introduction of gymnastics.

At age five, Ethan’s parents enrolled him in a structured gymnastics program. The decision wasn’t just about physical exercise-it was about discipline, control, and body awareness. From the very first day, Ethan was fascinated by the sport. He watched in awe as older children flipped, tumbled, and executed precise movements with grace and strength.

His first lessons were simple: learning how to stretch properly, developing flexibility, and understanding how to control his movements. But even in these basic exercises, Ethan excelled. His natural coordination and determination allowed him to progress quickly. Within weeks, he was performing forward rolls and cartwheels with ease, while others in his class were still struggling with balance.

Daniel took a keen interest in Ethan’s training, often practicing with him at home. “Gymnastics isn’t just about flipping around,” he explained. “It’s about body control, spatial awareness, and discipline-things that will help you in every aspect of life.”

Ethan’s training sessions became a daily routine. Mornings started with flexibility exercises, followed by balance drills on a homemade balance beam Daniel set up in their backyard. His afternoons at the gym were filled with rigorous training: handstands, backbends, and eventually, his first backflips. The young boy loved the challenge, and with every new skill he mastered, his confidence grew.

By the time he turned six, Ethan’s body had already developed a level of agility and strength far beyond most children his age. His instructors marveled at his progress, often using him as an example to demonstrate proper technique to the other students. But more than just his physical ability, Ethan’s mindset set him apart-his focus, patience, and relentless drive to perfect each movement.

One evening, after executing a flawless roundoff back handspring for the first time, Ethan ran to his father, beaming. “Did you see that?” he asked, excitement lighting up his face.

Daniel nodded with a proud smile. “I did. And I see something else too-you’re learning how to control your body, to move with precision. That’s an important skill, son. One day, it’ll mean more than just gymnastics.”

Shortly after his sixth birthday, Ethan’s training expanded once again. While gymnastics gave him control over his body, Daniel and Evelyn wanted him to learn how to use that control for something greater-self-discipline, defense, and personal growth. That’s when they introduced him to Karate.

Unlike gymnastics, which was full of excitement and movement, Karate required something deeper-patience, focus, and an understanding of technique. On his first day at the dojo, Ethan stood among a group of new students, all wearing crisp white gis, their belts tied tightly around their waists. The air smelled of polished wood and incense, the atmosphere one of quiet discipline.

The instructor, a seasoned martial artist named Sensei Nakamura, stood before them, his voice calm yet firm. “Karate is not just about fighting,” he said. “It is about balance-of the body, the mind, and the spirit. Strength without discipline is nothing. Technique without purpose is wasted. Here, you will learn to control yourselves as much as you learn to strike.”

Ethan absorbed every word. When the training began, he found it both exciting and challenging. The first lessons were deceptively simple: proper stance, controlled breathing, and basic strikes. But as with gymnastics, Ethan quickly realized that perfection lay in the details.

His father, who had practiced various martial arts throughout his career, often trained alongside him at home. “Your stance is everything,” Daniel explained one evening as they practiced outside on the patio. “If your foundation is weak, everything else will crumble.”

So Ethan practiced. Every night, he would stand in front of the mirror, adjusting his posture, ensuring his footing was solid. He repeated punches and blocks until they became second nature, the movements flowing seamlessly from one to the next.

As weeks turned into months, Ethan’s Karate skills evolved. He learned to generate power not from brute force, but from precision and technique. His small frame, initially seen as a disadvantage, became an asset-he was quick, agile, and precise. He learned to anticipate movements, to read his opponent’s intentions before they struck.

His first real test came when he was paired with an older student for sparring. The boy, a nine-year-old with a few years of training, underestimated Ethan because of his size. He launched into an aggressive attack, expecting Ethan to fumble.

But Ethan didn’t fumble. He moved instinctively, dodging a strike with a perfectly timed sidestep and countering with a clean, controlled punch to the chest. The older student stumbled back, eyes wide with surprise.

Sensei Nakamura watched closely, then nodded approvingly. “Good,” he said. “You do not fight with anger or recklessness. You fight with control. That is the way of Karate.”

Ethan’s daily life became one of rigorous discipline. Mornings began with stretching and conditioning, afternoons were spent in school where he excelled in academics, and evenings were dedicated to training-gymnastics on some days, Karate on others. His parents were firm but fair, ensuring that his training never overshadowed his education or his ability to enjoy being a child.

There were days when exhaustion set in, when his muscles ached and his mind felt overwhelmed. But every time he considered slowing down, his father’s words echoed in his mind: “Discipline isn’t about doing what’s easy. It’s about doing what needs to be done, even when you don’t feel like it.”

Evelyn, ever the nurturing force in his life, provided balance. “It’s okay to rest, Ethan,” she would remind him. “Even the strongest warriors need time to breathe.”

