A group of bikers target a teenager, clueless about his true identity—and they quickly regret their mistake…

Yet, Michael didn’t flinch. His hands stayed where they were, resting calmly on his knees, but his eyes stayed locked on the man in front of him. Years of practice had taught him how to read people.

How their posture, their movements, even their breathing could give away their intentions. And these men? They weren’t here to talk. The burly man, clearly expecting Michael to fold under the pressure, leaned closer, his shadow falling over him.

What’s the matter, kid? You scared? he taunted. Michael exhaled slowly, not answering right away. He didn’t need to.

Fear wasn’t the issue here. His issue was time. How long until Jordan’s game ended? How long until someone in the park noticed what was going on? Leave him alone! The sudden voice broke through the tension.

Michael turned his head slightly to see a young boy, no older than ten, standing a few yards away. Jordan. His little brother had wandered off the field, sweat still glistening on his forehead from the game.

Jordan, stay back! Michael called, his voice firm. But the bikers turned toward the boy, grinning like predators spotting an easier target. This your brother? one of them asked, pointing a gloved finger at Jordan.

Maybe we should teach you both a lesson? Michael felt his pulse quicken, but not with fear, with resolve. He stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, his eyes never leaving the group. He shifted his weight slightly, planting his feet in the stance he’d practiced countless times in the dojo.

Don’t touch him, Michael said, his voice calm but edged with steel. The burly man laughed, shaking his head. Look at this guy, thinks he’s tough.

The others joined in, their laughter echoing across the park. But Michael didn’t waver, his expression didn’t change, and his stance didn’t shift. His silence unnerved them more than he realized.

You’re not gonna do anything, one of the bikers said, stepping closer. And that’s when Michael finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. You don’t want to do this.

The laughter stopped. The bikers glanced at each other, confused for a moment by the confidence in his tone. But the moment didn’t last…