Chapter 1: First Encounter

In a small village far from the colossal cities, a young boy stood under a huge tree, its trunk was wide, and its branches stretched above the surface of a large lake, shimmering with its clear blue color.

He wore a blue jumpsuit and had a pair of goggles hanging around his neck. With one hand, he held his straw hat before it flew away from the gust of coming wind.

Standing among a group of younger children, he seemed to be their leader. His face was round, and his big, bright eyes matched the color of his brown hair, which was visible beneath his hat.

He had a wide smile on his face as he looked at his handmade ball, his eyes sparkled as he spoke.

“I think it’s ready! Should we try it again? The wind is strong, but I think it will work this time…”

He was interrupted by a younger boy who lisped many of his words: “Lyan, thlow it to me! Thlow it to me!”

He stared at him, and his mind was already working on replacing the letters.

This little guy is lucky because I’m the only one who understands him—and it’s Ryan.

Ryan didn’t correct it for him once, since it drew a smile on his face every time he heard his name in the wrong way, especially when it was coming from a 5-year-old kid.

He loosened his grip around the ball and tossed it gently toward him.

“Zam, catch it!”

After a few passes, the kids were fully immersed in their new game and clearly enjoying it, until one of them threw the ball a little too hard—although he hadn’t put much effort into it—and the ball got stuck in the branches of a tree. The others immediately started shouting at him.

“Not again, Dell! Why did you throw it so high?”

Dell suddenly froze and looked down. It seemed that every time he tried to play with the village kids, he ended up causing trouble. It always appeared that he messed up their game whenever it was his turn to play. His eyes fixed on the ground, he looked at Ryan.

Ryan gave him a faint smile and mouthed, "Don’t worry, it's okay," while moving his lips slowly and deliberately without making a sound.

At that moment, Ryan was secretly glad since the ball was stuck. He thought they should head back to help their elders in the village, but they always got distracted whenever they started playing.

He looked back at the kids and said with a wide smile. “The sun is almost set. Let’s head back, and tomorrow I—”

Zam interrupted again like he always does with him, “Bud da ball is up dhere, candu dump again—”

Ryan was startled, he quickly cut him off and covered Zam's mouth, “Alright, alright, you don’t need to embarrass me like that. I’ll get it.”

He stared at the ball stuck in the branches, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and shifted his weight, bending his knees to gather power.

As his muscles coiled, he jumped. It was an impressive jump—about a meter off the ground.

He extended his right hand, trying to catch the ball, but only managed to touch the lower branch. He jumped several more times, but each attempt was in vain.

He didn’t feel frustrated; he thought that he shouldn't give up this easily, and he believed that there was always another way, so he called another one of his friends whom he trusted with their special box.

“Rock, get the rope from the emergency box.”

“Right!”

Rock responded immediately before adjusting his glasses. He carefully retrieved the rope from the box and handed it to Ryan. He was a cautious kid who always carried the emergency box with him, since so many of the children got hurt while playing in the wild environment. He nervously handed over the rope to Ryan, hoping that they wouldn't need to do something reckless.

***

Meanwhile, on the other side of the road, a young boy with a distant look was running alone through the empty stretch between green fields. Headphones hung loosely around his neck—not because he liked loud sounds, but to keep the noise going, a distraction.

He stopped and furrowed his brows as the sound music signal faded. He panted, trying to catch his breath, but his frustration was all over his face.

He pulled a device from his pocket and hit it a few times, but only made it sound worse.

Must be the wind messing with it.

With a sigh, He turned it off completely.

It’s okay, I already finished the last lap. I should head back now.

Just as he was about to turn around, he noticed a group of kids shouting across the road below a tree.

His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of a young boy. One second he was there, and in the next, he was gone. Then he suddenly appeared again in mid-air, trying to catch the tree branch.

Am I seeing things?

He blinked in confusion, watching the other kids.

No one looked surprised.

The kids were struggling with an old rope, looking like they were about to attempt something foolish.

Under the tree, Ryan took hold of the rope, coiling it in his hands before throwing it at the ball. Each time he threw it, the rope fell short. He took a deep breath and narrowed his focus this time on the branch.

Just as his arm was about to swing forward, a voice cut through the air.

“You’re doing it the wrong way.”

Ryan turned around to see a boy about his age, dressed in a neat black training suit that contrasted with his pale skin and white hair. His eyes were light blue—clear and sharp, like water you could see straight through. He stood out easily, as most village children had sun-kissed, wheat-colored skin from growing up in the warm weather.

Ryan’s eyebrows lifted. “Who are you? You are not from our village.”

Rock walked closer to Ryan. “I heard from my father that a rich kid was coming to our village this week.”