By the time Ethan was seven, he had developed not only physical strength but also a deep sense of responsibility. He understood that his training wasn’t just about learning how to fight-it was about self-improvement, about pushing his limits and becoming the best version of himself.

His father, watching his progress with pride, knew that Ethan was on the path to something greater. The foundation had been laid, but this was only the beginning. There was still so much more to learn, so much more to master.

And Ethan was ready for whatever came next.

{1}Chapter 2

Daniel Cross introduced Ethan to Aikido first with a simple lesson:

“Power is meaningless without control. Strength alone won’t always win you a fight. You need to know how to redirect an opponent’s force and use it against them. The stronger they are, the harder they fall.”

Ethan was immediately intrigued. He had spent the last two years focused on powerful strikes and explosive movements, but this was different. Aikido wasn’t about overpowering an enemy-it was about outmaneuvering them. The principle fascinated him.

Unlike the aggressive strikes and disciplined katas of Karate, Aikido was about redirection and control. The word itself meant “The Way of Harmony with Energy,” and Ethan soon learned that this martial art was more about using an opponent’s momentum against them rather than meeting force with force.

His training in Aikido began under the watchful eyes of his father and a seasoned instructor named Sensei Matsuda, a former military hand-to-hand combat instructor.

“Balance and movement,” Matsuda emphasized. “You do not fight force with force. Instead, you accept the opponent’s energy, redirect it, and make them defeat themselves.”

At first, Ethan struggled. The techniques were completely different from what he had learned in Karate. Instead of meeting force with counterforce, he had to learn to blend with the attack, almost inviting it before turning it back on the aggressor. His natural instinct had always been to block or strike back, but now he had to learn to flow.

“Try again,” Matsuda instructed, positioning Ethan in a defensive stance.

Daniel lunged forward, throwing a slow, controlled punch. Ethan stepped to the side, attempting to grab and redirect the momentum, but his movements were too stiff. His father easily countered, sending Ethan stumbling backward.

“Too rigid,” Matsuda said. “Aikido is like water. You must flow with the attack, not resist it.”

Ethan took a deep breath, resetting himself. This time, when his father attacked, he softened his body, pivoted smoothly, and guided the incoming force away. With a quick twist, he unbalanced his father just enough to shift control of the engagement.

A satisfied nod from Matsuda signaled progress.

For weeks, Ethan practiced relentlessly. He learned how to use joint locks, how to guide an attacker’s energy, and how to maintain his own balance while disrupting his opponent’s. He trained in the art of ukemi-falling correctly to absorb impact and recover instantly. His father would often grab him out of nowhere, testing his ability to react and roll out of danger.

Matsuda introduced him to randori-freeform sparring where multiple attackers would come at him. At first, he was overwhelmed. No matter how much he tried to redirect one attack, another would follow before he could reset.

“You hesitate too much,” Matsuda pointed out. “There is no perfect response, Ethan. Act. Adapt. Flow.”

Ethan took the lesson to heart. Over time, he stopped overthinking and simply moved. His body adjusted naturally, blending instinct with technique. When someone grabbed his wrist, he no longer resisted-he rotated his arm, stepped in, and sent them tumbling. When an attacker rushed him, he pivoted, guiding their force past him before using their momentum to send them crashing to the mat.

He was learning to be untouchable.

Ethan spent weeks learning how to fall properly. His father and Sensei Matsuda made it clear: if he didn’t learn to fall correctly, he wouldn’t last long in real combat.

At first, it was frustrating. Ethan was used to winning, to executing perfect backflips and landing with flawless form. But in Aikido, the goal wasn’t to resist the fall-it was to embrace it.

Daniel and Sensei Matsuda had Ethan practice rolling falls, backward breakfalls, and side breakfalls until they became second nature. “You’ll get thrown a lot,” Sensei Matsuda told him one evening. “Your ability to land safely will determine how fast you can recover and get back into the fight.”

The real test came one night when Ethan was least expecting it.

As he was walking down the hallway to the kitchen for a glass of water, his father suddenly lunged at him from a darkened doorway. Without thinking, Ethan reacted-his training kicking in. He twisted his body in midair, rolled with the momentum, and landed in a controlled crouch on the floor.

His heart pounded as he looked up at his father, who smiled approvingly. “Good. From now on, I will attack you at random times. You must always be ready.”

Ethan quickly realized his life had changed overnight. His father, and sometimes even Sensei Matsuda, would attack him without warning. Whether he was eating breakfast, coming out of the bathroom, or playing outside, they would test his awareness and reflexes.

