Cho wanted into the underground tournament that crowned the strongest hidden power in Tasudu. He had a reason now. A week ago, red lightning had crackled up both his arms when his temper snapped. Nobody knew. He wanted to learn what he was before someone else decided for him. But a nobody who fixed bikes in his spare time had no idea where the fights happened or how to get in. He had asked around for three days and gotten nothing. So he went to the one place people warned him about. A gray stone compound sat behind severe walls, dark towers rising over iron gates. Rumor said the wolf people who lived there knew every fighter worth knowing. Cho checked his two necklaces, squared his shoulders, and knocked. The man who opened the gate had a wolf's face and large black wings folded tight. He wore black and red. He looked Cho over once and already seemed bored. "Wrong door," the wolf man said. He started to shut it. "I'm looking for the tournament," Cho said fast. "The underground one. For hidden powers." The gate stopped. "Marcus," the wolf man said, naming himself. "And you're a kid with jewelry." "I fix bikes," Cho said. "I'm not asking you to like me. Just tell me where it is." Marcus studied him. Then a second voice came from behind the gate. "He's got something." The speaker stepped into view. Another teenager, almond skin, long black and red dreadlocks like Cho's own. He kept his hands in his hoodie pockets and spoke flat. "Kai," he said. He did not offer more. His eyes stayed on Cho's arms. "Show me. Or leave." Cho felt the old familiar thing rise. People deciding who he was before he opened his mouth. His temper kicked. Red sparks snapped from his knuckles and ran up to his elbow. He hadn't meant to. He clamped his fists shut. Marcus went still. Kai did not. "Crimson," Kai said. "Haven't seen that." "So it's real," Cho said. His arms still buzzed. "Now where is it?" Kai pulled one hand from his pocket. He held a small folded square of paper, like he'd already been carrying it for someone. He flicked it. Cho caught it. "Three nights," Kai said. "That address. Say my name at the door." Marcus frowned at Kai. "You're vouching for him?" "I'm watching him," Kai said, and that was all. Cho unfolded the paper. An address, a time, nothing else. He had what he came for. He looked up to thank them, but Kai had already turned away. "One thing," Kai said over his shoulder. "Something's been hunting people close to me. If it followed you here, that lightning won't matter." The gate shut. Cho stood outside the dark walls with the paper in his fist. He was in. He just wasn't sure what he'd walked into.

Two nights left before the tournament. Cho could make the red lightning come when he was angry. He could not make it come on purpose. If he walked into those fights and his power only answered rage, he'd freeze, and they'd break him. He needed someone to push him. He went to the only person he trusted with that. Woo Jung met him at the lot where they usually trained. Before Cho knew about any of this, he'd taught Woo Jung how to move past the stiff Krav Maga he'd grown up on. Now the student stood loose and ready, waiting for his mentor. Cho told him everything. The sparks. The tournament. The problem. "So you want me to make you mad," Woo Jung said. He didn't flinch. He rolled his shoulders. "I can do that." They went at it. Woo Jung jabbed, danced, landed a slap across Cho's ear. Cho's temper jumped. Red snapped up one arm, bright and fast. He reached for it, tried to hold it. It died the second he calmed. "Again," Cho said. Sweat ran down his neck. Woo Jung came harder. He clipped Cho's jaw, caught a necklace, nearly tore it. Cho felt the old heat, people grabbing, deciding, taking. The lightning roared up both arms. And it vanished again. Anger lit it. Anger was the only key, and he couldn't carry anger into every fight. "It's not working," Cho said. He dropped his hands. "It only comes when I lose it. I can't win like that." Woo Jung stopped bouncing. He wiped his mouth and looked at his mentor straight. "You taught me something," he said. "When I came up, I only knew one thing. You told me to stop forcing the move and feel what the fight needed." He tapped his own chest. "You're forcing it. Stop being mad. Just want it." Cho stood still. He breathed. He thought about the bike in the alley, two flat tires, no chain, and how his hands had just known the work. No anger. Just steady wanting. He held out one hand. He didn't picture the man grabbing his necklace. He pictured the quiet instead. He wanted the light, plain and simple, the way he wanted a stripped bolt to turn. Red crawled across his palm. Soft at first. Then it held. No rage behind it. Cho curled his fingers and the lightning bent with them. He opened his hand and it stayed, humming, waiting on him. Woo Jung stepped back. "There it is." Cho let it fade on purpose. Then he called it back. On. Off. His, now. He had two nights and a power that finally answered. But as the sparks died, he remembered Kai's warning. Something was hunting people close to him. He'd just lit himself up like a flare in the dark, and he had no idea what had been watching.

Cho had the lightning now. He could call it and kill it at will. But he had only ever aimed it at the air. Woo Jung was a friend who pulled his punches. Tomorrow night, a stranger would try to put him on the ground. So Cho went to the one place that could test him before the tournament did. Woo Jung came with him, and Kai met them at the door. The Warring Hall was bigger than Cho expected. A huge padded mat filled the floor. Heavy bags hung from the beams. The place smelled of sweat and old wood. Kai stood at the mat's edge with his hands in his pockets. Cho had met him once, at the iron gates, where Kai vouched him into the tournament. Kai was a teenager like Cho, with the same black and red dreadlocks. He had studied more fighting styles than Cho could name. He did not look impressed now. "You can light your hands," Kai said. "That's not the test. The test is whether you can do it while someone hits you." He stepped onto the mat. "I'll hit you." Woo Jung touched Cho's shoulder. "He's not pulling anything. Want it anyway." Kai came fast. His first strike snapped Cho's head sideways. Cho reached for the calm, the steady wanting, and the red flickered up one arm. Then Kai swept his legs. Cho hit the mat. The lightning died. Pain, not rage, had broken his focus. "Again," Cho said. He got up. Kai hit him four more times. Each time the sparks came and went. Cho kept chasing the quiet place, and the quiet place kept slipping as fists landed. He thought about the alley bike. No chain, two flat tires. His hands had known the work while the rest of him stayed still. He stopped bracing for the next punch. He just wanted the light, plain, the way he wanted a bolt to turn. Kai threw a hook. Cho took it on the jaw and did not flinch. Red roared down both arms and held. Kai swung again. The lightning stayed. Cho caught the next strike on a crackling forearm, and Kai felt the shock jump into his own hand. He pulled back and shook it out. "There," Kai said. He wasn't smiling, but he nodded. "Now you can fight." Cho let the sparks fade. His chest heaved. He had done it with someone hitting back. The freeze was gone. Then Kai's face changed. He turned toward the dark corner of the hall, where the beams met shadow. "Someone's been in here," he said, flat. "Watching. Since before you walked in." He pulled a torn black feather from his pocket and held it up. "Found this by the door. It's not mine." Cho looked at the feather. He knew whose wings were black. The thing hunting Kai's circle had followed them inside, and now it had seen exactly what Cho could do.