“Who are you calling a kid?”

The foreign boy snapped, his tone sharp with irritation. He crossed his arms and added, “Well, I’m not obligated to tell you who I am. And I’m not that rich… although, compared to you, maybe I am.” A smirk played on his lips.

Ryan's ears filtered most of what was said. He was focused on one thing. He grinned back as he was collecting the rope in his hand. “That’s unfair. I thought you were the same age as me. Guess I was wrong,” he teased. Then, tilting his head curiously, he asked, “How old are you, then?”

The foreign boy flinched, glancing away without answering, looking slightly embarrassed.

Zam, who had been glaring at the foreign boy, returned to his habit of interrupting, “Layan, hully up aleeady. Do something!”

The foreign boy looked puzzled, trying to make sense of Zam’s words, then he turned to Ryan, gesturing with an open hand, “Give me the rope. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Ryan looked at him curiously, wondering what he would do differently. He handed him the rope and watched closely.

The boy tied a small loop at one end, held the other end tightly, then swung the looped side in a circular motion before tossing it at the branch. The loop hooked perfectly around the branch.

He looked back at them and crossed his arms, waiting for their reaction.

All the kids stared, amazed—especially Ryan, whose eyes lit up. “That was awesome!” Then he glanced at the branch.

“Uh… but we were trying to knock the ball down from the tree—not tie it to the branch.”

The boy paused for a second, and a quick realization hit him.

Wait, what?

He furrowed his eyebrows, then pointed at the ball in surprise.

“You did all that for this voodoo ball?” he asked, giving them an odd look, but no one seemed to get what he said.

He waved his hand while walking toward the tree, then added, “Nevermind, I just thought you wanted to climb it.” He sighed, then straightened his shoulders and put his hand on the tree, feeling its texture, then said, “Alright, that’s even easier.”

Suddenly, he rose a few inches above the ground, then launched himself toward the tree and skillfully struck it with one leg, slamming into it. The tree shook violently, as if struck by a powerful force, leaving a small crack on its surface. The ball dropped to the ground, and birds scattered into the air, startled by the impact.

The kids’ jaws dropped, completely stunned. They gathered around him, begging, “Please teach us! We want to do it like you!”.

Ryan’s wide eyes sparkled with admiration as he looked at the boy and didn’t waste a moment before he asked. “Wow, how did you do that?”

The boy smirked and replied in a tone that carried pride and bragging, “Well, can’t you tell? I’m a candidate. This is the least I can do.”

A candidate? No wait—that move was awesome!

Ryan was more curious about the impressive move that he had just seen; he thought it was important to know its name rather than getting to know what a candidate was, since he had a habit of naming his new handmade games.

“What’s that move called? Do you have a name for it?”

The boy raised an eyebrow; he wasn’t sure why the word candidate didn’t register with them. It should have more impact than this since he is too young to be a candidate.

Did he just ignore me? Anyways… Should I have a name for it?

He coughed, trying to suppress a laugh, then looked back at Ryan and said in a serious tone, “Of course, it has a name. It’s... the Strike of Thunderbolt.”

Ryan’s eyes lit up with excitement. It wasn’t just a name he got to know; it was something original he got to witness.

Strike of Thunderbolt—awesome name

The boy’s prideful face began to slip. He thought how bad the timing was, but he had no choice and needed to leave before all the impression he made would go away.

He took a step back, then turned away and said, “I have to go now.”

“Wait—”

Ryan called out, but the boy was already running off, not giving him a chance to say more. He watched him disappear into the distance.

Would I ever see him again? I didn’t even know his name.

He sighed, grabbed the ball, and gave it to Zam, and said, “Here you go, Zam. Let’s head back now.” Then he looked at the other kids while stepping back and said,” Aren’t you all hungry?”

Zam’s voice responded immediately, “Yes, of couth!”

A smile was drawn on Ryan’s lips as he suddenly ran to the fields, racing the other kids back to their home.

***

After running for about ten minutes, the boy finally stopped, leaning over to catch his breath.

A short laugh escaped him—bitter and sharp—though it hurt to breathe. Then he laughed harder, clutching his side, saying, “Are those kids dumb? Thunderbolt, my foot.”

He sat down, took off his shoes, and winced at the sight of his swollen, bruised leg.

He looked down and his eyes nearly shut.

At least I didn’t look weak.

Trying to stand while holding his injured foot. Hopping on one leg, he grumbled, “Ahhh, it hurts, it hurts! Damn you, my ego…”.

With a wince, he glanced back toward the village, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Didn’t think I’d find someone like that in a backwater place like this... things might not be as boring as I thought.