One morning, as he reached for his backpack to head to school, Daniel swept his legs from under him. Ethan barely managed to tuck and roll before hitting the floor. Another time, while he was brushing his teeth, Miguel snuck up behind him, forcing Ethan to pivot and deflect an attempted grab.

At first, Ethan found it exhausting. There was no peace, no safety. He had to be alert at all times. But soon, something remarkable happened-he stopped relying on his eyes alone. He started sensing movements before they happened. He learned to listen for subtle shifts in the air, to notice the sound of feet on the carpet, and to predict angles of attack based on positioning.

One afternoon, as Sensei Matsuda walked into the training room, Ethan noticed the slight tightening of Sensei Matsuda’s muscles a split second before he moved. Instinctively, Ethan shifted his weight and sidestepped just as Sensei Matsuda lunged. Instead of being caught, Ethan turned the attack back on him, using an Aikido technique to redirect Sensei Matsuda’s energy and send him sprawling onto the mat.

For the first time, Sensei Matsuda laughed from the ground. “He’s learning.”

Daniel crossed his arms, nodding. “Good. But don’t get comfortable, Ethan. The world won’t go easy on you.”

By the time Ethan was comfortable with Aikido’s principles, Daniel introduced him to Jujitsu.

“Aikido teaches you to redirect,” Daniel said. “Jujitsu teaches you to dominate. In a real fight, you need both.”

Jujitsu was a different beast. It focused on grappling, chokes, joint manipulation, and submissions. While Aikido had taught Ethan how to move with an attack, Jujitsu taught him how to end a fight once an opponent was down.

His instructor, a former Navy SEAL named Cole Henshaw, wasted no time throwing him into the deep end.

“Most fights end up on the ground,” Henshaw explained. “If you don’t know how to control someone there, you lose.”

Ethan’s first lesson was brutal. He was paired against a much larger teenage student, and within seconds, he was pinned, unable to move.

Henshaw crouched beside him. “You’re trying to muscle your way out. That won’t work against someone bigger. Use leverage. Use positioning.”

Ethan spent the next several weeks learning the fundamentals-how to escape from holds, how to apply chokes, and how to manipulate joints to break free from an opponent’s control. He drilled techniques over and over until they became second nature.

His favorite move quickly became the armbar. It was deceptively simple but devastatingly effective. By controlling an opponent’s arm, locking it between his legs, and applying pressure to the elbow, he could force a submission instantly.

His second favorite was the rear-naked choke-silent, efficient, and impossible to escape once locked in.

Henshaw had one rule: “No wasted motion. Everything should serve a purpose.”

Ethan absorbed every lesson, adding them to his growing arsenal.

By the time Ethan was proficient in Aikido and Jujitsu, his father decided to take his training to the next level.

“You must always be ready,” Daniel said one evening. “A real attack won’t happen when you expect it.”

From that moment on, Ethan was never truly safe.

His father, Matsuda, and Henshaw began ambushing him at random times throughout the day. Sometimes, it was a shove from behind when he least expected it. Other times, it was a full-blown attack.

The first time it happened, Ethan was caught completely off guard. He was walking into the kitchen when his father lunged at him. Before he could react, he was taken to the ground, his father’s arm pressing against his throat.

“Dead,” Daniel said flatly before getting up.

Ethan fumed. “That wasn’t fair!”

Daniel smirked. “Neither is life.”

From then on, Ethan lived in a state of constant awareness. He learned to anticipate movement, to sense when someone was watching him, and to always keep his body positioned defensively.

One day, as he stepped into the training room, Matsuda attacked from the side. This time, Ethan reacted-stepping into the motion and using an Aikido technique to redirect the energy, sending Matsuda stumbling.

Matsuda grinned. “Now you’re learning.”

At school, he practiced staying aware of his surroundings. He noted exits in every room, identified potential threats, and paid attention to the smallest changes in people’s movements.

Henshaw took the training even further. “Close your eyes,” he instructed one afternoon.

Ethan obeyed.

“Now, tell me-where am I standing?”

Ethan listened. He felt the subtle shift in air pressure, heard the faintest scuff of a shoe.

“To my right,” he said.

A pause. Then, “Good.”

The ambushes became part of his daily life. He learned to expect the unexpected, to react without hesitation, and to never assume he was safe.

Daniel knew that physical skill meant nothing without mental resilience. That’s why, throughout Ethan’s training, he pushed his son’s endurance to the limit.

One night, Ethan was woken up at 2 AM. His father stood at the foot of his bed. “Come downstairs,” he said simply.

Still half-asleep, Ethan obeyed. The moment he stepped into the basement, Sensei Matsuda lunged at him. Instinct took over-Ethan dodged, countered, and twisted Sensei’s momentum against him. When the scuffle ended, Daniel gave a single nod of approval.

“Always be ready,” his father reminded him. “An attack won’t wait for you to be well-rested.”

The lesson was clear: Ethan could never afford to be complacent. His training wasn’t just about mastering techniques. It was about becoming something more.

A weapon forged in discipline.

By the time Ethan turned nine, his reflexes had sharpened beyond anything his father had anticipated. He could handle attacks from multiple angles, redirect force effortlessly, and control an opponent on the ground with precision.

Daniel knew his son was ready for the next stage of his training.

“You’re progressing well,” he said one evening. “But now, we push harder.”

Ethan met his father’s gaze, determination burning in his eyes.

“Good,” Daniel said. “Because this was just the beginning.”

{1}Chapter 3

Ethan Cross had spent years mastering the flow of Aikido and the control of Jujitsu, but as he reached his tenth birthday, his father made it clear-his training was about to become far more brutal.

“Up until now,” Daniel Cross said as they sat in the family’s training room, “your training has been about movement, control, and defense. That changes today.”

Ethan, sitting cross-legged on the mat, tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Daniel exchanged a glance with Evelyn, who stood quietly against the wall. “You’ve done well learning how to redirect attacks and control an opponent,” she said. “But real fights don’t happen in controlled environments. People don’t attack the way they do in a dojo.”

Daniel nodded. “It’s time for you to learn how to break people. How to end a fight before it truly begins.”

Ethan’s fingers clenched at his sides. He had always known his father’s training wasn’t just for self-defense. His parents were preparing him for something bigger-something dangerous. And though they had never outright said it, he could feel the weight of it.

“What am I learning?” he asked.

His father smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile-it was the kind of smile that preceded pain. “Krav Maga and Filipino knife fighting.”

Ethan’s heart pounded with excitement. He had read about Krav Maga, the brutal Israeli combat system designed for war. And knife fighting? That was something completely new.

Evelyn pushed off the wall and knelt in front of him. “This won’t be like Aikido or Jujitsu. There are no tournaments, no points, no referees. Krav Maga is about survival. You’ll learn to do whatever it takes to end a fight immediately.”

Daniel folded his arms. “And that means hurting people.”

Ethan swallowed. “I understand.”

His father’s expression darkened. “No, you don’t. But you will.”

Daniel didn’t ease him into Krav Maga. There was no warm-up, no theory session-just immediate, brutal application.

“Attack me,” his father ordered.

Ethan hesitated for half a second, then lunged forward with a punch.

Before he could register what had happened, he was on his back, gasping for breath. His father had stepped into his attack, driven a knee into his gut, and followed with an elbow to the side of his head-stopping just before knocking him unconscious.

“What the hell-” Ethan coughed, struggling to sit up.

“That’s Krav Maga,” Daniel said, standing over him. “No wasted movement. No openings. No hesitation.”

Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead. His father had never hit him this hard before-not in training.

Daniel extended a hand. “Get up.”

Ethan took it, rising to his feet. His father’s voice was low but firm.

“Krav Maga is about eliminating threats as fast as possible. It’s not about honor or fairness-it’s about survival.”

Over the next hour, Ethan learned just how merciless the system was.

Daniel taught him the hammer fist-a simple but devastating attack using the bottom of the fist to strike the nose, jaw, or temple. He drilled the groin kick, making sure Ethan understood that in a real fight, nothing was off-limits.

“When someone attacks you, they aren’t playing by rules,” Daniel said. “Neither should you.”

Ethan nodded, absorbing every movement, every concept.

Then the sparring began.

His father attacked without warning, forcing Ethan to react instantly. If Ethan hesitated, he was struck-an elbow to the ribs, a forearm to the throat, a palm strike that sent him stumbling.

By the end of the session, Ethan was bruised, exhausted, but something inside him had shifted. This was no longer just training. This was war.

A week into his Krav Maga training, his father introduced a new challenge.

“You’re going to spar with adults now,” Daniel announced.

Ethan blinked. “What?”

His father gestured toward the doorway, where three men entered. They were large, muscular, and carried themselves like seasoned fighters.

“This is Matt, Jorge, and Rick,” Daniel said. “They’re ex-military. They’re going to help toughen you up.”

Ethan stood frozen as the three men looked him over. He was small compared to them-just a ten-year-old boy against professional fighters.

Rick, the tallest of the three, cracked his knuckles. “You sure about this, Daniel? Kid’s gonna get wrecked.”

Daniel’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s the point.”

Ethan took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I’m ready.”

Matt, the shortest but stockiest of the group, grinned. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The first round was brutal. Matt didn’t hold back-he threw a shove that sent Ethan stumbling, followed by a knee strike that stopped just short of Ethan’s ribs.

“React faster,” Daniel barked.

Ethan gritted his teeth. When Matt attacked again, he sidestepped and launched a hammer fist at Matt’s temple. Matt blocked it easily and swept Ethan’s legs out from under him.

Pain shot through his back as he hit the mat.

“Again,” Daniel ordered.

And so it continued. Each time Ethan got knocked down, he got back up. He adapted, learning to move faster, to strike harder, to anticipate his opponents. And when he finally landed a clean groin kick on Matt-sending the man doubling over-his father smirked.

“Now you’re getting it.”

Krav Maga was one thing. Knife fighting was another.

When his father introduced him to Filipino knife fighting, Ethan knew this was different from anything he had ever done before.

“This,” Daniel said, holding up a Karambit knife, “is a weapon designed to end fights quickly.”

He handed the curved blade to Ethan, who turned it over in his hands. It felt natural, like an extension of his arm.

Ethan’s instructor for knife fighting was an old Filipino man named Marcos Ortega. Marcos had grown up in the slums of Manila, where knife fights were a daily occurrence.

“You do not block with a knife,” Marcos explained. “You cut. Every move should create an opening.”

For weeks, Ethan drilled knife techniques-slashes, stabs, deflections. He practiced with Karambits, combat knives, and even kitchen knives.

Marcos was relentless. He would suddenly attack, forcing Ethan to react on instinct. The first time, Ethan hesitated, and Marcos disarmed him in seconds.

“Too slow,” Marcos said. “Again.”

Ethan learned the hard way that knife fighting wasn’t about fancy moves. It was about efficiency. Every motion had a purpose. Every strike was meant to incapacitate.

The most brutal lesson came when Marcos handed him a training knife coated in ink.

“If you get marked,” Marcos said, “you’re dead.”

For an entire day, Ethan sparred against his father, Marcos, and the other instructors. By the end, his shirt was covered in ink.

Marcos shook his head. “In a real fight, you wouldn’t have lasted five seconds.”

Ethan clenched his fists. He hated losing.

But by the next week, the ink stains lessened. His movements sharpened. He stopped thinking and started reacting.

And when he finally landed a clean knife thrust against Marcos-stopping just before the old man’s throat-Marcos grinned.

“Now,” Marcos said, nodding approvingly, “you are learning.”

By the end of his tenth year, Ethan Cross was no longer just a boy learning to fight. He was a warrior in the making.

His body was covered in bruises, his hands calloused from gripping knives and striking pads. But more than that, his mind had changed.

He understood violence now-not as something to fear, but as a tool. A necessary skill for survival.

And his father knew-this was only the beginning.

{1}Chapter 4

Ethan Cross had never been one to back down from a challenge. By the time he was twelve, his parents had pushed him beyond the typical childhood activities of his peers. He wasn’t just a child learning self-defense-he was training for something bigger, something that his parents had yet to fully reveal. They told him time and time again that his training was about more than just fighting, it was about preparation, about responsibility, and about control.

At the age of eleven, Ethan entered his first official martial arts competitions. His parents believed that real growth came from testing himself against others, and tournaments provided the perfect environment for that.

Ethan’s first karate tournament was a major event, filled with young competitors from across the state. The tension in the air was thick with anticipation as fighters warmed up, practicing their strikes and stretches. His parents watched from the stands, their expressions unreadable but supportive.

His first opponent was a taller boy with a strong traditional stance. As the match began, Ethan quickly assessed his movements. The boy favored high kicks and long-reaching strikes, keeping his distance and using his reach advantage. Ethan, however, had trained rigorously in countering such tactics. He stayed low, using his speed and footwork to close the distance, preventing the opponent from landing effective kicks. The match ended when Ethan delivered a well-timed spinning back kick, knocking his opponent down for the final point.

As the tournament progressed, the fights became tougher. In the semifinals, he faced a highly skilled competitor with aggressive combinations. Ethan took several hard hits in the opening moments but adapted quickly. He used his opponent’s aggression against him, dodging strikes and countering with precise blows. In the final round, he delivered a devastating roundhouse kick, securing his victory.

His father patted his shoulder afterward. “You fought well, but remember, winning isn’t just about overpowering your opponent. It’s about controlling the fight.”

His mother added, “And knowing when not to fight. Strength isn’t about proving yourself every time someone challenges you, it’s about knowing when to stand firm and when to let go.”

Ethan absorbed their lessons, realizing that fighting wasn’t always the answer.

Krav Maga tournaments were entirely different from karate competitions. There were no points awarded for flashy techniques-these fights were raw, brutal, and focused on effectiveness.

Ethan’s first match in a Krav Maga competition was a wake-up call. His opponent, an older teenager, came at him with relentless aggression. The match began with a rush, his opponent attempting to overwhelm him with rapid strikes and knees. Ethan barely had time to react, dodging and blocking as best he could. His father’s voice echoed in his mind: Use their force against them.

Ethan shifted his tactics. Instead of trying to match his opponent’s aggression, he absorbed and redirected. When the older fighter lunged forward with a strike, Ethan sidestepped, using his own momentum to shove him off balance. He followed up with a brutal elbow strike to the ribs, forcing his opponent to retreat. With a final swift kick to the leg, Ethan took his opponent down, securing the win.

His later matches were no easier. One opponent tried grappling, another used rapid combination strikes. Ethan adapted, countering a grappler with his jujitsu techniques and using his speed against the striker. Each fight tested his endurance, his resilience, and his ability to read his opponents. By the end of the tournament, he had not only gained victories but a deeper understanding of real-world combat.

His father pulled him aside after his final match. “Krav Maga isn’t about playing fair, it’s about surviving. You showed that today.”

Ethan simply nodded. He felt the bruises forming, but more than that, he felt himself growing stronger.

Aikido was a completely different experience. Unlike the aggressive clashes of Krav Maga or the structured strikes of Karate, Aikido focused on control, redirection, and fluid movement. These competitions tested a different part of Ethan’s skillset, his ability to anticipate and neutralize attacks without direct confrontation.

His first Aikido match was against a competitor who relied on brute strength. The moment the match started, his opponent tried to overpower him, gripping his arm and attempting to throw him. Ethan didn’t resist, instead, he flowed with the movement, redirecting his opponent’s force and reversing the throw. The crowd gasped as the larger competitor hit the mat.

The final round of the tournament pitted him against a masterful tactician, someone who, like him, relied on technique over power. They circled each other, each waiting for an opening. His opponent feinted, attempting to bait him into a reaction. Ethan didn’t fall for it. When the moment finally came, Ethan executed a seamless wrist-lock takedown, securing the victory.

Afterward, his father nodded approvingly. “Aikido isn’t about strength, it’s about control. You controlled that fight from start to finish.”

Ethan understood more than ever that winning wasn’t always about being the strongest, it was about being the smartest.

After months of competitions, Ethan’s training took a new direction. His parents arranged for him to meet a close family friend, Lieutenant James Carter, a former Navy combat medic. James was a tough, no-nonsense man with years of battlefield experience. His hands were steady, his voice calm, and his knowledge immense.

“You can know how to fight, Ethan,” James said, “but you need to know how to fix yourself up too. A good fighter doesn’t just learn to throw punches-he learns to take care of himself and others when things go south.”

Ethan was introduced to advanced first aid, far beyond the simple bandaging techniques most kids his age knew. The first lesson was about chest seals, used to treat penetrating chest wounds.

“If you ever see a bullet wound to the chest,” James explained, holding up a medical training dummy, “your first priority is to seal the hole so air doesn’t collapse the lung.”

He demonstrated how to apply a chest seal, pressing it firmly over the wound site. Then he handed Ethan a practice dummy and had him do it himself-over and over until he got it right without hesitation.

James introduced tourniquets, teaching Ethan how to stop heavy bleeding by properly applying pressure and securing the wound. “You don’t just slap this on,” he explained. “Tighten it until the bleeding stops, ignore the screaming if you have to. You’re saving a life.”

They practiced under stress conditions, with Ethan treating simulated wounds while James shouted orders. James made Ethan apply seals to simulated sucking chest wounds and taught him how to recognize signs of a collapsed lung.

Next came treating tension pneumothorax, a life-threatening condition where air builds up in the chest, compressing the lung and heart.

“This is where the needle decompression comes in,” James said, holding up a long catheter needle. “If someone’s gasping for breath, and their chest is ballooning up, you need to relieve the pressure fast. You insert the needle right above the third rib, midclavicular line.”

Ethan practiced on simulation models, learning the precise location and method needed to perform the procedure. James drilled it into him-accuracy was everything.

Then came suturing wounds. James handed Ethan a set of surgical tools and some synthetic skin to practice on. “You’ll need a steady hand for this,” he said, watching as Ethan carefully closed a simulated wound. The process required patience, but Ethan quickly developed a rhythm.

After a few hours of training, James clapped him on the back. “You’re a fast learner, kid. Most people flinch at this kind of stuff, but you focus. That’s going to save lives one day.”

Ethan took the words to heart. Combat wasn’t just about inflicting damage-it was about knowing how to survive, how to protect, and how to heal.

By the time Ethan had turned twelve, his training expanded once again. His father introduced him to yet another mentor-Sergeant Marcus Bennett, a Marine who had served in multiple combat zones and specialized in Marine Corps Martial Arts (MCMAP).

Marcus was a broad-shouldered man with an intense gaze and a scar across his left forearm. He wasted no time with pleasantries. “You’ve been trained well,” he told Ethan after watching him demonstrate a few techniques. “But I’m going to teach you how to fight like a Marine. No nonsense, no wasted motion-just pure combat effectiveness.”

The first lesson was about aggressive engagement. Unlike other martial arts, MCMAP was designed for real-world combat situations-where hesitation could mean death.

Marcus threw a strike at Ethan without warning. Ethan barely dodged it, his instincts kicking in. “Good,” Marcus grunted. “But not good enough. In a fight, you react instantly. There’s no thinking-just doing.”

He drilled Ethan in close-quarters combat, teaching him how to use every part of his body as a weapon-elbows, knees, even headbutts.

“You don’t fight clean,” Marcus said. “You fight to win.”

The training was brutal. Marcus put Ethan through grueling drills, incorporating bayonet techniques, close-quarters combat, and defensive tactics. He learned how to neutralize an opponent quickly using brutal strikes to vulnerable areas like the throat and joints. Marcus also drilled him in grappling techniques, teaching him how to fight effectively even when pinned or disadvantaged.

Knife defense was another key component. Marcus showed Ethan how to disarm an opponent wielding a blade, emphasizing speed and precision. The Marine had Ethan run through scenarios where an attacker came at him with a knife, forcing Ethan to block, redirect, and counterstrike.

One particularly grueling session left Ethan panting on the ground. Marcus crouched beside him. “You’re good, kid. But remember-combat isn’t about being the best fighter. It’s about being the last one standing.”

As Ethan wiped the sweat from his brow, he realized something. Every lesson, every training session, every new skill-it was all leading to something bigger. His parents weren’t just making sure he could defend himself. They were preparing him for something far greater.

By his sixteenth birtday, Ethan Cross wasn’t just another kid practicing martial arts. He was a fighter, a strategist, and a protector in the making. His journey was only beginning, but already, he stood far above his peers. His parents had given him the tools-now, it was up to him to use them.

As the New Year rolled in, Ethan’s father introduced a new challenge-one that had nothing to do with sports. His sixteenth birthday was approaching, and instead of merely learning how to drive, his father arranged for him to undergo tactical driving training.

“Driving isn’t just about getting from point A to point B,” his father said. “It’s about control, awareness, and knowing how to handle yourself in any situation.”

Ethan’s instructor was a no-nonsense man named John Mercer. It wasn’t until after he passed the course that Ethan learned Mercer was a former Secret Service instructor.

The training covered everything from evasive maneuvers to high-speed pursuit techniques and even driving under fire. The first few sessions were overwhelming. Skidding through tight turns, reversing at high speeds, and slamming the brakes at the last second took precise control.

His toughest challenge came in the high-speed pursuit drill, where he had to shake off a pursuing vehicle while navigating an obstacle course. His first attempt was a disaster-he overcorrected on a sharp turn, nearly spinning out. Mercer didn’t sugarcoat his feedback.

“You’re thinking too much, Ethan. Driving in high-stress situations is about instinct. You react. You don’t analyze.”

By his final session, Ethan had improved significantly. He weaved through obstacles at high speeds, made tight escapes, and executed a flawless J-turn that left Mercer nodding in approval.

“Not bad, kid,” Mercer said. “You might just have a future in this.”

By March, Ethan passed his driver’s test, and his parents gifted him a sleek Toyota Land Cruiser 300. He was admiring the SUV when he noticed something odd-it sat lower to the ground than expected.

“Dad, why does this feel heavier?” he asked.

His father smirked and stepped back. Without warning, he pulled out a pistol and fired at the vehicle. Sparks flew as bullets struck the doors, but there were no holes. Even when he shot at the tires, there was only a dull thud instead of an expected puncture.

Shocked, Ethan turned to his father. “Are you out of your mind!?”

His father chuckled. “Relax, son. This is an armored version. Reinforced doors, bulletproof glass, and run-flat tires with solid cores. If someone ever comes after you, you’ll have a fighting chance.”

Ethan shook his head. “Why would I need an armored car?”

His father just gave him that cryptic smile. “Because we’re making sure you’re prepared.”

Shortly after Ethan’s 16^th birthday, he encountered a challenge that left him more nervous than any opponent on the field-Celeste Ramos.

A transfer student who had arrived after Christmas, Celeste was smart, confident, and had a smile that left Ethan utterly speechless. They’d talked in the past and he really liked what he saw. He wanted to ask her out, but with all his skills and confidence in combat and tactics, he found himself terrified at the thought of asking her out.

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat as he turned the corner, his gaze falling upon Celeste Ramos. She was a vision, her strawberry blonde hair cascading down her back, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. Her clothes seemed to have been tailor made just for her, hugging her almost hour-glass figure in all the right places. Her firm, round butt swayed with each step she took in the tight denim jeans she wore, and her D-cup breasts strained against the fabric of her blouse, the outline of her small, eraser-sized nipples teasing him with every movement.

Celeste was the kind of girl who could make a saint want to sin, and Ethan was no saint. He felt a familiar tightness in his groin as his cock twitched in his pants, already eager for her touch. Ethan had always prided himself on his self-control, but in Celeste’s presence, he found himself struggling to maintain it.

He watched as she laughed at something a friend said, her head thrown back. Ethan’s mind raced with the thought of pressing his lips against that delicate skin, of tasting her, of hearing her gasp his name as he explored every inch of her body.

Celeste turned her head, catching Ethan’s intense stare, and a shy smile played on her lips. She had felt his eyes on her, had hoped she had the same effect on him that he secretly had on her.

Making a quick decision to man up, Ethan quickly walked up to her, confident in what he was doing.

As he invaded her personal space, he could see that she didn’t back down, and hoped she was just as interested as he was.

Ethan reached down and took her hand gently in his, and looking in her eyes he said, “Hi Celeste, I know it’s sudden, but I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in going out with me this weekend.”

As her friends got quiet, waiting on her reply, Celeste looked up at Ethan with a saucy look and said,” Hi Ethan. I’d love to. What did you have in mind?”

Having heard that Celeste loved musicals, and remembering that CAT’s was in town this weekend he said,” I thought we could dress up and go see CAT’s. I’ve not seen it but have heard it’s great.”

Her eyes twinkled with excitement. She’d expected something like a movie, but Ethan surprised her. “I’d love to see CAT’s.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up around five on Saturday and we’ll go for dinner at Giorgio’s, then we can head to the theater,” he said, then

Ethan’s Confidence and authority surprised her. Most boys that asked her out did just that, asked. They asked if every little thing was ok with her. She always hated the lack up spine most boys had...

The rest of the week went both fast and slow for them both. Or rather, fast for everyone else and slower than molasses for Ethan and Celeste.

Ethan headed out to pick up Celeste for their date. He’d dressed in a nice shirt and dinner jacket since they’re going to a musical after dinner. As he pulled up to her house, nerves kick in. It’s too late to back out now, so Ethan shut the Land Cruiser off and walked up to the door. As Ethan knocked on the door the third time, a woman that could only be Celeste’s mother opened the door. He thought, if this is what Celeste will look like in 20 years, he can’t wait.’ “Hi Mrs. Ramos, I’m Ethan, Ethan Cross. I’m here to pick up Celeste for our date.”

“Hello Ethan, please, come in. Celeste is just finishing up her hair. She’ll be down in just a minute.”

“Thank you Ma’am,” he said as he entered.

They walked to the living room and Ethan continued to stand, waiting for her to sit. Once they’d both sat down, she began to grill Ethan, asking all the things parents do on first dates. Ethan had expecting her father to be there, but not seeing any evidence of a man in the house, decided not to ask.

He began to make small talk when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and he looked up. As she came down the stairs he first saw her slim feet in short heels, followed by toned calves and a few inches of smooth thigh before her black dress comes into view. It hugs her body like a second skin and shows her amazing curves in exquisite detail. The fairly deep V of the front shown a respectful amount of cleavage while still being flirty and her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, bearing her graceful neck. The only jewelry she wore was a solitaire diamond neckless and small diamond stud earrings. He stood there, mouth wide open, trying to speak but she was so damned beautiful that he was at a loss for words. He finally got himself together and stood up, walking over to her as she reached the last step. He reached out to offer his hand and she gently placed her hand in his. As he helped her down the last stairs, she saw her mother standing with a huge smile on her face.

“Wow Celeste, I can’t even describe how beautiful you look.”

“Thanks you Ethan. You look very nice as well. Are you ready,” she asked?

Before Ethen had a chance to answer her mother spoke up, “Not so fast missy. I want pictures!”

“Mom! It’s not prom, we’re just going to dinner and the theater,” she exclaimed.

“That may be, but as gorgeous as you look tonight I want a picture.”

As they stood there her mother held out her phone to take a photos and Celeste stepped closer to Ethan. He put his arm around her, lightly holding her waist while her shoulder was tucked under his arm, her other hand lightly resting on his chest. It was clearly a lover’s pose.

With pictures over, they headed towards the door. As Ethan walked her out to the SUV and opened her door, Celeste’s mom stood in the doorway, a little tear escaping her eyes. It was her daughters first date with someone that she actually approved of, and she couldn’t wait to hear how this date turned out. The past ones ended horribly...